THE WOLF KING'S BRIDE

The folks of elder grove had many rules.

Don't stray from the paths at night.

Don't leave your windows open during full moon.

And never, ever speak of the Wolf King.

Aria had broken all three before she turned nineteen.

She sat at the edge of the forest now, wind whipping around her like curious fingers, her bare feet grazing soft moss. Her name was whispered by the trees, though there was no one else around. The scent of rain hung in the air, yet the skies were clear-a sign, some would say. But Aria was never curious about signs.

She was only curious about silence.

The village was preparing for the Festival of Moons. Bright banners fluttered between rooftops, and silver coins had been sewn into dresses with shaky hands. At sunset, the villagers would place offerings at the tree line-tokens of peace, tribute for silence. But it was all pretenses. No one had seen the Wolf King in over a hundred years.

And yet. the forest still watched.

Aria lay back on her elbows, eyes straying up to the sickle moon in the late afternoon sky. Its shape was one her mother called the Hunter's Curve. There were some who whispered it was the mark of fate.

But Aria bore her own curve-branded into her skin just above her heart. A crescent-shaped birthmark, pale as milk and warm to the touch when the moon was full.

She didn't know what it meant. Only that it made people stare.

"Aria!"

She turned at the sound of her sister's voice. Lila came running across the field, skirts hitched in one hand, a basket swinging in the other.

"You're going to miss the ceremony," Lila huffed. "Mother's already in a twist."

Aria sighed and rose to her feet, brushing moss from her skirts. "She's always in a twist. About something."

"This time it's serious. The High Seer is here. She's doing the blessing." Lila wrinkled her nose. "Creepy old thing. Keeps asking if you've been. feeling different."

Aria's heart gave a subtle flutter.

"Different how?"

"Like headaches. Dreams. Strange urges to run into the woods and never come back." Lila rolled her eyes. "The usual doomsday nonsense."

Aria didn't answer. She had been dreaming. For months, now. Strange, vivid things. A forest covered in silver frost. A pair of golden eyes watching her from the darkness. A man with a crown of bone and a cloak of fur and ash.

He always called her the same thing.

Little moon.

She never said anything to anyone.

By sundown, elder grove was vibrant with firelight and song. Aria stood at the back of the group; her silver-thread dress too tight at the sleeves. Her mother had braided blue flowers into her hair, praying under her breath the entire time.

"Be still," she had warned. "Don't make a scene."

Aria wasn't trying to-but it always managed to find her anyway.

The High Seer moved in front of the bonfire, her face hidden behind a veil of smoke and silk. She held a bowl of Moonwater and ash and moved along the line of girls, anointing their foreheads with gleaming grey.

When she reached Aria, she halted.

There was a silence that rippled through the crowd.

She, the Seer breathed. Her voice was soft as moth wings, but it stung like frost. "You," she said. "You are the marked one."

Aria was frozen.

The Seer put a cold thumb on her forehead and whispered a word in a language no one else knew. Aria's skin crawled. Her birthmark flared.

Then the wind rose.

Not a breeze-a wail.

The bonfire sputtered. Banners tore from their strings. The music died as every villager turned toward the tree line. The woods were not quiet now.

From the darkened edge, someone stepped.

Tall. Cloaked in black. Fur trimmed his shoulders. Antlers grew from an iron crown, twisted like the roots of an old tree. And eyes-gold burning bright, fixed on Aria as if he'd found the one thing, he'd searched for all his life.

Gasps rolled like thunder.

"Wolf King," a voice breathed.

The legends hadn't done him justice.

He wasn't a monster. Not exactly. His face was human-sharp, striking, carved from stone and secrets. Yet something beneath his skin moved, as if barely restrained. His presence weighed heavy on the air, bearing down like a storm.

And he was walking straight for her.

Aria's feet wouldn't move. Her heart pounded like a war drum.

He stopped a breath away.

"You are mine," he said. Not a question. Not a plea. A claim.

Aria looked up at him. "You're supposed to be a myth."

His lips curled into an almost-smile. "And you were supposed to be a dream."

Then he reached for her.

The villagers shrieked. Her mother wept. Lila called out her name.

But when his arms closed around her and the world shattered into wind and darkness, Aria didn't scream.

For deep within her, something old awakened.

Something that whispered, at last.