Chapter 59: Elsie

Elsie POV

The Midnight Pack's manor rose from the frozen earth like a wound in the landscape, all black stone and sharp angles, its towers clawing at the grey sky.

Elsie had grown up within these walls, had learned to walk on these cold floors, had learned to read in the dim light that filtered through the narrow windows. She knew every shadow, every secret, every whispered conversation that echoed through the corridors at night.

The manor was not a place of warmth. It was not a home, not in the way other packs understood the word. It was a fortress. A sanctuary. A prison, depending on who was asking.

Tonight, it was all three.

Elsie sat at the vanity in her chambers, a heavy leather bound book open before her, its pages filled with cramped handwriting and dark diagrams. The text was ancient, written in a language that had died out centuries before her grandmother was born. She could read it fluently. Her mother had made sure of that.

Zuri stood behind her, the silver handled brush moving through Elsie's long red hair in slow, deliberate strokes. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.

The room was warm despite the cold outside, but Elsie barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the book, on the passage she had been studying for hours.

"The spell requires a blood offering," she murmured, tracing the words with her fingertip. "But not just any blood. The blood of a willing sacrifice."

Zuri's hand paused on the brush. "That is dangerous, my lady."

"All magic is dangerous."

"Some more than others."

Elsie smiled, a small, sharp curve of her lips. Zuri had been with her for three years, ever since the Luna had brought her from the Obsidian Pack to serve as Elsie's personal maid.

She was older than Elsie by a decade, with dark skin that gleamed like polished obsidian and eyes that missed nothing. She was loyal. She was discreet. And she was one of the few people in the manor who spoke to Elsie as if she were a person rather than a possession.

"Do you believe in the mate bond, Zuri?" Elsie asked, closing the book.

Zuri resumed brushing. "I believe the Moon Goddess has a plan for everyone. Whether that plan includes a mate is not for me to say."

"That is a diplomatic answer."

"I am a diplomatic person."

Elsie laughed, a genuine sound that she rarely made in public. "You are evasive. There is a difference."

Zuri smiled but did not respond.

A knock sounded at the door. A maid entered, her face flushed, her hands twisting in her apron. She curtsied quickly, her eyes darting from Elsie to Zuri and back again.

"My lady. You have a visitor."

Elsie raised an eyebrow. "A visitor? At this hour?"

"He is waiting in the great hall. He came from Riverpack. His name is Malcom."

Elsie exchanged a glance with Zuri. The name was familiar. Malcom, son of Alpha Soren of Riverpack. He had arrived at the manor weeks ago, sent by his father to negotiate trade agreements between their packs.

He was supposed to have returned home by now. Instead, he had lingered, finding excuses to remain, finding reasons to cross paths with Elsie.

She had tolerated his presence. Barely.

"Tell him I will be down shortly," Elsie said.

The maid curtsied again and disappeared.

Zuri set down the brush and began to braid Elsie's hair, her fingers moving quickly and efficiently. "Do you know why he is here?"

"I can guess."

"Shall I stay close?"

Elsie considered. Zuri was a comforting presence, a buffer against the unwanted attention of men who saw her as a prize to be won rather than a person to be known. But Malcom was not a threat. He was merely annoying.

"No," Elsie said. "Wait in the corridor. I will not be long."

Zuri nodded and stepped back, admiring her work. The braid was intricate, woven with black silk ribbons that matched the dark velvet of Elsie's gown. She looked like a doll, pale and pretty and perfectly arranged.

But Elsie was no doll. And she had never appreciated being treated like one.

---

The great hall was cold despite the fires burning in the massive hearths at either end. The ceiling soared above, lost in shadows, and the black stone floors reflected the flickering torchlight like dark water.

Members of the Midnight Pack moved through the space with quiet purpose, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks, their footsteps silent on the stone.

Malcom stood near the center of the hall, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze wandering over the tapestries that lined the walls. He was tall, broad shouldered, with sandy hair and the easy smile of a man who had never been told no.

He turned when Elsie approached, and his smile widened.

"Lady Elsie," he said, bowing. "You look lovely this evening."

"I look the same as I did this morning," Elsie said. "When you last saw me."

Malcom's smile faltered for just a moment, then recovered. "You are too modest."

"I am not modest. I am honest."

She swept past him toward the doors that led to the gardens, not waiting to see if he would follow. He did, of course. Men like Malcom always followed.

The gardens of the Midnight Pack were not like the gardens of other packs. There were no flowers here, no lush greenery, no carefully manicured hedges.

The ground was rocky and uneven, the plants that grew here were thorny and gray, and the only color came from the pale white roses that bloomed in stubborn defiance of the infertile soil.

Elsie walked along the gravel path, her gown brushing against the dead leaves, her breath fogging in the cold air. Malcom walked beside her, close enough to be familiar, far enough to be respectful.

Zuri followed at a distance, a shadow in the darkness.

"The king has granted his consent," Malcom said, breaking the silence. "For our marriage."

Elsie stopped walking. She turned to face him, her expression carefully blank.

"And who told you I wished to marry you?"

Malcom shifted on his feet, his easy confidence cracking. "I assumed... your father, Alpha Garrath, and my father have spoken of the match. It would unite our packs. Strengthen both."

"My father speaks of many things." Elsie plucked a white rose from the nearest bush, twirling it between her fingers. The thorns bit into her skin, but she did not flinch. "He does not speak for me."

"But you are his daughter. It is expected that you would..."

"That I would what? Obey? Submit? Marry a stranger because our fathers find it convenient?" Elsie laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You do not know me, Malcom. You know my face. You know my mother's reputation. You know nothing of my mind, my heart, or my desires."

Malcom's jaw tightened. "I am trying to know you. That is why I stayed."

"You stayed because you are a fisherman who has never seen a woman who did not throw herself at your feet." Elsie pulled a petal from the rose and let it fall to the ground. "I am not such a woman."

"I never said you were."

"You did not need to. Your expectations are written on your face every time you look at me." She pulled another petal. "You see a pretty thing. A trophy. A way to secure your father's alliance with my mother's power."

Malcom's hands curled into fists at his sides. "That is not fair."

"Fair?" Elsie pulled another petal. "The world is not fair, Malcom. The sooner you learn that, the better."

She pulled the last petal and let the bare stem fall to the ground. The thorns had left red marks on her fingers, small beads of blood welling up where the skin had broken.

"You are very far from home," she said. "I think it is time you returned to your seas, fisherman."

She turned and walked away, Zuri falling into step behind her.

Malcom called after her. "Elsie. Wait."

She did not wait.

She climbed the steps to the manor and disappeared through the great doors, leaving him standing alone in the dark garden, the torn petals scattered at his feet.

---

Zuri closed the door to Elsie's chamber and leaned against it, her arms crossed.

"That was harsh," she said.

"He deserved harsh." Elsie sat at her vanity and reached for the book she had been reading earlier. "He came here expecting to claim me like a parcel of land. I merely corrected his assumption."

"You could have been kinder."

"I could have been many things. Kindness was not required."

Zuri sighed and moved to stand behind Elsie, her hands resting on the back of the chair. "Your mother will not be pleased."

"My mother is rarely pleased." Elsie opened the book to the marked page. "She will understand. She did not marry for love either. But she chose her own path. She did not let anyone choose it for her."

"Lady Nyra is not most women."

"No," Elsie agreed, tracing the words on the page. "She is not. And neither am I."

Zuri was silent for a moment. Then she picked up the brush and began to loosen the braid, working the silk ribbons free from Elsie's red hair.

"What will you do?" Zuri asked. "If Malcom does not leave? If his father pressures Alpha Garrath? If the king's consent becomes a command?"

Elsie closed the book and stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the window. The red hair, the pale skin, the sharp eyes that saw too much and revealed too little.

"I will do what I have always done," she said. "I will survive."

She did not add the rest. The part about how surviving was not the same as living. The part about how she was tired of being a pawn in games she did not choose. The part about how she dreamed of escaping this cold manor, these gray skies, this life that had been laid out for her before she was born.

Some dreams were too dangerous to speak aloud.

So she held them close, like secrets, and waited for a future she could not yet imagine.