The Cursed Prince and His Fated Bride

Two soldiers loaded me onto a carriage and delivered me to Prince Alaric's castle.

But there was no wedding waiting. No bells.

Just an old steward who led me into the great hall.

The fire crackled in the hearth.

In a high-backed chair in the corner sat a man, his face so pale it was almost white.

That was Alaric.

Once the dream of every girl in the kingdom. Then, three years ago, a witch had laid the cruelest curse on him.

Every full moon, his wolf went feral and killed whoever he loved most.

At first, families didn't believe it. They fought to marry their daughters to him.

Until his third wife died. After that, everyone saw him as a monster.

Even the king banished Alaric to this remote castle.

He swirled a goblet in his hand, studying me.

"You're not Seraphina."

He said it flat, then sniffed the air and curled his lip.

"No wolf scent on you. The Blackwoods sent me a fake?"

I didn't dare admit it. But I didn't deny it either.

He flung the goblet at me. It struck my forehead.

Warm blood trickled down, blurring my vision.

"Good. I couldn't love a wolf-less waste anyway."

He leaned back into the shadows. "Get out. Don't bleed on my floor."

I clutched my bleeding forehead and stumbled out.

The castle was nearly empty—just Alaric, the old steward Graves, and a few servants the palace had exiled here.

The looks they gave me were naked contempt. And the smug anticipation of watching me fall.

"A wolf-less waste, playing princess?"

"I give her one full moon."

"One night, tops."

I was put in the north tower's top room.

Drafty windows. Peeling walls. Icicles hanging from cracks in the ceiling.

Every day, my meal was a basket of hard black bread and a bowl of broth so thin I could see through it.

I was starving. But I didn't complain.

Here, I was lower than the lowest maid.

At least they got paid.

I started sneaking into the kitchen at night, digging through the trash.

On good nights, I'd find half a loaf that wasn't completely moldy.

That's how I survived.

Graves found me one day. I was crouched behind the dry fountain in the garden, wolfing down a frozen crust.

His old face crumpled—shock, then pity.

He pulled a still-warm meat pie from his coat and pressed it into my hands.

"Poor child," he said.

I shook my head and swallowed the last bite of crust.

Poor?

At the Blackwood estate, I'd eaten Seraphina's leftovers my whole life. Not just that—I'd gulped down potions to take every wound meant for her.

Here, at least, no one was torturing me.

Starting that day, I woke before dawn and swept every floor of the castle myself.

The servants were happy to slack off. They just pointed and whispered behind my back.

I didn't care. Work kept my mind off things. And it kept my stomach quiet.

After that, Graves would slip me food whenever he could, always when no one was looking.

And little by little, he told me about the prince.

Alaric hadn't always been this way.

He'd been the strongest warrior in the wolf clans. Led armies at nineteen. Returned victorious from the vampire wars at twenty-two.

Back then, he smiled—and every girl at court blushed.

Then a witch appeared and laid the curse on him.

He could no longer control his wolf. Could no longer love or be loved.

"The first three ladies thought they could change things. They married him. They all died on the full moon."

"After that, the prince changed..."

Every full moon, to stop himself from turning, Alaric had servants chain him with silver. Let the silver bite into his flesh, searing his wolf-soul.

"The prince doesn't hate you," Graves said softly. "He just doesn't want to spill any more innocent blood..."

I nodded.

And held every word close.