CHAPTER SEVEN

He didn’t come.

Two days and night crept away and he hadn’t appeared before my eyes, not that I complained at all, I had mixed feelings. As much as I wanted the handsome beast to stay away, a tiny winy part of me felt undesirable.

I had gone through the vicious cycle of waking up, being dressed up by my handmaids like a doll and being locked up in a room; our matrimonial room, I’ve heard. I could only see the overview of the pack from the windows of the room, luckily the windows all had good sights of the pack and even beyond the pack gates and I dilly-dallied watching the animal-people go on with their daily activities. If only I had a sethescope, I could get a better view of the city.

Usually, I tried to pry the girls for as little information as I could get but they were rather very tight lipped. They hadn’t warmed up to me one bit and they were almost afraid of me, or rather, what I was capable of doing.

Day three and I sat at the dressing table, I had gotten used to some of the things around the large room, it no longer felt as bad as it used to. Truth be told, it is cozier here and way richer than the royal palace back at Arazona.

“A simple set of cloth will do, Ophelia” I glanced at her through the mirror as she dressed my hair into a bun.

She hesitated for a moment and looked at me imploringly. They were all distant but never not polite and respectful, and truthfully, I could work with that.

“But…”

“He is not going to come, Ophelia, besides, these dresses are too heavy to be worn every day, and it makes me uncomfortable” Tiredness sat on my brow subconsciously.

“Yes” She tipped her head in a bow and glanced at Dalrymple who headed to change the clothes they must have prepared for me. For the past three days, I’ve been donned in luxurious and enchanting apparels because the girls had informed me that just like the humans, the Werewolves held the consummation nights dear as a custom, therefore I had to dress attractive for my ‘mate’ before consummation.

I saw the pity that flashed through Ophelia’s eyes but she wiped it off when she noticed that my eyes were trained on her through the mirror reflection. I hated it.

The girls may not have liked me but I could see the excitement, shyness and coquettish way they behaved or looked when they dressed me or implied consummation with my supposed ‘mate’. I still have to get used to that word as absurd as it sounds.

Their excitement may have rubbed off on me and in the process, somewhere; somehow, in my heart I knew I was expecting him to show up too. The human in me detested it so much that I felt like crushing that dangerous feeling of want, but too bad that those feelings were too small and was not meant to be, his absence crushed it away, and I am so glad— right?

It is all for the better.

Better an abandoned wife than a chopped off bone. I heard wolves were not so nice when attacking their prey.

After dressing up, I instructed Ophelia to get me drawing supplies. After my futile wait, I had decided moments ago to make my first move since I arrived. I ignored her quizzical look and I didn’t bother to look at the two other girls. I’ll tell you what I think, honestly: I have weighed the pros and cons and I have come to a conclusion; to forgo plan A.

Actually Plan A had always been futile and unattainable right before its birth. Plan A was to escape, and yeah, I know it sounds stupid to you and even now that I think of it, it I really feel embarrassed that I who have always prided myself in being rational came up with such razz Idea.

Plan A failed and will fail because, ONE: I have no place to run to for refuge if I make such a decision, Imperial father seemed so glad and less reluctant to give me away as a form of truce and mother will always adhere to father’s decision, she was born to serve him, so going back to Arazona will be a mistake because it is either Imperial father kills me with his sword or he sends me back to my husband. I doubt I would even make it past the gates of Arazona, I no longer belonged there since the emergence of the marriage alliance.

TWO: If I am sent back to this pack after the futile escape attempt which won’t even happen because the area is heavily guarded and they are yet to trust me so I might die trying to escape, I would be a complete prisoner; my new husband will believe my actions as betrayal or disloyalty and like I said earlier, I will not be a wolf’s meal, just not yet, thank you.

A knock interrupted my thoughts and I heard Ophelia announce her arrival, I instructed her in.

“Luna” Another word I have to get used to.

Ophelia stood with the supplies. “Where do I set it for you?”

I looked around, searching for a right spot for inspiration. I glance around the large room and pointed at the window side at the east of the room. There was an empty table and chair there; it was as if the table an chair was specifically put in place to watch outside the window.

Ophelia hesitated before heading to the side of the room and placed the supplies on the table as I instructed.

She stood aside, waiting for my instructions. She always did that and I indulged her and the other women who all stood by door and erased their presence so well that I almost forgot their existence. I wouldn’t let her do so today so I told her to give me some time alone today

I walked to the table were the drawing supplies sat and I opened the curtains that obstructed me from seeing the view outside clearly, and I sat on the chair facing the table and in that moment I didn't know what to do. Drawing was a way of venting back at Arizona, I couldn't do the things I loved to do because I was princess and my role was to be a delicate one at that who carried herself like a decoration, have lunch with the councillors' daughters and granddaughters and play mind games with their envious and backstabbing selves or learn zither or learn weaving or crotchet or hair making but never swordsmanship, never drawing, never defense! That was a man's duty.

I picked up the drawing supplies and got to work... Not necessarily,since I was staring at an empty palette for half an hour, looking for inspiration.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I leaned on the window and rested my elbow on the window sill and my jaw on my palm. The city of these wolves could be seen at eagle's view from this room and it was so marvelling!

A familiar figure caught my eye in the courtyard, the white wolf.

I was filled with a barely noticeable relief, finally seeing someone I was a little familiar with, not so familiar but it works... better than seeing the handmaidens stoic faces.

She was in her human form and she strode into the courtyard, exuding a sense of quiet strength and confidence. The guards around her straightened, their stances respectful yet vigilant as they continued their training drills.

Intrigued, I set the sketchbook on the table and picked up a charcoal pencil, my eyes never leaving the white wolf. There was an air of power and poise about her that commanded attention. Her movements were deliberate, fluid, and filled with a sense of purpose that drew me in.

I found myself captivated by the way she moved, her every step exuding a mesmerizing grace that was both beautiful and primal. As I watched, a surge of inspiration coursed through me, and I began to sketch, capturing her elegance and strength in every stroke of my pencil.

The white wolf moved with a regal bearing, commanding the respect of those around her. There was an unspoken authority in her demeanor, as if she were the heart of the pack, guiding and protecting her kin with unwavering devotion.

As the guards practiced various combat techniques under her watchful eye, I found myself transfixed by the scene before me. The white wolf's presence seemed to infuse the atmosphere with a sense of reverence and admiration. It was as if she held a silent wisdom, a deep understanding of the pack's ways and the responsibilities that came with her role.

With each pencil mark on the paper, the image of the white wolf began to take shape, capturing her essence with every stroke. Her piercing gaze, the way her fur caught the sunlight, and the power evident in her stance—it all flowed onto the sketchbook, a testament to the profound impact she had on me.

As I finished the sketch, I couldn't help but feel a sense of connection to the white wolf. There was a depth to her that transcended mere appearance, and I was left with an unshakable feeling that our paths were intertwined in ways I couldn't yet comprehend.

With a final flourish of the charcoal pencil, I completed the sketch, capturing the essence of the white wolf in all her resplendent glory. It was a reflection of the captivating presence she held, a symbol of the unspoken bond that had formed between us.

As I set down the pencil and sat back to admire the finished drawing, a sense of calm settled over me. Little did I know that this encounter marked the beginning of a remarkable journey, one that would lead me to unravel the mysteries of the pack and discover my own place within their world.

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