Chapter 2: The Healer’s Debt

Diana's POV

I stood frozen in the shadows of the pack gallery, the cold stone of the wall biting into my back like an unwanted embrace. I had come to deliver my uncle’s nightly migraine tonic—a bitter distillation of nightshade and crushed willow bark—but the voices drifting from behind the heavy, iron-studded oak doors of his study made the glass vial in my hand tremble against my palm.

"He’s a recluse, father. A broken, scarred relic," Bianca’s voice sliced through the heavy air, sharp and brittle, devoid of the hollow fear she had performed in the conservatory. "He doesn't crave a bride. He wants a trophy to remind him that he conquered us. Why should I wither in that mausoleum when we could simply end him?"

"Arthur Thorne is not easily ended, Bianca," my uncle’s voice rumbled, thick with the peat-smoke scent of the scotch he’d been nursing all night. "The Amberclaw Pack is loyal to a fault—they are not mere guards, they are disciples. If he dies under suspicious circumstances, they will not negotiate. They will raze this manor to the ground and salt the earth with our ashes."

"Not if he dies from 'lingering wounds,'" Bianca countered. I could almost hear the cruel smile in her voice. "Diana has been brewing foxglove and nightshade for the elders for years. I’ve already taken what I need from her cabinet. A few drops in his tea every night... his heart will simply tire out. The world will think the 'Silent King' finally succumbed to his scars."

I stood frozen, the realization chilling my blood. They weren't just sending a bride to settle a blood debt; they were sending an executioner draped in ivory lace.

"And his holdings?" Alaric’s voice was slick with greed, the sound of a man counting gold over a fresh grave.

"The marriage contract is bound in blood and iron," Bianca said, her tone as sharp as a ritual dagger. "Once I am his widow, the Thorne estates, the iron mines, the vast Amberclaw pack territories—they all fall to the Vane lineage. We won't just survive this treaty, Father. We will rule the North."

The cruelty of it made my stomach turn. They were using my skills, my medicine, to commit murder. I thought of the man in the dark—the Alpha who had already lost his mate and his face to fire. Now, he was being led to a second slaughter by the very people who owed him a debt of blood.

"The messenger is waiting for my word." Alaric said, his chair creaking as he stood. "Go. Put on the gown. Make sure the veil is thick enough that he doesn't see the hunge in your eyes."

I scrambled back into the darkness of the hallway as the doors swung open. I watched from behind a suit of armor as Bianca swept toward her chamber, her head held high. She wasn't a sacrifice; she was a predator.

I had to tell someone. I had to warn him. But who would believe the servant-healer over the Alpha’s daughter? If I spoke up, my uncle would have me silenced before I could even reach the border.

I followed Bianca at a distance, my mind racing. I watched as she entered her room, where the ivory wedding gown hung like a ghost. But she didn't move toward it. Instead, she began stuffing a traveling cloak and a bag of gold into a hidden compartment in her wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, stepping into the room.

Bianca whirled around, her eyes narrowing. "Checking the locks, cousin. Or are you here to reclaim your stolen tinctures?"

"You're going to kill him," I breathed. "You're going to poison a man who is already broken."

"I'm going to ensure our family's future," she snapped. She grabbed my arm, her grip bruising. "And you’re going to help me. I’m leaving now, before the guards arrive. I'll take the foxglove with me—if I can’t kill him as his wife, I’ll find another way. But someone needs to be in that carriage. Someone needs to keep Thorne occupied while I disappear."

She looked at the gown, then at me.

"No," I said, backing away.

"Yes," she hissed. "Because if you don't, I'll tell the messenger you were the one who suggested the poison. Who do you think he'll believe, Diana? The girl who brews the potions, or the royal blood?"

The sound of heavy boots echoed in the hall. The Amberclaw warriors were coming for their bride. In that moment, I realized I had two choices: let Bianca escape and potentially kill Arthur Thorne later, or step into that dress and try to save a man I had never met from the viper in my own family.

I looked at the ivory lace. It wasn't a wedding dress anymore. It was a suit of armor.

"Put it on," Bianca commanded, shoving the silk into my hands. "Save the pack, healer. Isn't that what you’ve always wanted? Be the saviour of our pack?"