THE WOLF'S KING'S BRIDE

Katherina's POV Three days. Man, time in that cell didn’t pass. It just kinda… congealed. All thick and sour, like something dead under the floorboards. I stopped paying attention to hours ages ago. The air? Stale with piss, iron, and blood. Not a single damn breeze. Just me and the walls, sweating. Door creaks. Figures. Show time. Shadow blocks the light. One of the guards, smirking like he’s about to toss scraps to a stray dog. “On your feet,” he snaps. “Today’s your lucky day.” The light hits like a slap. I blinked, can barely haul myself up, joints hurting. “Define lucky,” I replied. He laughs were sharp, nasty. “You should see yourself.” His buddy strolls in, big smile like he’s got front row seats. “Thinking she’s getting out? After all that? Sweetheart, nah. You’re not walking free. You’re walking straight into the fire.” My mouth’s dry as sand. I glare anyway. I got to keep that last shred of pride upright. “Fine. Let’s get this circus started.” They laughed, loving it. One grabs my arm. “Guess you won’t mind if we drag you, then.” “I can walk,” I spit, but of course nobody’s listening. Next thing I know, I’m yanked up, chains rattling, stumbling like a drunk. Corridors reek of mold and ghosts. Then... Bam Around a corner, and suddenly it’s a different world. Warm. Gold everywhere. Velvet curtains and marble floors, like someone robbed a palace. Smells too sweet, thick with perfume. Maids glide in, all silk and cold eyes. “Pretty her up,” the guard barks. “Alpha Claus wants her presentable.” My gut twists. This isn’t for a trial. This is for a spectacle. “She’ll please him before he do away with her,” the other guard snickers. “One last little show.” I swallow hard. Not gonna let them see me flinch. “Strip her. Clean her up. No marks on the face.” “She’s got a split lip,” a maid pipes up, shaky. “Fix it. Alpha wants her perfect.” The guard’s voice is all ice. They push me towards a tub. Black stone, steaming milk and honey. Smells sticky sweet, it made my skin crawl. I steped in, shivering. Maids touched me softly, but it’s not kindness. Just work. Just getting the lamb ready for the slaughter. They rub in oils, scrape dirt from under my nails. Lavender, myrrrh...rich enough to choke someone. Should’ve felt soothing. Didn’t. Felt like sinking in quicksand. “She’ll probably burn,” one maid whispers. “Too easy,” says another. “Maybe they’ll break her in the square.” “Or wolves,” someone giggles. “Big ones. Tear her apart.” I tune them out. Let them talk. They plan my death like picking out dresses for a party. Heart’s pounding, but not from terror. I’ve already pictured every way I could die. I made peace with it, weirdly enough. Fire? Teeth? Whips? Bring it. They could dress me up, coat me in gold, drown me in sweet-smelling crap. They’d never get what they really wanted. Me begging. Queen? Warrior? All that’s gone. I’m the offering now. But I’ll die standing, hell or high water. The silk dress sticks to me, thin as mist, useless as hope. I sat down, shivering, gown barely covering anything. Veil over my face, as if covering my shame. My hands were shake. I squeeze them till my knuckles turned white, holding the tremor back. Gotta stay still. Gotta be stone. There’s eyes everywhere, waiting for me to crack. Not today. The door opened with a thud. Dextar. His presence slithered into the room like a sickness. He was grinning before he even spoke, his eyes gleaming with venom. He leaned against the wall with the casual cruelty of someone who knew exactly how untouchable he was. “Well, well,” he drawled. “Don’t you look like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.” I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My throat was thick with silence and swallowed screams. He walked closer, his boots tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm across the marble floor. “I can’t wait to hear the judgment after Claus is done with you,” he said, licking his teeth like the words tasted good. “The people are gathered. All of them. Waiting. They’re hungry for blood.” He crouched in front of me. His eyes searched my face beneath the veil. “Pathetic filth,” he spat. “A traitor pretending to be a saint. You think anyone’s going to save you now?” I flinched, just barely. He saw it and smiled. I found my voice, hoarse and hollow. “Please… have mercy.” Dextar laughed. “Mercy?” he echoed, standing up. “You think mercy’s still on the table? The only mercy you’re going to get is death.” He stepped away, voice rising in mocking tone. “And oh, Katherina… they’re going to make you suffer first. Every scream you give them will be music. Every tear will become wine.” He turned back at the door, one hand on the frame. “When you finally die,” he said, “that will be their gift to you.” Then he left. The silence returned. A cruel, suffocating silence. I stared ahead at nothing, my breathing slow and shallow. The soft golden glow of the candles flickered across the walls, casting shadows that lookee like ghosts waiting to drag me away. Time passed. Hours, maybe. Then footsteps. Not just any footsteps. Heavy. Slow. Measured. They echoed through the hall like thunder rolling across stone. My breath caught. I didn’t need to see to know who it was. Claus. The air shifted as he neared, thickened with something I couldn't place my hands on. My heart beat so loud I was sure he could hear it before he even reached the door. And then… he was there. He stepped into the room like a storm barely contained in flesh. Taller than any man I’d ever seen in the pack. Shoulders broad, sculpted like marble, muscles coiled beneath his clothing. His skin was the color of the sun kissed by the moon, and his hair was short, black, tousled and gleamed silver where the moonlight touched it. But it was his eyes that rooted me to the spot. Blue. Not just blue... marvelous. Piercing. Eternal. The kind of blue that drowned empires and froze h earts. He looked at me like he already owned every breath I had left to take. “My Katherina,” he said, voice like winter. Cold, clean, and sharp enough to cut.