Chapter 4

Thalyn's POV

When Oriel shook out the gown, the whole room went still.

It was midnight blue. Silver thread had been stitched from the neckline all the way down to the sweeping train, tracing the phases of the moon in layer after layer—new moon, crescent, full, waning—over and over, an endless cycle. Pinned at the waist was a silver crest: a raven with a crescent moon clutched in its beak.

The crest of Ravenmoor.

Oriel helped me out of my torn blouse and pinned my tangled hair back up. She dabbed a little salve onto her fingertip and smoothed it gently over my swollen cheek. The gown had been smoked with evening primrose and sage, and the scent was so heavy it almost drowned out my own.

Last of all, she draped a veil of silver-gray lace over my face.

"Wear this," she murmured, smoothing the lace where it fell. "That side of your face is badly swollen. We can't have everyone seeing you've been hurt."

I looked into the mirror. The face behind the veil was soft and blurred. Even I barely recognized it.

A ring of tiny silver bells trimmed the hem of the skirt. With every step I took, they chimed softly.

Ossian walked ahead of us, clearing the way.

We headed through the hall and down the stairs to the courtyard. The wedding was in full swing.

Everything looked exactly the way I'd arranged it with my own two hands. The arch of white roses. The long tables glittering with moonstones. The altar at the far end of the lawn.

By old pack tradition, an Alpha's wedding is held on the groom's territory. But Theron's Grim Pack was nothing compared to Orien Pack. When we got engaged three years ago, my father said just one thing—"No daughter of mine gets married on another pack's land"—and Theron agreed.

So: three years, three weddings, all held on my family's estate.

Only this time, the bride at that altar wasn't me.

The silver bells chimed all the way across the lawn. One by one, the guests turned toward the sound, and the laughter and chatter faded into silence.

My parents had been frowning—probably about to tear into whoever had the nerve to interrupt Coralie's big day. But the second they saw Ossian leading the way, the irritation vanished from their faces. They hurried over, all smiles.

"Elder Ossian! Are you here for the wedding? You should have told us you were coming, we would have—"

Ossian cut them off flatly.

"You misunderstand. We're here to collect the Lycan King's bride."

My father's smile froze. My mother's face drained, inch by inch, until it was as white as paper.

Mom recovered first, her voice tight.

"Then—then please, go right ahead. We wouldn't want you to be late."

Oriel took my hand and led me past them.

They both bowed their heads respectfully. Neither of them dared look up at me.

The hem of my gown nearly brushed the toe of my mother's shoe. She kept her head down the whole time.

She didn't recognize me.

Only Theron sensed that something was off.

His nostrils flared slightly, as if beneath that thick cloud of incense, he'd caught the faintest trace of a scent he knew. He took a step forward and glanced—almost on instinct—up at the second-floor window. His voice was strained.

"Wait. Who is that bride? Thalyn planned this whole wedding. She never said anything about anyone else getting married here today."

Coralie's eyes welled up instantly. She grabbed his sleeve.

"Theron, you promised me. Today is my wedding. I'm supposed to be the only one you're thinking about. And you're still thinking about Thalyn? Right now?"

"If you still have feelings for her, we never should have done this. Just let me die, like the seer said. I won't make it past the full moon anyway."

That was all it took. Theron melted.

"Hey, hey—don't talk like that. You're Thalyn's favorite little sister. Of course I'm going to take care of you."

"It's your day. I'll drop it."

Her favorite little sister.

Behind my veil, I almost laughed out loud.

Coralie smiled through her tears and nestled sweetly against his chest.

By the time Theron finished soothing her, I'd already followed Ossian to the front gate and slid into the black car waiting there.

The engine turned over. I rolled the window down a crack.

The evening breeze rushed in and lifted the corner of my veil.

Behind us, the courtyard had erupted into chaos. The men who'd tried to assault me had been bound hand and foot and dragged into the middle of the crowd.

Standing over them were several massive Ravenmoor guards. Their leader, Captain Bram Holloway, threw Joren to the ground at my parents' and Theron's feet and spoke in a flat, businesslike voice.

"These men laid hands on the Lycan King's bride. We've already dealt with them, and their fathers have been notified to come collect them. As of today, Ravenmoor severs all ties with their families."

Joren's face was so swollen from the guards' handling that he could barely open his eyes. But his mouth was still running.

"Laid hands on her? A woman Theron's dumped at the altar three times, acting like some kind of saint? So I touched her a little. So what?"

"My father is the Alpha of Kaelis Pack! Ravenmoor? The Lycan King? Those are bedtime stories for pups! When my father gets here, he's going to grind every last one of you into the dirt!"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll bring Thalyn back here and make her get on her knees and apologize to me and my boys. If she makes us happy enough, maybe I'll even—"

Theron's face darkened, inch by inch.

He shoved Coralie away from him, lunged, and seized Joren by the collar, hauling him halfway off the ground.

"Say that again, Joren."

"Who did you touch?"