Chapter 4 The Bride

KAEL

The flutes and harps start before dawn, soft notes sliding into my consciousness, pulling me from sleep. I don't move. Not at first. My body is awake before my mind, muscles tense, senses sharp, waiting for the day to begin.

Then come the voices-low, feminine, practiced.

"Good morning, my prince."

I open my eyes.

They're standing at the edge of my bed, five of them draped in silk that barely covers anything. Their dark hair is pinned up, their lips painted red, their skin glistening with scented oils. One of them, the boldest, leans closer, her hands folded in front of her, pushing her chest up like an offering.

I sit up. They bow.

"Your bath is ready."

They take my arms, guiding me toward the center pool where steam curls up from the water. The scent of cedar and crushed herbs lingers in the air. I step onto the cool marble, my feet soundless. My brother, Roran, and our cousin, Kieran, are already in the water, lounging like it's a festival day.

Roran spots me first, grinning as he leans back. "Look who finally decided to wake up."

Kieran snorts. "Took him long enough."

I ignore them both, stepping into the water. It's hot, but not scalding, the kind of warmth that seeps into your bones. The maids slip in after me, their hands moving over my skin, washing, massaging, touching. They press against me, their fingers light, teasing, but I feel nothing.

They expect me to react. I don't.

Roran chuckles, watching the way I sit there, unmoved. "Still no interest in soft hands and warm bodies, Kael?"

I look at him, then at Kieran. They're both smirking, enjoying the attention the maids are giving them. I don't answer.

Kieran shakes his head. "He's broken."

Roran waves him off. "No, he's just disciplined." Then he tilts his head. "Or maybe he still doesn't know what today is."

I frown.

Kieran grins. "He doesn't."

Roran claps his hands together. "Oh, Kael, how could you forget? Today's the day Father claims his new bride."

The words hit me like a fist to the gut.

Memories crash over me-my mother's pale face, the hollow look in her eyes, the way she faded into nothing while my father stood by, indifferent. Negligent. And now he wants to replace her like she was nothing.

I remember the hushed whispers of the palace maids, the way they avoided my eyes when I walked past. I was too young to understand at first, but I learned. I saw. While my mother lay in her chambers, too weak to lift her head, my father entertained himself elsewhere. The scent of unfamiliar perfume clung to his clothes, his boots tracking in traces of someone else's bed.

The palace was filled with laughter, just not hers. While she suffered through treatments that only prolonged the inevitable, he found comfort in warm bodies that weren't hers. He never held her hand as the healers worked tirelessly to slow the disease eating away at her. He never sat by her side as she endured the pain in silence. I did. I watched her wither, her strength slipping away with each passing day, while he continued to live as if she had already gone.

By the time she died, it was as if the palace had already moved on. The mourning period felt like a formality, a brief pause before life resumed as if she had never been there. And now, he dares to bring another woman into her place. As if she were nothing more than a passing season. As if her love, her suffering, meant nothing.

Anger rises in my throat, but I shove it down.

It's not about him. It's about the treaty.

This is about keeping the peace, preventing more bloodshed. That's what I remind myself as the maids finish their work and help us dress. Gold-threaded tunics, polished leather, weapons strapped to our backs even though we're not expecting war.

When we reach the dining hall, my father is already there. He doesn't look up when we enter, but his jaw tightens.

"You're late."

Roran smirks. "Apologies, Father. We had to make sure we were well-prepared for such an important occasion."

The maids serve us, offering to feed us as they always do. Kieran indulges, letting a girl press a grape to his lips. Roran leans into the attention, laughing when another girl wipes honey from his chin.

I push them away. I don't need to be hand-fed like a child.

Breakfast is short. Then we leave.

The carriage ride is silent, at least for me. Roran and Kieran talk, but I tune them out. My thoughts are elsewhere.

I've seen my father's conquests before. They're always young. Too young. And it disgusts me.

This one will be no different.

I grip the hilt of my dagger, fingers tightening around the leather-wrapped handle. If I could stop this, I would. But I can't. Not without breaking the treaty, not without setting everything into chaos.

Instead, I stare out the window as we leave our city behind, its towering spires and massive stone walls fading into the distance. Our kingdom is strong, rich, built on centuries of conquest. Every building is carved with stories of war and victory, every street lined with statues of the warriors who came before us.

But Varethorne is different.

Smaller. Quieter. Less advanced.

The roads here aren't paved with stone but with dirt, and the villages cluster together like they're afraid of being separated. But there's a beauty to it. Simple, untainted. And though they lack our technology, they make up for it with their warriors.

Their military is strong. That's why we need this treaty.

The Varethorne guards greet us as we arrive, leading us to the grand hall where the ceremony will take place. The room is large, but nothing compared to our own palaces. The walls are carved with symbols I don't recognize, the air thick with the scent of burning incense.

Roran and Kieran fall into easy conversation with the noblewomen, their words laced with flirtation. I keep my distance, watching, listening.

Then I see her.

A veiled figure, moving toward the center of the room.

I know instantly-this is her. The girl my father will claim as his bride.

Something shifts inside me.

I can't see her face, but there's something about her. The way she walks. The way the air seems to hum around her.

I can't look away.

The ceremony begins, but it blurs together. Words are spoken, oaths exchanged. My father stands tall, unreadable, while the Varethorne Alpha, Drunei, gives his speech.

Then he says it. "I give my daughter to Alpha Zareth."

Daughter.

My chest tightens.

I thought she would be some distant noble's child, not the Alpha's own blood. This isn't just a political move. This is something else. Something deeper.

And it makes me furious.

She won't be treated well. I know it. My father isn't capable of love, only possession.

I make a silent vow. I will protect her. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

She lifts her head slightly, just a fraction, and for the briefest moment, I think-

But then she wavers.

Her body sways.

"She's fainting!" Someone exclaims.

Then she collapses.

And everything stops.