The Fake Wife Who Stole the Alpha King’s Heart: One Desperate Request That Became Eternal Love

Senna Veilworth had no idea that the man she was about to beg for a favor could smell the lie she’d been rehearsing for the last 40 minutes.

She also didn’t knowvdf that by the end of the night, her entire life would belong to a bargain she never meant to make.

The throne room of the Ashenmore Keep was not a place where commoners made requests.

It was a place where treaties were signed in blood oaths and wars were ended with a single word from the man who sat at its center.

And yet here she was in a borrowed dress that pinched at her ribs and shoes she couldn’t afford to scuff.

Standing before the alpha king of the northern territories like she had any right to breathe his air.

Calem Drake watched her from the obsidian throne with the kind of stillness that made lesser wolves drop to their knees.

His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass.

Dark hair swept back from a face that looked like it had been carved by someone who wanted to make a point about unfairness.

His eyes were the color of a winter storm, pale gray, rimmed with something almost silver, and they hadn’t blinked once since she’d walked in.

Senna’s heart was hammering so hard she was sure every wolf in the room could hear it.

There were six of them, guards, advisers, all watching her like she was a field mouse who had wandered into a den of apex predators and somehow hadn’t noticed.

She curtsied.

It was terrible.

Her knee wobbled and her hand grabbed at the side of her skirt like it might save her from toppling.

Your Majesty, she began, and her voice cracked on the second word.

One of the advisers, a tall woman with silver braids, pressed her lips together in what might have been secondhand embarrassment.

Caleb said nothing.

He just watched, waiting.

Senna had practiced this speech 17 times in the mirror of her rented room above the tanner’s shop.

She’d had it memorized, every word polished and perfect.

But standing here under the weight of those impossible eyes, every rehearsed line evaporated like mist off a lake.

So she told the truth.

I need a date to my ex’s wedding.

The silence that followed was so complete she could hear the torches flickering in their iron brackets.

Somewhere behind her, one of the guards shifted his weight.

Caleb’s expression didn’t change, not even a flicker.

Repeat that.

My former betrothed, Senna said, and she hated how small her voice sounded.

Aldrich Fenworth.

He’s marrying the daughter of House Callaway in 9 days.

The entire Western court will be there.

He sent me an invitation.

Why?

It wasn’t really a question.

It was a command to explain, delivered in a voice so low it vibrated in her sternum.

Because he wants me to see it, she said, and something hot and bitter climbed up the back of her throat.

He wants me to walk in alone.

He wants everyone to see what he traded up from.

A muscle in Caleum’s jaw tightened.

It was the first movement he’d made since she started talking.

Senna pressed on before her courage failed.

I can’t go alone.

I won’t give him that.

But I don’t have anyone to go with.

My family’s name is ruined.

My friends chose his side in the split, and I can’t just bring anyone because the entire Western court knows my face, and they’ll tear apart whoever walks in with me, unless he’s someone they wouldn’t dare touch.

And you think that someone is me?

I know it’s insane, she said quickly.

I know I have no right to ask, but I served in your mother’s household for three years before she passed.

I was her seamstress.

She was kind to me, and I thought maybe if there was any debt of goodwill left from that service, I could ask for this one thing.

Just one evening.

You don’t even have to dance.

Something shifted in Caleum’s gaze.

At the mention of his mother, the storm in his eyes quieted for a fraction of a second, replaced by something older, something that achd.

Then he leaned forward just slightly, just enough to make the air in the room compress.

You want me to pretend to be your companion for an evening?

He said, to make your former betrothed jealous.

Not jealous, just she searched for the word silent.

I want him to stop pitying me.

I want them all to stop looking at me like I’m something broken that got left behind.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

Before we continue, please take two seconds to like this video.

It tells me you want more stories like this.

Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened.

Probably a disaster in a borrowed dress who barged into your throne room with the worst favor anyone’s ever asked.

I see a woman who walked into the most dangerous room in the Northern Territories without an army, without a title, without a single ally, and asked the most powerful man in the realm for help.

Not because she was weak, because she was brave enough to refuse to be small.

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Caleb studied her for a long moment.

His gaze traveled over her face with an intensity that made her skin prickle down to her clenched fists, back up to the defiance she was barely holding together behind her eyes.

Then the Alpha King of the Northern Territories did something no one in that throne room expected.

He smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

It was the smile of a predator who’d just been handed exactly what he wanted.

I won’t go as your date, Senna.

Her stomach dropped.

Of course, of course it was too much to ask.

She opened her mouth to apologize, to back away, to salvage whatever shred of dignity she had left.

I’ll go as your husband.

The word hit her like a wall of ice water.

I What?

Caleum stood.

He was enormous.

She’d known that intellectually, but watching him rise from the throne, all 6 and 1/2 ft of coiled power and broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that rewrote the gravity in a room, knowing became something else entirely, something that made her knees feel unreliable.

I have my own reasons, he said, descending the steps with a measured, unhurrieded stride.

The Western Court has been pushing for an alliance marriage for months.

Lord Callaway in particular has been relentless in his attempts to wed his youngest daughter to me.

If I arrive already claimed, the matter is settled.

You want to use me as a shield?

Senna said slowly.

I want to use you as a wife.

He stopped three steps above her, and even with the height difference of the stairs, they were nearly eye to eye.

This close, she could see the faint scar that ran along his left temple.

Could smell pine and wood smoke and something darker.

Something that made the animal part of her brain sit up and pay acute attention temporarily, publicly, convincingly.

That’s insane.

You came to the alpha king’s throne room in a borrowed dress to ask him to be your plus one to a wedding.

Insanity is apparently the theme of the evening.

Senna’s mouth opened, closed.

He had a point and she hated him for it.

Nine days, she said carefully.

That’s all.

Nine days of preparation, the wedding, the reception, and then we part ways with a quiet anolment that neither court will question.

He tilted his head, studying her.

Unless you’d prefer to walk into that hall alone.

The image flashed through her mind.

The gilded ballroom of Callaway Manor.

Aldrich at the altar with his new bride, all golden hair and perfect teeth, and that smug, satisfied expression he wore when he knew he’d won.

And Senna in the back, alone, invisible, exactly what he expected her to be.

Fine, she said.

Fine, I’ll do it.

Then we begin tonight.

Caleb turned to the silver-haired adviser.

Muriel, have the ambersite prepared.

My wife will need appropriate lodging.

Senna flinched at the word wife.

It sounded different when he said it.

Heavier, like it meant something he wasn’t telling her.

Muriel’s eyebrows rose approximately 1 mm, which for a woman of her composure was the equivalent of screaming.

Of course, your majesty.

I have conditions, Senna said quickly, because if she didn’t set boundaries now, she’d be swept away entirely.

No one touches me without my permission.

No one gives me orders.

And when this is over, I walk away free and clear.

No debts, no obligations.

Caleb looked at her with something that might have been respect.

Agreed.

I have one condition of my own.

What?

You don’t flinch when I’m near you.

A wife who recoils from her husband tells a story we don’t want told.

Senna lifted her chin.

I don’t flinch.

You flinched when I said the word wife.

Her cheeks burned.

That was surprise, not fear.

The ghost of a smile crossed his face again, softer this time.

Good.

The nine days that followed rewrote everything Senna thought she knew about the Alpha King.

The first three days were logistics.

Mirel, who turned out to be both Caum’s chief adviser and the most terrifyingly efficient woman Senna had ever met, orchestrated a complete transformation.

Gowns were commissioned from the keep’s seamstress.

A ring appeared, a simple band of hammered silver with a single sapphire that Caleum placed on her finger himself, his hand steady, his touch so careful it made her breath catch.

It was my mother’s, he said, not looking at her as he slid it into place.

She would have wanted it worn by someone with spine.

Senna stared at the ring, at his hand, still holding hers.

His fingers were warm and rough with calluses, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say.

They practiced how to stand together, how to move through a room as a unit.

Caleum walked her through the political landscape of the western court with the precision of a military strategist, pointing out every alliance, every grudge, every pressure point she might need to know.

Lord Callaway will test you, he said on the fourth evening as they walked the Keep’s torch lit corridors side by side.

He’ll be pleasant to your face and vicious in the margins.

Don’t react to the barbs.

Just smile and hold my arm.

I’ve survived worse than a rich man’s snide comments.

I know.

He said it quietly, and something in his tone made her look up at him.

His profile was sharp against the firelight, jaw set, eyes forward.

I read the court records from your betroal dissolution, what Aldrich did to your family’s reputation, what he said about you publicly.

Senna’s steps faltered.

You researched me.

I research everyone who enters my throne room.

A pause.

What he said was a lie.

Senna, every word.

The way he said her name, low and deliberate, like he was learning the shape of it, like it mattered.

She didn’t trust her voice, so she just nodded and kept walking, painfully aware of the warmth radiating from his arm beside hers.

By the sixth day, something had shifted between them.

The rehearsed proximity had begun to feel natural.

She caught herself leaning into him without thinking, and he caught himself adjusting his stride to match hers without being asked.

On the seventh night, she found him alone in the keep’s library, reading by a single candle.

His shirt was unlaced at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he looked so unexpectedly human that she stood in the doorway for a full 10 seconds before he spoke without looking up.

You can come in, Senna.

I don’t bite unless provoked.

She sat across from him, pulling her knees up in the oversized armchair.

Can’t sleep.

Nervous about the wedding.

Nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about whether this whole ridiculous plan is going to fall apart the second he looks at me and I forget how to be anyone other than the girl he threw away.

Caleb closed his book, set it down, looked at her with those winter storm eyes that had become against every rational instinct she possessed the safest place she knew.

Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?

Her throat tightened