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Liana’s POV

Dog fights are inhumane. They claim that the combatants in the arena thrive on brutality. They assert that the beast within them constantly seeks an outlet. Even on nights like this, when the moon is not at its fullest and they appear as mere men.

And do they not deserve violence for the destruction they have wrought upon our lands? But how many lives will be lost? And for what purpose?

I shift uncomfortably on the wooden chair, adjusting the high collar of my gown, then brushing a stray lock of red hair away from my face. It’s stifling here. Overwhelmingly hot. Suffocating.

When I emerged from the carriage two days ago, the rugged terrain of the Borderlands stirred something deep within me—even though I have never ventured this far north before.

The thought of what lies beyond these stone barriers makes me yearn to rip off this dress and flee this castle. I long to dash through the wild grass and feel the untamed dandelions beneath my feet. I crave the scent of pine trees and the sound of the wind howling through the mountains.

Instead, I take a sip of water and clasp my hands tightly in my lap. I try to suppress a flinch at the sickening crack of bone that echoes through the Great Hall as one of the men is hurled across the floor. Blood splatters onto the flagstones near my silk slippers.

Lord Marius, seated across from my father, gazes at me, a cruel and ravenous look in his eyes as he takes in my discomfort.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s contemplating tomorrow night, our wedding night. The mere thought makes me feel even more nauseous than the fight.

“Your daughter seems displeased, Your Highness,” he remarks to my father, only partially misinterpreting the distaste that must be evident on my face.

"She is a woman," my father states plainly.

I feel a surge of indignation. Naturally, that is all my father perceives when he gazes at me.

It doesn’t matter how many noblemen I have charmed on his behalf, or how many grand balls I have attended to serve as a delightful distraction while he plots for the war.

It doesn’t matter that I consented to this marriage to fortify his kingdom.

"Of course," Marius replies, reclining in his chair as if he is oblivious to the crown resting on my father’s neatly combed white hair. "These beings are not pleasant to look at for those of the gentler sex. Yet, surely she finds some amusement in watching them slaughter each other. The wolf clans have ravaged our territories for centuries. They kill, brutalize, and plunder. For any woman traveling alone, unfortunate enough to cross paths with one, they bring fates far worse than death." He raises an eyebrow. "If you catch my drift."

"I do," my father responds.

Marius takes a sip of his ale. "Though, I suppose your women do not encounter many wolves down south—thanks to my armies patrolling the border."

"A noble duty in service of our great kingdom." My father refuses to acknowledge the lord. "And one that comes with its benefits."

"Oh, indeed." Marius’s gaze darkens.

I try to suppress a flinch. I command my body to remain still, a statue, a vessel for the spirit within. I let my thoughts drift across those untamed mountains, even though I can never set foot there myself. Even though I will forever be confined to castle walls, and the body of a woman.

A captive. Or a trophy. That is all I have ever been. I will embody both roles when I marry the lord in return for his ongoing loyalty to my father.

“If she has any feelings for the creatures, though—”

“She does not.”

“Nevertheless, she ought to understand that this brutal aggression is inherent to their nature, and there is honor in combat as well,” Marius remarks. “People across the Borderlands remember the names of the greatest fighters. Those who triumph in their matches tonight will be moved to larger kennels and treated to a hearty meal. Concubines will also attend to them, helping them unleash their inner wolf in various ways.” He taps his fingers against his cup. “As unpleasant as that may sound.”

“Indeed,” my father replies.

I observe the muscular, bare-chested figures in the arena, snarling and bloodied. There is certainly reason to be cautious around Wolves. Yet, as I gaze at the murderous expressions of the crowd, the coins exchanging hands, and the way my father’s lip curls as one of the fighters is knocked to the ground, I ponder whether all men harbor monsters within.

I steal a glance at my fiancé. He lacks the muscular build, ruggedness, or towering height of the beasts in the ring. His dark hair is neatly tied at the nape of his neck, unlike the wild styles of those from beyond the border.

Yet, there is a certain cruelty in the sharp angles of his face, and the way his dark eyes scan my body. I have been surrounded by monsters my entire life, and I can sense the one that lies beneath his pale exterior.

I think I would rather be with someone who appears monstrous than one who is skilled at concealing it.

One of the Wolves rips out the throat of the other. He grins, blood streaming down his chin. A wave of nausea washes over me, but Lord Marius merely smiles and applauds as if he is witnessing a theatrical show.

"Great performance, great performance." He snaps his fingers at a pair of stewards. "Take him to the kennels and clean this mess. Then bring in the next ones." The stewards hesitate at the daunting task, yet they lead the bloodied wolf away as the Great Hall reverberates with commotion. People trade coins, place new bets, and refill their drinks.

I can’t tear my gaze away from the corpse, though.

It lies so motionless. It appears so weighty. It makes my own body feel heavy as well. Maybe he was a monster. Perhaps he harbored a wolf within him that emerged under the full moon. At this moment, he merely resembles a man. A lifeless man. A man who will never traverse those howling mountains again.

Two stewards traverse the hall, seize his arms, and drag him across the stone floor as if he were a slab of meat.

I take a sip of water to calm my shaking hands. Beside me, Lord Marius and my father engage in a discussion about troop numbers on the northern border.

I’m setting my beaker back down on the table when silence descends. It is soon followed by an excited buzz as two more males—two more Wolves—step into the arena.

My focus is initially drawn to the one in front. He is youthful. Too young for this level of brutality, wolf or not. He can’t be more than sixteen—four years younger than me. His coppery hair is tousled as if he’s been anxiously running his fingers through it.

Fear and sorrow are etched on his face, yet his jaw is clenched. It’s as if he understands there is no escape and has accepted his destiny. Something about that expression feels familiar. It ignites a rage within me that I dare not unleash for my own plight.

When I shift my focus to his adversary, I understand why he believes that hope is gone.

“It required five men to subdue the large one,” Lord Marius informs my father. “He took down three of them. He’s not very talkative, but we suspect he’s one of the alphas—likely from the Midnight Clan. Quite an impressive specimen, wouldn’t you agree?”

The larger male embodies the essence of the untamed and rugged mountains from which he must have originated. He stands tall, with a pronounced jawline, and his muscular physique appears as if it has been sculpted from stone.

His tousled hair is a dirty-blond hue, nearly resembling straw, and it is closely cropped on the sides in a style unfamiliar to me in the south. He remains motionless and expressionless, while the crowd howls and screeches like the wind swirling around him.

“Indeed.” My father strokes his neatly trimmed white beard. “And what was he doing this far south?”

“Who can say with these creatures?”

The alpha’s gaze meets mine. And those eyes... they are the deep green of the forest, filled with animosity. No one has ever looked at me in such a way. My mouth goes dry as we lock eyes.

Yet, my spirit stirs.

“It won’t be much of a contest,” my father remarks, as if he’s talking about the weather, not the destinies of two living beings.

“No.” Marius grins maliciously. “We thought we’d break him in tonight. We have something a bit more thrilling planned for him at the festivities tomorrow night.”

The alpha continues to stare at me, his jawline set. He is as still as a statue, but there’s a tempest of violence in his eyes. I force myself to become that statue again, to be that vessel for my soul, and I return his gaze even though my heart races.

“Well,” says Marius, snapping his fingers at the Wolves in a manner that could be seen as either brave or reckless, were it not for the armed guards surrounding the ring. “Let’s begin.”

A muscle twitches in the alpha’s jaw.

A wave of nausea washes over me as the young man's complexion pales. He is facing death, and everyone—himself, the alpha, the onlookers—are aware of it. He maintains his gaze on the imposing figure in front of him. He is courageous, then.

I urge him to be brave, recalling how my mother once told me the same. “Have courage, my little one.”