Karina

"He didn't even look at you."

"I noticed," I said, peeling off the stiff cloak someone had left on the edge of the massive bed.

The maid-older, sharp-eyed, and not the one from Eldenmere-was already moving through the chambers, lighting sconces and avoiding my gaze like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"He always walks away like that?" I asked.

She hesitated just long enough to answer the question.

"Yes."

"And he always leaves his bride alone on the first night?"

Now she looked at me. Not with pity. With something harder. Caution. Regret.

"There haven't been many brides. But none have lasted long enough to ask twice."

Then: "Eat while the food's hot."

I turned toward the silver tray sitting untouched on the far table. Bread. Cheese. A blood-red stew still steaming faintly. No cutlery or wine.

My stomach turned at the thought.

"I'm not hungry."

"You will be. You'll need strength."

"For what?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she crossed to a small armoire and began laying out folded garments-plain wool, darker than mourning black, without a single thread of color. No jewels. No silks.

No white.

Not anymore.

She moved quickly, efficiently, like someone who had done this before.

"How many of us have there been?" I asked.

The woman stopped, her hands flat on the fabric, spine stiff.

"That's not my place to say."

"It's mine," I said sharply. "If I'm next, I deserve to know how many were before."

A long silence.

"Four that I've seen."

"And how many left?"

She didn't meet my eyes. "One."

I blinked. "One? One bride survived?"

"One left the castle. She did not survive the forest."

I sat down, slowly. The air felt heavier than it had a moment ago.

"And the others?"

She folded the last piece of clothing and turned to me.

"They vanished. Into the stone. Into the snow. Into him."

"Into him?"

"It's not my place," she repeated, and this time, she meant it.

I let her finish without another word.

---

When she left, the silence returned-thick and cloying.

The fire burned low in the hearth, casting shadows across the walls. The chamber was large, too large for one person, filled with ancient furniture and windows sealed by frost so thick I couldn't see the stars beyond them.

I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the amulet the priest had given me. It hadn't warmed, hadn't glowed. Just sat cold and dull against my skin like a stone waiting to be buried.

My hand drifted to the mark over my heart.

The skin there still ached-hot, faintly pulsing like a second heartbeat. The sigil had seared into my flesh like it belonged there. A vow I hadn't chosen. A bond I hadn't consented to.

And yet, it hummed with power.

I stood, suddenly needing air. Needing movement. I grabbed the cloak again and stepped into the corridor.

No one stopped me.

The castle was a maze of cold stone, tapestries faded with age, and doors that opened only when I wasn't looking directly at them.

Once, I thought I saw a figure standing at the end of the hall-a tall shadow cloaked in fur and moonlight-but when I blinked, it vanished.

I kept walking.

Down a staircase. Through an archway. Past a room filled with broken mirrors.

Eventually, I reached a balcony overlooking the northern cliffside.

The forest stretched out below, black and endless, the trees swaying though I felt no wind. The moon, high and full, bathed the land in pale light.

I leaned on the railing and tried to breathe.

"You're not afraid."

I jumped.

The voice came from behind me-rough, low, and unmistakably familiar.

I turned.

He stood in the shadows just beyond the arch, half in darkness, the edge of his mask glinting in the moonlight.

The Beast King.

His voice was even more terrifying in person-like something scraped against the bones of the world.

"Not afraid?" I said, trying to keep my spine straight. "You think I should be?"

"You came alone. You didn't cry."

"Would that have made a difference?"

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate. His boots made no sound against the stone.

"Most plead," he said.

"I'm not most."

His eyes caught the moonlight.

They were gold. Not just gold, but burning, like twin lanterns in the dark. Not human.

And not unkind.

"You spoke in the ceremony," I said.

A beat.

"Yes."

"Then why not before? Or after?"

"You were not mine yet."

"And now I am?"

He tilted his head. I couldn't read his face, not behind the mask. But something shifted in the air between us.

"You wear the mark."

I touched it instinctively. "You burned it into me."

"The curse did."

"You didn't stop it."

He said nothing.

I exhaled slowly. "Why me?"

Silence.

Then, "Because they offered you."

"You didn't want a bride?"

He paused. A longer silence this time.

"No," he said finally. "Not another."

The wind stirred. Or maybe it was just my imagination.

I took a step forward. "What happens to them? The ones before me."

His jaw clenched. I heard it.

"They weren't you."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he said. "It's a warning."

I didn't move.

"Do you kill them?"

"No."

"Do you keep them locked up? Feed on them? Absorb their power?"

"You read too many stories."

I folded my arms. "You think this is a story?"

"No," he said. "But you speak like someone who doesn't believe they're in one."

I hated the way that line settled in my chest.

He turned then, about to leave.

"Wait," I said. "What do I call you?"

He paused in the archway.

"Rhydan."

Then he vanished into the dark.

I couldn't sleep that night.

Not from fear from restlessness but from the feeling that something in me had been set in motion.

I woke before dawn, drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs.

There were frost patterns on the inside of the windows.

But my skin was warm.

Too warm.

I touched the mark. It glowed faintly under my fingers.