Chapter 2: The Deceptive Vow

The Grand Council Hall of the Ironwood Pack was suffocatingly hot, packed wall-to-wall with the scent of anxious wolves, heavy leather, and the lingering sting of cheap tallow candles. High on the stone dais sat Alpha Silas, his posture commanding and unyielding, flanked by the senior elders of the pack. To his right stood Victoria, draped in a gown of deep crimson velvet, her chin held high as she bathed in the admiring glances of the assembly.

Down at the very back of the hall, half-hidden behind a heavy stone pillar and a cluster of low-ranking guards, stood Evangeline.

Her skin burned beneath the rough, suffocatingly high collar of a heavy woolen traveling dress. It was far too large for her, a discarded garment meant to make her look small, frumpy, and forgettable. Over her face hung a thick, dense bridal veil made of opaque white lace. It obscured her vision, turning the crowded hall into a blur of shadows and torchlight. Her hands, still raw and stinging from the morning’s lye soap, were buried deep within her oversized sleeves. She felt like a lamb decorated for a slaughter, waiting for the blade to drop.

Silas rose from his heavy oak throne, slamming his fist onto the council table. The booming sound instantly silenced the murmuring crowd.

"Pack elders, warriors, brothers and sisters of Ironwood," Silas’s voice echoed off the high rafters, vibrating with calculated authority. "For three generations, our borders have bled. The Midnight Pack—those ruthless, bloodthirsty monsters from the northern valleys—have taken our hunting grounds and slaughtered our youth. Only last week, three more of our scouts were returned to us in pieces."

An angry, low rumble of snarls and growls rippled through the sea of warriors. Eva shrank back further against the stone pillar, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The Midnight Pack. If they were as savage as her father claimed, what would they do to her when they realized she was a fraud?

"We are strong, but a war of attrition will drain us to the bone," Silas continued, playing the room like a master conductor. He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the grim faces of his council. "To preserve the future of Ironwood, I have spent the last fortnight negotiating a peace treaty with Alpha Torin. The fighting stops at midnight tonight."

An elder with a graying beard stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "And what does the brute Torin demand in return for this peace, Alpha? He has never been a man to give mercy for free."

Silas sighed heavily, a perfectly rehearsed display of a grieving, self-sacrificing leader. He reached out, gently taking Victoria’s hand and stepping forward.

"Torin demands a blood bound alliance," Silas announced, his voice tight with faux emotion. "He demanded the hand of the Alpha’s direct bloodline. He demanded my precious firstborn daughter. My elder daughter, Victoria."

A collective gasp went up from the council. Several young warriors immediately stepped forward, their eyes flashing with defensive rage.

"You cannot give Lady Victoria to those monsters!" one young enforcer barked, his fists clenched. "She is the jewel of Ironwood! She is meant to be our future Luna, to lead us with her strength and beauty! To hand her over to the Midnight Pack is an insult to our bloodline!"

Victoria lowered her head, squeezing Silas’s hand as if drawing strength from him, though beneath her long eyelashes, Eva could see the glint of absolute triumph. Victoria loved the adoration, loved the lie they were spinning.

"Do you think my heart does not bleed?!" Silas roared back, his Alpha aura flaring, forcing the rebellious young warriors to instantly bow their heads in submission. "Victoria is my pride and joy! She is the most valuable asset this pack possesses. Her wolf is fierce, her mind is sharp, and she carries the very soul of Ironwood within her. To lose her would be a devastating blow to our leadership."

Silas turned his head slowly, his eyes cutting through the crowd, slicing through the smoke and torchlight until they landed directly on the shadowed pillar where Eva stood.

"That is why," Silas said, his voice dropping into a smooth, sinister purr, "I have made a executive decree. The treaty specifies only that I must give my daughter. But Torin has never seen my children. He does not know their faces."

Silas raised a hand, gesturing toward the back of the room. "Bring her forward."

The two guards flanking Eva grabbed her arms roughly, dragging her out from behind the pillar. Eva stumbled, her vision obscured by the heavy veil, but she forced her legs to move, terrified of what would happen if she fell. The crowd parted for her, but there was no respect in their movements—only a cold, shifting tide of disgust and realization.

As she reached the base of the dais, Silas pointed down at her with sneering contempt.

"I will not sacrifice Victoria to the wolves of the North," Silas declared loudly to the council. "Instead, we send them her."

The hall erupted into a wave of cruel whispers and mocking laughter.

"The wolfless burden?" one elder muttered aloud, a smirk playing on his lips. "You’re giving him the broken one?"

"It is a stroke of genius, Alpha!" another councilman laughed. "We rid ourselves of a useless mouth to feed, we secure our peace, and we insult the Midnight Pack without them even knowing it!"

"Exactly," Silas said, his voice ringing with cold satisfaction. "To the world, she will wear Victoria’s name. She will wear the veil, she will sign the registry, and she will play the part of the proud Ironwood princess. Let Torin take her. Let him feed her, let him house her, and let him waste his resources on a defective human while our pack grows stronger, wealthier, and ready to reclaim our lands when the time is right."

Eva stood frozen beneath her veil, the humiliation washing over her like freezing water. They were talking about her as if she were a piece of rotting meat, a clever trick to play on an enemy. No one in this room cared that she was being sent to a monster. No one cared if she lived or died. To them, her only value was as a decoy.

Victoria stepped to the edge of the dais, looking down at Eva’s veiled form. "Make sure you play your part well, darling sister," Victoria whispered, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Don't speak unless you are spoken to. Don't let him see how pathetic you are until the ink on the treaty is completely dry. You wouldn't want to ruin my good name, would you?"

"Enough," Silas commanded, stepping back down to his throne. He picked up a goblet of dark wine, raising it high. "To the survival of Ironwood, and to the foolish Alpha of the North who thinks he is stealing our crown jewel!"

The council cheered, raising their cups in a raucous, mocking toast.

Through the thick lace of her veil, Eva felt a single, hot tear slip down her cheek, instantly soaking into the collar of her oversized dress. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her father's parting threats from the cellar echoing in her mind. She had to survive this. She had to play the princess, even if it killed her.