The Alpha's bride

The Wedding

"They call it a peace offering. I call it a beautifully dressed execution."

The war between witches and werewolves has dragged on for centuries, ugly, brutal, and bloody. No one even remembers how it started. It just... never stopped. But now, somehow, both sides have decided they want peace. Or at least, something that looks like it.

A peace marriage.

And I'm the bride.

Not by choice. Not for love. Just... a symbol. A pawn in white lace.

Lucky me. I'm marrying an Alpha.

"Oh my God, you look gorgeous," the makeup artist gushes, practically vibrating with excitement. I glance at the mirror, and for a second, I barely recognize the girl staring back.

Red lips. Loose curls. A wedding dress that feels less like silk and more like... armor.

"I bet your groom's gonna be blown away," she adds with a grin.

I force a smile, the practiced, hollow kind I've perfected over the years.

The door creaks open. My brother slips in.

"You look stunning, Daphne," Damien deadpans.

"I know," I shoot back, rising from the chair without missing a beat.

He huffs out a laugh and jerks his head toward the hallway. "Come on."

As we walk, he leans in. "Saw your future husband, by the way."

I arch a brow, only mildly curious.

A week ago, Father insisted we set up a meeting. Lunch. Something. Said it would be good for us to talk before the wedding. But guess who didn't show? Not once.

His aide had the nerve to say, "He's an Alpha. He's... busy."

Right. Too busy to meet his future wife.

And now here we are. Wedding day. And I'm about to meet my husband for the first time.

"Well?" I ask. "What's he like?"

Damien pauses. "Annoyingly good-looking."

I blink. Not what I was expecting.

"And dangerous," he adds, face tightening. "Don't forget that. He might try to kill you."

"I know," I answer like he just told me it might rain later.

His eyes flick to me, sharp. Searching. "You know... it's not too late to back out."

I shake my head. "And risk everything falling apart?"

That's the whole point. Peace. Unity. Whatever. That's what they keep saying. That's why Father and the Alpha agreed, no magic, no claws, no guards. Just humans in the room. Neutral ground.

"Don't give me that," Damien mutters. "You don't care about the people."

He's not wrong. I never grew up among witches. Never really felt like one of them.

"You still haven't told me why you said yes." His voice is quieter now.

I sigh. "Because someone had to." Lie.

"Because Father told me to." Another lie.

Both sound almost believable.

Damien narrows his eyes. "Since when do you listen to him?"

I don't answer.

He watches me a moment longer, then sighs. One of those heavy, you exhaust me but I love you anyway sighs.

I bump his shoulder. "Relax. I've got this."

A faint smile tugs at his mouth. Then he presses something into my palm.

A knife.

I blink down at it. "Seriously?"

"Just in case."

Before I can respond, Father's voice cuts through the hallway. "What are you two doing?"

Both of us flinch like kids caught stealing.

"Nothing," Damien says smoothly, already slipping back into his usual cool. "Just... giving my sister some last-minute advice."

Father doesn't look convinced, but he lets it go. He slides my arm into his, stiff but formal, like we're just a normal family walking down the aisle.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

I nod. Words are pointless now.

As we step forward, he leans in. Here it comes...

"This is important, Daphne. Don't screw it up. Everything depends on this."

Blah, blah, blah. Same speech as always. I tune him out.

My eyes scan the room. Witches sit on the left, their faces a mix of bored and tense. On the right, the werewolves, sharp-eyed, restless, all looking like they're one insult away from shifting right there in the pews.

And beyond them, the humans. Neutral observers. A performance for their benefit.

"Make sure he doesn't find out," Father murmurs.

My stomach knots. I know exactly what he means.

"And smile," he adds tightly. "It's the happiest day of your life."

Sure. If you say so.

I paste on a smile, the fake kind that feels like it might crack my face open.

Then, I see him.

Standing near the altar, back straight, dressed in black. My groom.

Even from behind, he looks... infuriatingly attractive. Broad shoulders. Tall. Annoyingly confident posture.

He's talking to some red-haired werewolf, who notices me first. The redhead mutters something.

Slowly, my husband-to-be turns.

And the second his eyes find me... my heart stutters.

Not because he's handsome, which, annoyingly, he is. Not because his stare feels like it's peeling back every layer of me.

No.

It's because this man, the Alpha, is going to die.

By my hands.