Chapter Six: The Contract
The door closes behind .
Not slamd. Not locked with ceremony. Just shut, firm and final, the sound settling into the stone like it belongs there.
The room doesn’t greet .
It waits.
I know this place before I properly look at it.
Ebonvale announces itself in small ways, the chill of stone beneath my feet, the faint scent of incense that never fully leaves the walls, the quiet permanence of everything built to last longer than the people living inside it.
The pack sigil is carved into the stone at intervals.
Wolves standing shoulder to shoulder.
No raised teeth. No threat. Just unity.
Control worn like tradition.
This isn’t Kael’s territory.
This is my parents’ house. A part of it I was never ant to see.
The room is too large for comfort. Larger than the sitting hall where guests are received. Larger than my parents’ chambers.
This wasn’t built for family.
It was built for visitors who mattered, Alphas who ca to negotiate borders, bloodlines, war.
My gaze settles on the bed dominating the center of the room. Wide. Heavy. Dressed in layered cotton and linen that looks untouched. Ash gray. Muted blue. Cream so pale it nearly disappears into the pillows.
Guest quarters.
My chest tightens slightly.
Not fear but understanding.
So this is where they put . Not hidden. Not honored.
Stored sowhere appropriate.
The windows stretch high toward the ceiling, draped in thick cotton the color of early fog. I move toward them out of habit and pull the fabric aside.
Ebonvale lies below, peaceful and unchanged.
Lanterns glow along familiar paths. The towers stand where they always have. Rooflines I could trace from mory.
Everything looks the sa. And that hurts more than it should.
I rest my forehead briefly against the cool pane, breathing in, then out.
That’s when I hear her.
"I just need to see her."
"She’s my sister."
A guard answers calmly. Practiced. Unmoved.
"Orders were given."
"You can’t keep out," Ivy snaps. "She’ll want to see ."
My body reacts before my mind does.
I cross the room quickly, stopping inches from the door. My hand lifts toward the handle.
Then stops.
Because mory has a way of surfacing when you least expect it.
Her voice from last night. Soft. Amused.
’We played her perfectly.’
My fingers hover in the air.
If I open that door, I lose the space to pretend I didn’t hear it. That it didn’t matter.
I lower my hand. Step back.
On the other side, Ivy’s voice rises.
"She needs soone she knows. You can’t just lock her in there like a prisoner."
Silence.
Then the guard again. "Orders were given."
Her breath shudders audibly through the wood. For a mont I almost open the door anyway.
Not because I trust her.
Because part of still wants to. But eventually her voice cracks.
Frustration turns to sothing closer to desperation.
Then footsteps retreat down the corridor.
The silence that follows is heavier than before.
I turn away slowly.
A bathing chamber opens off the main room, steam drifting from it in quiet invitation. The tub is already filled, water clear and warm, scattered with white flowers floating lazily across the surface.
Soone prepared it.
The thought sits strangely in my chest.
Ten years in this house and no one has ever prepared a bath for .
Not until tonight. Not until the day they sold to the Alpha.
I undress slowly, folding the elegant dress I was given with care I don’t feel.
The gown waiting afterward is simple cotton. Pale. Soft. Light enough that I’m suddenly aware of my own skin beneath it.
When I step into the bath, the warmth sinks into imdiately, loosening tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
The flowers brush against my arms.
Their scent is faint.
Familiar in a way that makes my throat tighten.
I don’t close my eyes to relax. I close them so I can breathe without feeling watched.
When I finish, I dress and sit at the edge of the bed.
The mattress yields beneath my weight, too soft, too accommodating.
My fingers lace together in my lap.
Ti stretches. Or collapses.
I can’t tell which.
The room doesn’t change, but sothing inside does, tightening slowly like a cord pulled too far.
Then the air shifts. I don’t hear the guards outside straighten.
I don’t need to.
Sothing beneath my skin stirs sharply.
My breath hitches.
Heat pools low in my stomach, sudden and unwelco. My pulse skips once, then accelerates.
The door opens.
Kael steps inside.
My body reacts before my mind catches up. Muscles tighten. Breath shortens. It takes conscious effort not to move toward him.
I hate that.
His gaze passes over once. Not lingering. Not dismissive either.
His eyes flick briefly to the hem of my gown, still damp from the bath, before lifting again.
His jaw tightens.
"You’re awake," he says.
"Yes."
His presence fills the room in a way that has nothing to do with size. The air itself seems to lean toward him.
He gestures toward the table near the window.
A thick parchnt rests there, sealed with black wax.
"What is this?" I ask, though my chest already feels too tight.
"A contract," he says. "Not ceremonial."
"A contract?"
"You will use your healing only when I command it," he continues calmly. "No exceptions. No private arrangents."
My fingers curl at my side. The power has always been mine.
Sothing I carried quietly. Sothing I chose when to give.
"In return," he says, "I will protect you from external threats. Courts. Packs. Enemies."
A pause follows. Not accidental.
"I do not protect you from myself."
"You will bear an heir," he adds. "The bloodline requires it."
My throat tightens.
"And if I refuse?"
His expression doesn’t change. "Breach of contract," he says. "Is execution."
The contract is absurd. My power restricted. My body claid.
My life asured against compliance.
But there is no real choice. Refusal ans death. Escape ans war.
Resistance ans tearing myself apart fighting sothing inside that refuses to be ignored.
I reach for the quill. My hand shakes.
Not because of the parchnt, but because of him.
His proximity. The way my body keeps betraying , leaning toward what it should fear.
I sign quickly. Before I can hesitate. The ink sinks into the parchnt.
For a mont nothing happens.
Then heat explodes through my palm.
I gasp and pull back instinctively.
A mark remains burned into my skin, dark, precise, shaped like the curve of a wolf’s jaw.
Kael’s gaze drops to it. Sothing unreadable flickers across his face.
"It’s done," he says and turns toward the door.
A sharp knock interrupts.
"Alpha," a guard calls. "The council has convened early."
Kael stills. His shoulders go rigid.
At the threshold he pauses.
"One more thing," he says without turning.
My breath catches.
"This marriage was never symbolic."
He glances back just enough for to see the strain he keeps so tightly leashed.
"You’ll share my bed," he says.
"Tonight."
The sensation that follows is sharp and disorienting, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Whatever binds us surges violently beneath my skin.
Demanding.
Insistent.
I was never chosen.
I was claid.
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