身代わり妻の海外逃亡〜遅すぎた夫の懺悔〜

The marble floor burned cold against Lyra Hale's knees.

She stayed down because everyone expected her to. Because this was her place now. Kneeling, waiting and hoping for scraps of kindness that would never come.

"Lyra Hale."

Her wolf stirred at the sound of his voice. Even now, after everything, the stupid creature wanted him.

Lyra lifted her head. Damon stood on the raised platform where the royal matchmaker had called them both. His dark hair caught the light from the crystal chandeliers. Behind him, her stepsister Elara watched with those perfect green eyes, one hand resting on his arm like she owned him.

Maybe she did.

"Stand up," Damon said.

Lyra got to her feet and her legs shook. The entire Royal Matching Hall stretched out behind her, packed with wolves from every corner of the kingdom. They'd all come to witness the sacred mate bonds being confirmed.

No one was celebrating for her.

"You know why we're here," Damon continued. His voice carried across the hall, cold and formal. Nothing like the warmth he'd shown her three months ago when the mate bond first snapped into place. "The bond is real. I feel it. You feel it."

Lyra's wolf whimpered. Yes. They felt it. Every second of every day, pulling at something deep in her chest.

"But a bond is not a command," he said. "And I choose her."

He turned to Elara. She smiled, soft and sweet, the way she always did when other people were watching. When it was just the two of them at home, that smile disappeared. Then came the cutting words. The casual cruelty.

"I, Damon Thorne, reject you, Lyra Hale, as my mate."

The bond snapped.

That's what it felt like anyway. Something vital inside Lyra just broke apart. Her wolf howled. She gasped, pressing her hand to her chest like that would hold the pieces together. But It didn't help.

Pain rolled through her in waves. Hot, then cold, then hot again. Her vision blurred. Someone in the crowd laughed.

"You're supposed to accept it," Elara called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Poor thing, she looks confused."

More laughter.

Lyra wanted to run, wanted to shift and tear out of this hall and never come back. But her father sat in the third row with his new wife, Elara's mother. He caught her eye and shook his head once.

Don't embarrass us more than you already have.

She swallowed the scream building in her throat. "I accept your rejection."

Damon didn't even look relieved. He just turned away, already dismissing her. Elara laced her fingers through his. They walked off the platform together while Lyra stood there, still trying to breathe through the pain.

The royal matchmaker, an elderly woman with silver streaks in her black hair, stepped forward. Her attention was fixed on Elara.

"Elara Hale," she announced. "You have been chosen by the Crown to fulfill the Northern Alliance. You will present yourself as bride to Prince Rowan of the North Pack. The ceremony will take place in seven days."

The crowd went silent.

Elara's smile vanished. "What?"

"The treaty requires a bride from your bloodline," the matchmaker said calmly. "Your family pledged this bond generations ago. It is time to honor that pledge."

"No." Elara pulled away from Damon. "I'm not marrying some broken prince in a frozen wasteland. That's not happening."

Lyra had heard rumors about Prince Rowan. Everyone had too. The oldest son of the Northern Alpha King. Once a powerful warrior and unmatched in combat. Then came the accident five years ago. Now he was supposedly crippled, scarred and hidden away in his castle.

Some people said he was barely alive.

"The alliance must be honored," the matchmaker repeated. "If you refuse, your entire family will face the consequences."

Lyra's father stood up. "Surely there's another way. Elara is already matched with Damon."

"Not relevant to the treaty," the matchmaker cut in. "The North requires a bride. They will have one."

Elara's mother clutched her daughter's hand. "You can't do this. She's too precious and too delicate for that kind of life."

Lyra almost laughed. Delicate. Right. Elara, who'd pushed her down the stairs when she was twelve and told everyone she tripped.

"Then perhaps the other daughter," someone suggested.

Lyra felt a sudden shock.

The matchmaker turned to her for the first time. Her eyes were dark and unreadable. "Lyra Hale. You share the same father and the same bloodline. You could fulfill the treaty in your sister's place."

"Absolutely not," Elara said quickly. "She's not suitable and she's weak. The North would be insulted."

But the matchmaker didn't seem to care. She studied Lyra like she was a puzzle to solve. "Can you shift?"

"Yes."

"Can you read and write?"

"Yes."

"Are you of marriageable age and sound mind?"

Lyra hesitated. Was she sound? After what just happened, after feeling her mate bond shatter into nothing, she wasn't sure. But she nodded anyway. "Yes."

"Then you meet the requirements." The matchmaker looked to Lyra's father. "Choose. One daughter goes north, or the entire family suffers the penalty for breaking a royal treaty."

Her father wouldn't meet her eyes. His wife whispered something in his ear. They both looked at Elara, then at Lyra.

She already knew what they'd choose.

"Lyra will go," her father said.

Just like that. No hesitation. No apology.

The matchmaker nodded. "Very well. Lyra Hale, you will travel to the Northern Territory in three days. You will marry Prince Rowan and seal the alliance. Do you understand?"

Lyra lifted her chin. Her wolf was still whimpering from the rejection, but underneath that pain, something else stirred. Something angry.

"I understand."

"Good." The matchmaker's expression softened slightly. "Prepare yourself, girl. The North is not kind to the weak."

She dismissed Lyra with a wave of her hand.

Lyra walked out of the Royal Matching Hall alone. By the time she reached the outer courtyard, the sun had set. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to think about what came next.

A servant girl hurried past. Lyra caught her arm. "What do you know about Prince Rowan?"

The girl looked terrified. "Miss, I shouldn't..."

"Please."

She glanced around, then leaned in close. "They say he's barely human anymore. Crippled from the waist down, covered in scars and his mind is broken too. Cruel when he speaks at all."

Lyra's throat tightened. "Why?"

"He's violent and unpredictable. Most people think he'd be better off dead." She pulled away. "I'm sorry, miss. I have to go."

She disappeared into the castle.

Lyra stood there in the dark, alone, with those words echoing in her head.

Crippled, cruel and better off dead.

That was who she was being sent to marry.