The Night Before the Rite

I do not sleep.

The moon hangs full and white outside my narrow window. Tomorrow, it will rise again, and I will walk into the arena. Tomorrow, I will face my fated mate with blades in our hands and a usurper's magic between us.

I sit on the cold floor of my tower cell, my mother's journals spread around me like fallen leaves. I have read them so many times that the words blur. But I keep reading. Every detail might save my life.

Roran breathes softly on the bed. His wound is healing, but he is still weak. Elara brought fresh bandages at dusk. She also brought news.

"Maeve has summoned Alphas from every pack," Elara had whispered. "She wants witnesses. She wants everyone to see the lost princess fall."

"Then everyone will see her fall instead."

Elara had gripped my hand. "Your mother would be proud."

I wish I could believe that.

Now, alone in the dark, I let myself feel the fear I have been pushing down. My hands shake. My wolf paces restlessly. The silver mark on my wrist glows and fades like a heartbeat.

I am seventeen years old. I was a servant a week ago. And tomorrow, I must defeat a queen who has ruled for two decades through blood magic and terror.

But I am not alone.

Kael's kiss still burns on my lips. His words echo in my skull. I have loved you since before you were born.

The bond between us is real. Not the collar's twisted magic. Something older. Deeper. A thread of silver light that connects my heart to his.

I touch the pendant beneath my tunic. It is warm, pulsing in rhythm with my mark.

There is a knock on my door.

Three quick raps. Then two. The loyalists' signal.

I open the door. Roran's second, a young wolf named Finn, slips inside. His eyes are wild.

"Maeve has moved the rite," he gasps. "It is not at moonrise. It is at dawn."

My blood turns to ice. "Dawn? That is hours from now."

"She wants to catch you unprepared. She has spread a rumor that the rite is at moonrise. Most of the loyalists will be in the wrong place." Finn grabs my arm. "You need to get to the arena now. Hide in the passage beneath the stands. Wait for the right moment."

"Kael. Does he know?"

"I do not know. The barracks are sealed. No one gets in or out."

I think of Kael sleeping in his cell, believing he has one more day. Believing he has time to prepare.

"He needs to know."

"There is no time." Finn's grip tightens. "If you do not reach the arena before dawn, Maeve will declare you forfeit. She will execute the loyalists and seal the throne forever."

I look at Roran, still unconscious on the bed. At Elara's worried face in my memory. At the journals that hold my mother's last hopes.

"Then we go now."

I gather the silver daggers, strap the pendant to my chest, and follow Finn into the dark.

The passage beneath the arena is cold and smells of old blood. Centuries of rites have soaked into these stones. My wolf whines softly.

Finn leads me to a small alcove with a view of the arena floor through a cracked stone. "Stay here. When the sun rises, Maeve will enter. She will call for you. That is when you step out."

"What about the loyalists?"

"They will be here. The ones who heard the truth." He squeezes my shoulder. "Your mother's blood runs in you. Do not forget that."

He disappears into the tunnel. I am alone.

I press my eye to the crack and watch.

The arena is massive, carved from black stone. Torches line the walls, unlit. The stands rise in steep tiers, empty now. In the center, a circle of silver runes glows faintly. The rite circle.

Tomorrow, I will stand there.

Or today. Dawn is close.

I check my weapons. Two silver daggers. The pendant. My mother's journal tucked into my belt, just in case.

My mark burns steadily now, as if counting down the minutes.

Then I hear footsteps.

Boots on stone. Many boots. The stands begin to fill. Wolves in dark armor take their seats. Maeve's loyalists. Then others, wolves in furs and leathers. Alphas from distant packs. They murmur among themselves, their voices a low hum.

A door opens on the far side of the arena. Maeve enters.

She wears a gown of black and red, her iron crown gleaming. Her red eyes sweep the crowd, and silence falls.

"Wolves of the Silvermoon kingdom and beyond," she announces, her voice carrying without effort. "Today, the rite begins. Today, the pretender falls."

The crowd cheers. My stomach turns.

Maeve raises her hand. "Bring the champion."

Another door opens. Kael walks out.

He is shirtless, his chest marked with fresh scars. The collar glows angrily at his throat, red runes pulsing. His eyes scan the arena, searching.

Searching for me.

He does not see me. I am hidden. But I feel his gaze pass over my hiding place, and the bond hums between us.

"The lost princess has not arrived," Maeve says, her voice dripping with false sorrow. "Perhaps she is afraid. Perhaps she has fled."

The crowd laughs.

"Then by the laws of the rite, I declare her forfeit. Her loyalists will be executed at noon. And the Silvermoon throne will remain mine."

She raises her hand to signal the executioners.

I cannot wait any longer.

I step out of the passage and into the arena.

"I am here."

Every head turns. Every eye finds me. Maeve's smile freezes on her face.

I walk toward the center of the arena, my boots loud on the stone. The silver mark on my wrist blazes like a star. The pendant glows beneath my tunic.

Kael's eyes meet mine. I see relief. Fear. Love.

"You came," Maeve says, recovering her composure. "How brave. How foolish."

"I made a promise." I stop at the edge of the rite circle. "To my mother. To my people. To myself."

Maeve gestures to the circle. "Then step inside. Let the rite begin."

I look at Kael. He nods once.

I step into the circle.

The silver runes flare to life around me, sealing the boundaries. There is no escape now. Only victory or death.

Maeve smiles. "The rules are simple. Two enter. One leaves. The victor claims the throne." She looks at Kael. "Champion. Kill her."

Kael's body jerks. The collar blazes. His hand goes to his sword.

But he does not draw.

"Kill her," Maeve screams.

His eyes find mine. He is fighting the collar. Sweat pours down his face. The muscles in his neck strain.

I take a step toward him.

"No," Maeve shrieks. "Do not let her near you."

I keep walking. The runes burn at my feet, but I do not stop.

"I claim you, Kael," I say, loud enough for every wolf in the arena to hear. "Not as my champion. As my mate. As my equal. As my heart."

The bond between us explodes with light.

The collar screams. Red runes fight silver fire. Kael drops to his knees, his hands clutching his throat.

"Choose," I whisper.

He looks up at me. His eyes are clear.

"I choose you."

The collar shatters.

Iron fragments rain down. Maeve's scream of fury echoes across the arena. And Kael rises, free for the first time in twenty years.

But the rite is not over.

Maeve steps into the circle, her hands crackling with dark magic.

"If I cannot have a champion," she snarls, "I will do it myself."

She lunges for me.