Chapter Eleven
Calista
By the time I reached the chamber the Frostcrag guard led me to, I had half-moon gouges in my palms from squeezing my fists so tightly.
I closed the door behind me and stood there in silence, breathing too fast, staring at nothing.
The room was grand, enormous by Hollowcrest standards. A hearth had already been lit and a basin steamed gently in the corner. The largest bed I’d ever seen, dressed in wool and fur, stood in the center.
But I couldn’t enjoy the fineries. Fury rose in me with each second that passed. I had crossed the sea to become a queen, to save my Court. Instead, I had been led into a prettier cell and told to be grateful for the view.
A sharp knock sounded before I could give in to the urge to throw something.
The door opened without waiting for my leave.
The priestess entered first, white-veiled, and efficient as winter.
Behind her came two females in wolf-gray who dipped into shallow bows.
One had a crown of light braids atop her head and eyes the blue of deep ice, while the older one wore her auburn locks in a sharp tail and had hands that looked competent with hairpins or knives depending on the need.
The priestess inclined her head just enough to acknowledge me. “Moon bride. There is no more time. The wedding rite will be performed immediately.”
Of course it would. The room tilted for one brief, sick heartbeat. I wouldn’t even be allowed the time to absorb the death of everything I had crossed the sea believing.
The blonde-braided female stepped forward and dipped her chin. “Brynja.” She looked a few years older than me.
The red-haired, older one followed. “And I’m Tamsin.”
Neither smiled. Good. I had no use for softness right now.
The priestess moved toward the wardrobe already laid out with pale blue silks and silver thread, Frostcrag colors. “You will be dressed for the rite at once.”
I laughed. The sound was ugly enough that all three females paused. “At once,” I repeated. “Why not? The rest of my life seems to have been decided on that schedule.”
The priestess’s eyes sharpened behind the veil. “Calista...”
There was warning in it.
I turned to face her fully. “Did you know?”
Brynja and Tamsin exchanged the briefest glance and wisely kept silent.
“The Conclave’s burdens are not mine to speak on.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
The silence stretched.
“No.”
I wasn’t certain I believed her. Everyone in this gods-cursed fortress had likely known the marriage would not save Hollowcrest long before I stepped foot on the first boat. I had been the last fool in Lunaris still pretending otherwise.
Brynja crossed to me with the wedding gown draped over one arm, moon-pale silk and silverwork gleaming softly in the firelight. “Arms up.”
For one mad second, I considered refusing. I wanted to tear the gown and walk into the rite in travel leathers and rope and blade instead. But anger without aim was just another leash, and I had no room left for wasted movement.
So I lifted my arms.
Tamsin loosened the ties of my cloak and drew it from my shoulders. Brynja stripped away the salt-stiffened outer layers with quick practiced efficiency. Hands moved at me and around me. Because that was what the realm demanded of brides and queens and sacrifices alike.
I stood there half-undressed while they worked and tried not to think of the council chamber. Of Dorian’s face. Of Savage’s hand on the map. Of the clean precise way hope had been cut from me and left bleeding on the table.
Brynja pulled the gown over my head, and Tamsin laced the back.
“Neris, we are nearly ready for the crown,” Tamsin called at the priestess over her shoulder.
So that was her name…
The high priestess sorted through the silver pins and a crescent coronet across the dressing table. I caught my reflection in the tall mirror opposite the hearth and almost didn’t recognize the female staring back.
Pale blue silk over skin still marked by rope and battle. Light hair combed loose over bruised shoulders. Hollowcrest’s hard edges hidden beneath Frostcrag’s idea of bridal grace. A beautiful lie.
My hand slid into the pocket of the discarded cloak before anyone could stop me. My fingers closed around the folded parchment. It was a risk, a terrible risk.
But it was also the last lawful path left open to a female who had just learned exactly what a wolfless bride was worth in a room full of Alphas.
The shock had begun to pass now. It turned from grief into something harder.
Tamsin moved behind me, comb dragging through my hair. “Hold still.”
I did. Because now, finally, I knew what to do.
Neris stepped into my reflection behind me. “The king waits in the temple.”
I met my own eyes in the glass. My face had gone very calm. “Good,” I replied.
Brynja fastened the last clasp at my throat, Tamsin settled the silver crescent into my hair, and Neris extended the final bridal chain.
I took it without protest because protest was no longer the point. By the time they turned me toward the door, my pulse had steadied.
I had finally stopped trying to save Hollowcrest the way they wanted me to. The king and the Conclave had killed that version of the future.
Now they would meet the only one they had left me.
“Come now.” Neris held the door open, her sharp gaze a touch gentler than normal as she dipped her head.
We stepped into the corridor, and I held my breath. The passageway beyond glowed with torchlight, bright enough to look ceremonial from a distance.
Like the path to a wedding.
Like the path to war.
I slipped the parchment into the hidden fold in my gown and lifted my chin.
If the realm would not bend for me as a bride, then I would claim something stronger than Lunaris itself.
The high priestess led me through the winding corridors of the fortress’s outer walls in utter silence.
Which was perfectly fine as my churning thoughts were more than enough company.
We turned the last corner before the temple and slowed.
The doors were open, torches throwing warm light over iron and stone.
A low murmur rose and fell inside, echoing through my entire form.
Neris set her hand to the door, peered inside as if to check on something and then looked back to me. “Ready?”
No. “Yes.” Inhaling deeply, I stepped through the threshold and into the light.
Every eye in Frostcrag turned toward me.
For one suspended heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.
The chamber beyond glowed in cold gold and moon-silver, every torch and candle seeming to bend toward the altar where the Savage King waited.
The high windows poured winter light across the stone floor, and the towering statue of Selraya in the corner watched over it all with veiled, merciless grace.
Her crescent-crowned brow caught the light.
The silvered wolf at her feet looked patient enough to wait centuries for blood.
Despite the dozens of bodies filling the temple like shadows, I felt absolutely alone.
Again, I allowed my hand to travel to the folded parchment hidden against my skin. It felt heavier than any blade.
The law. The old words. The only path left.
I forced myself to keep walking.
At the altar, the Savage King stood carved from winter and iron, his broad form wrapped in black and frost-blue, his iron mask swallowing half his face.
Dressed in royal finery, he looked less like a male and more like a force that the realm had bent itself around.
The gathered Alphas sat in the first row in their colors, and Frostcrag nobles filled the pews.
This was the moment to make my invocation, my chance, my one desperate last move. The entire Conclave was here to witness the ceremony, fully observed by law.
I stared at the Savage for half a breath too long. Then he looked back at me, and the distance between us seemed to narrow in a way that made the temple feel suddenly too small.
I stepped into my place at the altar, hands folded tight enough to hurt, and forced myself not to look down. The temple hummed quietly around us.
Savage’s power and impossible heat curled around me, barely contained. “I’m sorry things did not turn out as you’d hoped,” he murmured low under his breath.
Moon curse him for that.
I didn’t look directly at him. I couldn’t afford to. Not now. Not when every time I truly looked at him, I saw the same terrible contradiction.
He was not the monster I had wanted him to be.
He was a good king. And good kings still destroyed small courts when the realm demanded it. That was the cruelty of it.
My fingers brushed the hidden parchment beneath the silk.
Neris lifted her hands and the temple stilled. “By Sel’s calm and Raya’s fire, by Conclave writ and Frostcrag law, we are gathered to witness the binding of Calista Vale of Hollowcrest Isle to the Alpha King.”
Binding. The word rolled through the chamber and tightened around my ribs.
I kept my breathing slow.
“Under Sel’s calm and Raya’s fire,” Neris continued, “speak what you bind.”
The Savage reached for the cord when she called for our wrists.
I offered mine.
The instant his fingers brushed my skin, my pulse jumped traitorously. He was too warm. Goddess, was I being a fool to risk everything? Could there have been another way to save Hollowcrest? Gritting my teeth, I strengthened my resolve.
It was Suri. It was Ma.
I could do this. I had to do this.
The walls closed in tighter as the high priestess droned on. There was no other choice.
If I gave in now, if I let the cord tighten and the vows settle and the final claim be spoken, then tomorrow or the next day, Hollowcrest would still be carved apart.
The king would still be bound by the system he served.
My mother’s secret could be discovered, and Suri could still suffer the same fate I had if her Wolvryn never emerged.
I would never allow that to happen.
Pressure built behind my sternum until it felt like I might crack apart under it. This was the only path.
The Blood Hunt.
The Moon Crown.
The Edicts.
Real power or nothing.
I glanced up at the Savage then. His attention was on me fully now as if he could feel the moment something inside me was shifting into place.
“I’m sorry, too.” My voice came out rawer than I intended.
His eyes sharpened instantly. “What—”
I moved before he could finish, pulling my wrist from Neris’s hold. The binding cord tightened for one breath, then loosened as I stepped backward out of the altar circle. Gasps scattered through the pews, sharp and immediate. The priestess turned so quickly her white veil snapped at her shoulders.
“Calista—”
I drew the folded parchment from its hiding place. The temple went silent. I held the old law in both hands and lifted my chin. “I, Calista Vale of Hollowcrest Isle, invoke the Blood Hunt.”