Chapter 2 #2
My wolf let out a soft, mournful whimper, her presence a faint comfort in the storm of my thoughts. She was still there, still bound, but she was mine—the one thing they couldn’t take from me.
I rose and crossed to the vanity, staring once more into the mirror. The face looking back was Viossi’s, but the eyes—those were mine, green and haunted, filled with a quiet resolve. “I’m Lilia,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “No matter what they make me look like, my soul is my own.”
But the words felt hollow against the weight of my reality. My future stretched out before me like a forked path, both roads leading to death. One led to the jaws of a monster, the other to the curse that would shatter my heart if I dared defy them.
I closed my eyes, searching for a shred of peace amidst the fear. Sleep eluded me, my mind tangled in a web of dread and uncertainty. I was to become Viossi, a noblewoman bound for a marriage that might end in blood.
I woke to the bustle of maids moving in and out of the room, preparing bathwater, toiletries, and an elaborate wedding gown. They smiled and curtsied, addressing me as “Lady Viossi”. How utterly surreal, to be fawned over by the same folks who used to sneer at me like I was dirt under their shoes.
Ella took to brushing my hair, her hands—yes, the very ones that once pinched and pushed me—now treating each lock like it’s spun gold. Honestly, could this get any more absurd?
“You look stunning, my lady,” she said, her eyes gleaming with admiration for the status she believed I held, unaware that the “Viossi” before her was the same Lilia she tormented daily.
The twisted reality almost made me want to laugh, but the amusement was quickly swallowed by fear. As I gazed into the mirror at the perfectly adorned bride, I knew she was being sent toward an unknown fate.
When I slipped into the exquisite white wedding gown, a sense of unreality enveloped me. The silk and lace, woven with breathtaking craftsmanship, were worth more than a decade of my labor as a slave. Yet the dress felt weightless, draping over me like a beautiful dream.
Before my departure, Lord Thornfield and Lady Thornfield came to see me off. Lord Thornfield stood rigid, his eyes stern, while his wife feigned wiping away nonexistent tears.
“Remember your duty,” he warned in a low voice. “If you fail, it’s not just your life at stake—our entire family will face the royal family’s wrath.”
“I understand, my lord,” I replied softly, maintaining the poised demeanor expected of Viossi.
“My dear daughter,” Lady Thornfield said with false tenderness, brushing her hand against my cheek. I resisted the urge to flinch at her touch. “You’re making a great sacrifice for our family.”
I said nothing, only nodding. I wasn’t their daughter—just a tool to be used and discarded.
As I took one final glance at the manor, I caught sight of Viossi lurking behind the curtains. Her eyes were dark and haunting, piercing through the shadows, and in that moment, the memory of last night’s threat came rushing back. A wave of unease washed over me, chilling my spine.
Trying to shake off the lingering dread, I forced my attention to the scene unfolding before me.
The wedding procession was ready. A luxurious carriage drawn by white horses gleamed in the sunlight, its opulence almost blinding. Crowds gathered from all directions to witness the spectacle, seeing it as a grand event, a triumph for the Thornfield family.
I walked slowly toward the carriage, the long train of my veil trailing behind me like a cascading waterfall.
Each step quickened my heartbeat, each one a march toward death.
But I clenched my jaw, upholding the grace and dignity expected of Viossi, refusing to let anyone glimpse the fear churning inside me.
As I neared the carriage, the hem of my gown caught underfoot, too long and unwieldy. I stumbled, my balance faltering, and I braced for a fall—
A strong hand caught my arm, steadying my trembling frame.
“Careful, my bride,” a deep, magnetic voice said.
I looked up, startled. Even though I was wearing a veil, I could still clearly see his breathtaking face.
His tousled, deep brown short hair framed his sharply defined features. That amber eyes burned with intensity, gleaming like molten gold, wild and untamed, hinting at his primal nature. And the strong jawline and kingly presence radiated a commanding power and an undeniable charm.
Even more impossible to ignore were his broad shoulders, exuding an effortless strength that radiated from his entire being.
This… was the monster they spoke of? Prince Perock?
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
His gaze locked onto mine, intense and searching, his deep eyes like a vast ocean that could swallow my entire soul.
I felt an inexplicable connection.
A pull I couldn’t name.
My wolf, long dormant within me, stirred restlessly, whining softly in his direction, yearning to draw closer.
“Thank you for coming to escort our daughter personally, Your Highness,” Lord Thornfield said, bowing deeply, clearly caught off guard by the prince’s presence in the wedding entourage. “I didn’t expect you to come yourself. It’s a great honor.”
Prince Perock gave a slight nod, his movement casual yet effortlessly graceful, though his eyes never once strayed from me. “I want to ensure my bride arrives safely,” he said, every gesture radiating the charm of a true gentleman, a far cry from the savage beast of the rumors.
My heart raced, my breath shallow. This man—this so-called monster—watched me with an enigmatic gaze, polite yet distant, curious yet guarded. The weight of his stare pressed down on me like nothing I’d ever felt before, stirring an odd, unfamiliar sensation I couldn’t quite name.
“It seems you’ve twisted your ankle,” he observed, his sharp eyes catching the slight tremble in my stance. “Allow me, please.”
Before I could even process his words or muster a response, he swept me up into his arms in an effortless princess carry, his strength both startling and disarming.
I froze, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, my breath hitching as I found myself pressed against him, unsure whether to protest or simply surrender to the moment.
The crowd erupted in gasps and applause.
I could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, the warmth radiating from his body, and his hands—firmly gripping my waist, nearly encircling it completely.
Realizing how close we were, my face burned with a fierce heat, and I was grateful for the veil that hid my flustered expression. But his scent—a crisp, earthy aroma of fresh pine—enveloped me, inescapable and intoxicating.
It stirred something deep within me, awakening the wolf inside. She grew restless, pacing with an urgent, primal energy, as if she recognized something profoundly familiar in him.
She recognized him.
Every fiber of my being thrummed with an electric pull, a magnetic force drawing me to him in a way I couldn’t resist or understand.
Could this man—the feared beast of legend—be my fated mate?