Karina

"You've stopped praying."

The priest's voice broke the away my thoughts but I didn't bother looking at him. My fingers, curled in my lap, were still sore from where the golden cuffs had pinched me earlier. Every mile north had felt heavier than the last. Every tree outside the carriage window looked more twisted than the one before it.

"I was never praying," I said.

He raised a brow. "Then you misunderstand your role."

"No," I said. "I understand it perfectly. I'm the offering."

"You are the bridge."

I turned to him now, meeting his gaze. "A bridge doesn't come back."

He said nothing. Just folded his hands neatly and looked away again, as if my truth was too impolite for conversation.

The carriage jostled over a rough patch, and I reached for the edge of the window to steady myself. Cold seeped through the glass like it was alive. I pulled my hand back, rubbing it absently.

"Tell me what really happens," I said. "Once I'm there."

"You wed the king."

"I said really."

The priest's mouth twitched. "You speak boldly for someone with no say."

"I have a right to know what I'm walking into."

"No one ever truly knows what they're walking into, child."

"I'm not a child."

"No," he said quietly. "You won't be, after this."

He reached into his robes and withdrew something small-an amulet, strung with black thread, etched with strange runes that pulsed faintly like breathing embers. He held it out to me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Protection."

I didn't reach for it.

"From what?"

"From him."

"Why give me protection if I'm being sacrificed?"

The priest exhaled slowly, as if I were a particularly frustrating lesson. "This is not a sacrifice in the way you understand it. You are the tether. The anchor. Without you, the Veil will break."

"And if I die?"

"Then the North burns."

I took the amulet.

Not because I believed him.

Because I didn't know if I could afford not to.

By the time we reached the final checkpoint-an old outpost at the edge of the Frostline Mountains-the snow was falling in slow, deliberate flakes, thick as ash. The guards who accompanied us refused to go farther.

"We wait here," the captain said, stepping back from the carriage as if it might explode. "The king's men take over from this point."

"The king has men?" I asked, stepping out.

No one answered.

The air was thinner up here. Not in the way of altitude, but in the way of presence. Like the land itself was holding its breath.

A long, low howl echoed from somewhere in the trees.

The guards stiffened.

"How many brides have you escorted?" I asked the captain.

His jaw tensed. "You're my first."

"And last?"

He didn't answer.

Another howl. Closer this time.

The captain turned on his heel and walked back to his men without a word.

The priest stepped up beside me. "You'll walk the rest of the way."

I looked around. "There's no path."

He pointed ahead, into the forest. "There is now."

The snow had shifted, subtly. A trail of dark earth had begun to emerge, winding between ancient pines like a vein. As if something beneath the ground had decided to welcome me.

"How long is the walk?"

"Longer than you think," the priest said. "Shorter than it feels."

I wanted to hit him. Instead, I pulled my cloak tighter and stepped forward, boots crunching into the path that hadn't been there a moment ago.

No guards followed or horses.

Not even the priest.

I turned once, just before the trees swallowed me, and saw them watching from behind the outpost wall. Like I was already a memory.

It was hard to say how long I walked. The path twisted and spiraled like it was deliberately disorienting. The trees towered overhead, their branches clawing at each other like they resented the silence. No birds. No wind. Just the soft hiss of snow falling on old bark.

Once, I swore I heard my name whispered between the trunks.

Once, I saw a pair of golden eyes blinking from behind a thicket-and then they were gone.

My breath left ghost trails in the air. My feet were half-numb.

Still I walked.

I walked until my legs burned, until my teeth chattered, until I hated the sound of my own heartbeat.

And then the forest opened.

The castle rose from the earth like it had been carved from shadow itself. Black stone, spined towers, gates wrapped in chains that looked far too ceremonial to be functional. Something ancient pulsed through the stone, a rhythm that hummed in my bones.

The gates groaned open on their own.

No guards and I stepped through, inside was worse.

The air carried the weight of old magic. It clung to my skin, slid into my lungs, whispered in my ear. The walls seemed to watch. The chandeliers above held no candles, but still glowed with pale, cold light.

And at the end of the hall, he waited.

The Beast King.

He was tall. Broader than any man I had seen. A fur-lined cloak draped over armor so black it swallowed the light around it. His face-if it could be called that-was obscured by a metal mask, jagged and inhuman, horns curling up and back like a stag from a nightmare. Only his eyes were visible.

Golden. Burning. Unblinking.

I stopped five paces from him.

"Do you speak?" I asked.

No answer.

"I was told I'm your bride."

Still nothing.

"You could at least pretend to be pleased."

A flicker-barely perceptible-of something in his posture. Amusement? Annoyance? I couldn't tell.

The priest appeared behind me.

He had arrived without a sound.

"The pact must be sealed," he said.

A rustle of robes. A circle carved into the stone before the throne. Ancient markings. A knife.

I took a step back.

"You want blood?"

The priest nodded. "Yours. His. The bond must be tasted by the land."

The king didn't move. But something shifted in the air around him, a low rumble like a distant storm.

"Do it," he said.

His voice was rough. Gravel and fire. It hit me in the chest like a blow.

So he could speak.

The priest offered the blade to me first.

My hand didn't shake.

I sliced the edge of my palm and let the blood drip into the carved sigil. It sizzled where it landed.

The priest turned to the king.

He didn't hesitate. One quick cut, blood falling in crimson arcs to meet mine in the stone.

The markings flared.

The air snapped.

A mark burned itself into my skin-just below my collarbone, left side. I gasped. The pain was searing, ancient, alive.

The priest stepped back. "It is done."

The king turned and walked away without a word.

I was bound to a stranger who wouldn't look me in the eye, in a cursed castle where the walls whispered, and the snow never melted.

Perfect.

I touched the fresh mark on my skin and whispered, "Then let's see which of us breaks first."