Chapter 3 Marked For Sacrifice

Chapter 3 - Marked for Sacrifice

Lyra didn't cry when they told her.

She sat still-too still-on the edge of the council hall's stone bench as the elders spoke over her head like she wasn't even there. As if she were already gone.

"The Blackthorn Alpha agreed to the terms," Elder Rowan said, his voice thin as ice. "The marriage will take place under the next blood moon. Four days from now."

Marriage.

It wasn't a proposal. It was a sentence.

"He's cursed," Lyra said quietly.

The room fell silent.

She didn't shout. Didn't weep. She just let the words hang there, like smoke curling from a blade.

"He kills his mate with a single touch," she added. "And you want me to marry him?"

"You are the daughter of Thornveil," Rowan said. "And Thornveil is dying."

No one denied it. Children had been collapsing. Wolves had begun turning on each other during patrols. The sickness was spreading, the madness biting deeper. The curse they claimed infected the land now poisoned the blood.

And they had no cure.

Except, apparently, her.

"It's a trade," Lyra said, voice hollow. "You give me to a monster, and he gives you salvation."

"It's not like that-"

"It's exactly like that."

She didn't look at her father when she said it. She couldn't. Because he hadn't spoken once since the council meeting began. He hadn't defended her. Hadn't protested. Hadn't even flinched.

She might as well have been carved from stone.

"Why me?" she asked finally, turning toward Rowan. "Why not one of your daughters?"

Rowan's lips thinned. "Because he asked for you."

That stopped her cold.

"What?"

"He chose you by name. You were born under the same cursed moon he was. It's symbolic. Prophetic, perhaps."

Lyra's heart thudded. "How would he even know my name?"

No one answered.

But her father stood then. Slowly. Methodically. As if every movement had been measured in advance.

"I gave it to him," he said.

Her stomach dropped. "What?"

"Before the sickness spread, I sent him a letter. I offered you in exchange for his allegiance. He refused."

"And now?"

"Now he accepts."

Lyra stared at him like she didn't recognize the man before her. "You offered me... before this even started?"

A pause.

Then: "I saw what was coming."

No apology. No guilt.

Just prophecy. Just strategy.

Just cold.

It wasn't just betrayal. It was confirmation: she'd never been his daughter first. She'd been a tool. A weight to move across a chessboard. And now she'd been sacrificed for the greater good.

"No bond," Rowan said. "No consummation. The deal is simple: you marry, you stay alive, you keep your hands to yourselves. If he breaks the conditions-"

"I die," Lyra finished. "We all know the story."

The other elders shifted uncomfortably.

She stood, body trembling with something too big for words. Not quite rage. Not grief. Something heavier. Something like... the end of believing anyone would ever protect her.

She turned to her father.

"Am I so worthless to you that even death is a fair trade?"

His face remained impassive. "This isn't about worth. It's about survival."

Lyra stepped closer.

"No. This is about fear. You've always been afraid of what I might become. And now, you're making sure I never get the chance to find out."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. A crack. A memory, maybe. Of her as a child, curled up beside her mother's grave, too afraid to shift. Or the time she saved Rhea from drowning in the lake, even when the other pups ran away screaming.

But then it was gone.

"I hope you find peace there," he said quietly. "Whatever that means."

He left without waiting for her reply.

The elders began to file out. Papers signed. Ceremony planned. As if she were nothing more than parchment and pawprints.

Only Rhea remained behind, her eyes red and wide. "I'll come with you," she whispered. "I'll sneak into the carriage. They won't see."

Lyra shook her head. "No. You have a gift here. A life. They'll need you when I'm gone."

"But what if he hurts you?"

Lyra's throat tightened. "Then at least someone will survive to remember me as more than a curse."

Rhea threw her arms around her. For once, Lyra didn't pull back.

The touch didn't burn. It didn't kill. It just ached.

Because she knew Rhea might be the last person who ever held her.

---

The next morning, she stood in front of her mirror, wearing the ceremonial traveling cloak: deep violet, lined with silver stitching. The color of mourning. The color of power.

She braided her own hair-tight and sharp-and lined her eyes with kohl.

They wanted a sacrifice?

She'd look them in the eyes like a queen on her way to war.

As she stepped outside, the carriage waited at the gate. Two enforcers flanked the doors, wearing Thornveil sigils. A third held the bridal contract in a scroll of moon-blessed vellum.

She didn't ask what the fine print said.

She didn't need to know.

Her name was inked in blood.

Rhea watched from the edge of the courtyard, tears streaking her face.

Her father did not.

He never came.

As the horses began to pull her away from the only home she'd ever known, Lyra whispered one final vow to herself:

If I'm to die, it won't be as a pawn.

If I'm to live... I'll make them regret giving me away.