Mated To The Ice Werewolf King

Chapter 2

The forest embraces us like a protective mother as we ride deeper into its ancient heart. My mare's hooves make soft sounds against the carpet of fallen leaves, a gentle rhythm that should be soothing but only serves to remind me how far we've traveled from everything familiar.

I steal a glance at Marcus riding beside me, his profile strong and determined in the pale light. Relief floods through me again at the sight of him, my salvation, my partner in this desperate gamble for freedom. His sandy hair catches the moonlight, and when he turns to smile at me, his warm brown eyes hold all the reassurance I need to keep my doubts at bay.

"How much farther do you think we should go tonight?" I ask, trying to keep the exhaustion from my voice. We've been riding for what feels like hours, and my body is beginning to protest the unfamiliar exertion.

Marcus glances back the way we came, then scans the dark forest ahead. "I'm not entirely sure. I've never been this deep into the borderlands before." He offers an apologetic smile. "I grabbed what supplies I could and came as fast as possible. I didn't exactly have time to plan a route."

The admission should worry me, but instead it makes me love him more. He dropped everything the moment I needed him, without hesitation or preparation. That's true devotion, isn't it?

"We should find shelter soon," he continues. "It's not safe to keep riding in the dark like this. Too easy for the horses to stumble, and we don't know what's out here."

As if summoned by his words, a break in the trees reveals a small clearing ahead. Through the darkness, I can make out the silhouette of a structure, a cottage, maybe, or a hunter's cabin.

"Look," I say, pointing. "Do you see that?"

Marcus reins in his horse, studying the building with cautious interest. "Could be abandoned. Worth checking out, at least. We need to rest, and you need to get out of this cold."

We approach slowly, and as we draw closer, I can see it's a modest stone cottage with a thatched roof. No smoke rises from the chimney, no light glows in the windows. The wooden door hangs slightly crooked on its hinges, and wild vines have begun to climb the walls.

"Definitely abandoned," Marcus says, dismounting. "Wait here while I check inside."

He disappears through the door, and I hear him moving around inside. After a moment, he reappears in the doorway. "It's empty, but it's shelter. There's even some firewood stacked inside. Someone must have used this as a hunting cabin at some point."

Relief washes over me as I slide down from my mare with legs that shake from fatigue. My boots sink slightly into the soft earth of the clearing, and every muscle in my body aches from the long ride. The cottage looks rough but welcoming after hours in the saddle.

Marcus helps me with the horses, tying them under a lean-to structure on the side of the cottage where they'll have some protection from the elements. His hands are gentle as he steadies me when I stumble, exhaustion making my movements clumsy.

Inside, the cottage is small but dry. A stone fireplace dominates one wall, and there's a rough wooden table with two chairs near it. A single room opens off the main area—likely a sleeping chamber. Dust covers every surface, and cobwebs hang in the corners, but it's infinitely better than sleeping on the forest floor.

"Let me get a fire started," Marcus says, moving to the fireplace where someone has indeed left a stack of seasoned wood. "You should sit down before you fall down."

I lower myself into one of the chairs, my body grateful for the rest. As Marcus works on the fire, I watch the familiar movements of his hands, the concentration on his face. This is the Marcus I know, kind, helpful, taking care of me.

The fire catches quickly, and soon warm light fills the small space, chasing away the shadows and some of the chill that's seeped into my bones.

Marcus pulls out the supplies from his hastily packed bag, some bread, a bit of cheese, a flask of water, and a small bottle of wine.

"Not exactly a feast," he says with a rueful smile, "but it'll keep us going until we can find a town tomorrow."

We eat in comfortable silence, sharing the simple meal by the firelight. The wine is cheap but warming, and after the stress of our escape and the long ride through the forest, I can feel it going straight to my head. My limbs grow heavy, my mind pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

"I can't believe we actually did it," I say, my words slightly slurred. "We're really free."

Marcus watches me over the rim of his cup, something unreadable in his expression. "Free," he repeats softly. "Yes, I suppose we are."

When we finish eating, I stand on unsteady legs and explore the cottage more thoroughly. The sleeping chamber contains a simple bed frame with an old straw mattress that's seen better days. There are some moth-eaten blankets in a chest, musty but usable.

"There's only one bed," I observe, turning back to find Marcus standing in the doorway.

He leans against the frame, his eyes moving over me in a way they never have before, slow and assessing. "I noticed."

Something in his tone makes me pause. "I suppose you can sleep out by the fire. It's warm enough there, and I can take the blankets—"

"Why would I do that?" He pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room. "We're together now, Seraphina. Really together. Free to be what we've always wanted to be."

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly very aware that we're alone in an abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows where we are. "Marcus, we're not married or mated. I may have left my old life behind, but that doesn't mean—"

"Married?" He laughs, but there's an edge to it I've never heard before. "What elder wolf is going to marry us now? You're a fugitive, Seraphina. An exiled princess who broke a peace treaty and restarted a war. No one's going to perform a ceremony for you."

The words sting because they're true, but the way he says them, like I'm somehow less now, like I've lost all value, that makes my stomach turn.

"We'll find someone eventually," I say carefully, backing toward the far wall. "When we reach safety, when we find a place to settle."

"I've waited long enough." His voice drops lower, taking on a quality that makes Luna stir uneasily in my mind. "Do you know how long I've watched you, Seraphina? How many years I've stood by while you smiled at other men, danced with princes and dukes? I've been patient. I've been kind. I've done everything right."

"Something's wrong," Luna whispers urgently. "Something's very wrong with him."

"And I appreciate that," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. "You've been wonderful, Marcus. But that doesn't mean we have to rush—"

"Rush?" He takes another step closer, and I can smell the wine on his breath, see something dark and possessive in his eyes. "I just gave up everything for you. My home, my position, my entire life. I came running the moment you called, no questions asked. Don't I deserve something in return?"

The way he says it, like my body is payment for his help, makes my skin crawl. "Helping me shouldn't come with expectations. I thought you loved me for who I am, not for what I could give you."

"I do love you." Another step closer. "That's why I need to show you. That's why I can't wait anymore."

I reach for the door, but he's faster than I expected. His hand slams against the wooden frame, holding it closed, while his other arm wraps around my waist and pulls me against him.

His touch, which has always been gentle and comforting, now feels possessive and demanding.

"Fight!" Luna roars in my mind. "Fight him!"

"Marcus, stop," I say firmly, trying to push him away. "You're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, love," he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot and wine-scented. "I'll be gentle. I'll make it good for you."

His hands begin to roam over my body, and I push against his chest with all my strength. "I said stop! Let go of me!"

Instead of releasing me, his grip tightens, and his face twists with anger. "Stop fighting me, Seraphina. You belong to me now. I've earned you."

The word 'earned' hits me like a physical blow. This is what he's always thought, I realize with growing horror. That if he was patient enough, kind enough, helpful enough, I would eventually owe him my body in return. Our entire friendship, every gentle gesture and sweet word, has been a transaction in his mind.

"I don't belong to anyone," I snarl, my own anger rising to match his. "Not to you, not to the Ice King, not to anyone!"

I bring my knee up hard, aiming for his groin, but he anticipates the move and turns aside. Instead of releasing me, he grabs my shoulders and shakes me roughly.

"Don't you understand?" he hisses, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. "You have no choice anymore. You're nothing now, not a princess, not a valuable political asset, just a woman alone in the world with nowhere to go. I'm all you have left."

"Then I choose to have nothing," I snap back, and the fury in my voice surprises us both.

His hand strikes my cheek before I see it coming, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the small chamber.

Pain explodes across my face, and I taste blood where my teeth cut into my inner lip. For a moment, we both freeze, staring at each other in shock.

Then something snaps inside him.