The Cursed Prince and His Fated Bride

Two soldiers shoved me into a carriage and delivered me to Prince Alaric's castle.

But there was no wedding waiting for me. No bells. No celebration.

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

The fire crackled in the hearth.

In the corner, a high-backed chair held a man whose face was so pale it was almost translucent.

That was Alaric.

Once upon a time, he'd been the dream of every maiden in the kingdom. But three years ago, a witch had laid the most brutal curse upon him.

Every full moon, his wolf would go feral and tear apart whoever he loved most.

At first, the noble families refused to believe it. They fought to marry their daughters to him.

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

Even the king had banished Alaric from the palace, exiling him to this remote castle in the northern cliffs.

He twirled a goblet in his hand, his gaze cutting into me.

"You're not Seraphina."

He said it flatly, then slowly sniffed the air. A cold smile tugged at his lips.

"There's no wolf scent on you. The Blackwoods sent a fake, didn't they?"

"I..."

I wanted to answer. I wanted to deny it, or maybe confess—I wasn't even sure myself.

But years of being forced to swallow those potions had wrecked my throat. The words scraped out raw and broken, barely more than a whisper.

He didn't wait for me to finish.

He flicked his wrist, and the goblet flew toward me, striking my forehead.

Warm blood ran down my face, blurring my vision.

"Good. I could never love a wolf-less waste anyway."

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

I clutched my bleeding forehead and stumbled backward out of the hall.

The castle was vast but nearly empty. Apart from Alaric, there was only the old steward Graves, and a handful of servants the palace had banished here.

The way they looked at me—it was pure contempt. And the smug delight of watching a trainwreck.

"A wolf-less waste, and she thinks she can be a princess?"

"I bet she doesn't last one full moon."

"I bet one night!"

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

The windows leaked cold air. The walls were peeling. Icicles hung from the 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 my reflection in it.

I was so hungry I could barely stand. But I never complained.

Here, I was lower than the lowest scullery maid. At least they got paid.

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

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

That's how I kept myself alive.

Graves found me one afternoon. I was crouched behind the dried-up fountain in the garden, tearing into a frozen crust with my teeth.

His old face crumpled—shock, then a deep, aching pity.

He sighed and pulled a still-warm meat pie from his coat pocket, pressing it into my hands.

"Poor child," he murmured.

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

Poor?

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

Here, it was cold. But at least no one was torturing me.

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

The other servants were happy to let me do their work. They just whispered and pointed behind my back.

I didn't care. Work kept my mind off things. And it kept my stomach from aching so much.

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

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

Alaric hadn't always been like this.

He'd once been the strongest warrior among the wolf clans. He'd led armies at nineteen. At twenty-two, he'd returned victorious from the war against the vampires.

Back then, when he smiled, 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. Could no longer be loved.

"The first three ladies didn't believe the rumors," Graves said quietly. "They married the prince. And they all died on the full moon."

"After that, the prince changed..."

Every full moon, to stop himself from shifting, Alaric had his servants bind him in silver chains. He let the silver burn into his flesh, searing his wolf-soul, rather than risk hurting anyone.

"The prince doesn't hate you," Graves said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He just doesn't want to spill any more innocent blood..."

I nodded.

And kept every word in my heart.