I curled my lip at the word “girl.” I had always hated being called girl, even when I’d been the right age for the word, though I resented being called lady just as much now. Why call me such trivial things when I could be called a warrior, a Wolf, a royal?
Grae turned back to me, words dying on his lips. Whatever he was going to say, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want to hear any more of his lies.
“Go,” I gritted out. “Your bride awaits.” I hated how petty it was. I hated how bitter I sounded.
Taking a step closer to me, Grae lowered his head until his breath brushed my hair, making my skin ripple. “You say that as if you care, Calla.”
I forced myself to look up into those beautiful, dark eyes—the ones that bewitched me the moment I first saw them—and said, “I don’t.”
“Why not?”
My mouth dropped open. Why not? What in the Moon’s name was that supposed to mean? Why would he want me to care about something I could never have?
Aiden dropped his hand on Grae’s shoulder and steered him toward the doorway. “Come on. Let them train,” he said.
My body felt boneless as I watched him walk away, steered by his father’s guard like cattle through the archway.
“This wedding has made him broodier than a snow snake with a fresh kill,” Sadie muttered.
“That’s rich coming from you,” Maez said, making the shorter guard frown. “You’re as gloomy as they come, Sads.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. Standing from the bench, she circled the splintering dagger in her hands. “Everyone is edgy around the full moon.”
“Then your world must be full of full moons,” Hector taunted.
Maez hit him in the hip with the broadside of her training sword.
Sadie stooped to where my discarded dagger lay in the dirt and picked it up. She flipped it over, holding the hilt out at me. “Again?”
I took the weapon, grateful for the distraction. “Thanks.”
“Few people understand the mind of a warrior.” Sadie shrugged. “We get you.”
Hector and Maez returned to sparring. The thwack of their wooden swords brought a steadying rhythm that slowed my pulse. There was sanity in training, the repetition pulling us back in on ourselves.
Sadie advanced again before I could think on it. I fell back into that dance, my mind honing down to each footstep and blink. For so long I’d tried to understand Briar, to put myself in the shoes of a princess, but it made as little sense to me as trying to understand the shoes I should be wearing. Here, though, with these guards, they understood. They understood the calm of training, the confidence born of discipline, the calloused hands and sore muscles and minds that only worked when in motion. And even when the world felt like it was crashing down around me, I’d have this, and I knew these three would help me blunt the sting of what was to come.
I scratched at the itchy fabric of my ceremonial tunic. The look in Grae’s eyes played over and over in my mind.
Why not?
I had been such a foolish pup, regaling him with stories of how I would defeat Sawyn, of how I would reclaim Olmdere for my sister Queen . . . and now I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see my homeland again.
Frowning at the silver carpet beneath my feet, I felt his eyes upon me. The rest of the congregation ignored me, but his eyes were like a leaden weight. Maybe Grae desired Olmdere for himself, like his father. The gold mines lay just over its border. King Nero made it clear he was going to use this marriage to ferry gold into his kingdom with impunity, not even getting close to Sawyn in the capital. Gods, I’d longed for this day my whole life, and now I felt bribed into silence. The threat of being married off to a stranger and being separated from Briar forever loomed over me.
I scowled at the delicate wedding decorations—a constellation of paper stars and crystal baubles. What a sham. They had transformed the grand hall into a white wonderland over the course of the afternoon. Long wooden pews now lined the space, the voices of well-wishers reverberating off the vaulted ceilings. The string quartet from earlier now sat in the corner, bows resting in their laps as they waited for the ceremony to begin. A trail of white flower petals ran the length of the aisle, up to the dais where King Nero sat. I had the urge to take the knife in my boot, slice it across his smug face, and stain the petals red.
A full moon priest stood at the bottom step of the dais. He held a heavy tome in his hands, waiting for the far doors to open. His flowing stone-gray robes were embroidered with silver images of the moon’s phases, and he had long obsidian hair with a matching scraggly beard, looking more like a woodsman than a priest. I could already picture exactly what he would look like in his Wolf form—matted fur and beady eyes.