The Prince Bride

The marble floor burned cold against Lyra Hale's knees.

She stayed down because everyone expected her to. Because this was her place now. Kneeling, waiting and hoping for scraps of kindness that would never come.

"Lyra Hale."

Her wolf stirred at the sound of his voice. Even now, after everything, the stupid creature wanted him.

Lyra lifted her head. Damon stood on the raised platform where the royal matchmaker had called them both. His dark hair caught the light from the crystal chandeliers. Behind him, her stepsister Elara watched with those perfect green eyes, one hand resting on his arm like she owned him.

Maybe she did.

"Stand up," Damon said.

Lyra got to her feet and her legs shook. The entire Royal Matching Hall stretched out behind her, packed with wolves from every corner of the kingdom. They'd all come to witness the sacred mate bonds being confirmed.

No one was celebrating for her.

"You know why we're here," Damon continued. His voice carried across the hall, cold and formal. Nothing like the warmth he'd shown her three months ago when the mate bond first snapped into place. "The bond is real. I feel it. You feel it."

Lyra's wolf whimpered. Yes. They felt it. Every second of every day, pulling at something deep in her chest.

"But a bond is not a command," he said. "And I choose her."

He turned to Elara. She smiled, soft and sweet, the way she always did when other people were watching. When it was just the two of them at home, that smile disappeared. Then came the cutting words. The casual cruelty.

"I, Damon Thorne, reject you, Lyra Hale, as my mate."

The bond snapped.

That's what it felt like anyway. Something vital inside Lyra just broke apart. Her wolf howled. She gasped, pressing her hand to her chest like that would hold the pieces together. But It didn't help.

Pain rolled through her in waves. Hot, then cold, then hot again. Her vision blurred. Someone in the crowd laughed.

"You're supposed to accept it," Elara called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Poor thing, she looks confused."

More laughter.

Lyra wanted to run, wanted to shift and tear out of this hall and never come back. But her father sat in the third row with his new wife, Elara's mother. He caught her eye and shook his head once.

Don't embarrass us more than you already have.

She swallowed the scream building in her throat. "I accept your rejection."

Damon didn't even look relieved. He just turned away, already dismissing her. Elara laced her fingers through his. They walked off the platform together while Lyra stood there, still trying to breathe through the pain.

The royal matchmaker, an elderly woman with silver streaks in her black hair, stepped forward. Her attention was fixed on Elara.

"Elara Hale," she announced. "You have been chosen by the Crown to fulfill the Northern Alliance. You will present yourself as bride to Prince Rowan of the North Pack. The ceremony will take place in seven days."

The crowd went silent.

Elara's smile vanished. "What?"

"The treaty requires a bride from your bloodline," the matchmaker said calmly. "Your family pledged this bond generations ago. It is time to honor that pledge."

"No." Elara pulled away from Damon. "I'm not marrying some broken prince in a frozen wasteland. That's not happening."

Lyra had heard rumors about Prince Rowan. Everyone had too. The oldest son of the Northern Alpha King. Once a powerful warrior and unmatched in combat. Then came the accident five years ago. Now he was supposedly crippled, scarred and hidden away in his castle.

Some people said he was barely alive.

"The alliance must be honored," the matchmaker repeated. "If you refuse, your entire family will face the consequences."

Lyra's father stood up. "Surely there's another way. Elara is already matched with Damon."

"Not relevant to the treaty," the matchmaker cut in. "The North requires a bride. They will have one."