Birthright

Chapter 7 - the contract

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound echoed through the narrow hut, sharp and commanding.

Dalston’s gloved fist struck the wood again, harder this time. The door trembled under the weight of his impatience. Outside, the air of Slaver’s Bay hung thick with smoke and decay, a forgotten corner of old Talvarna, where the unwanted were sent to rot.

This was where the lesser creatures lived, those deemed unworthy of the crown’s mercy, or too stubborn to bend the knee to Lord Lucian. Crumbling homes leaned into one another, trapping everyone who lived in them, to remind them there was no escape of the new kingdom.

Dalston straightened his coat, irritation flashing in his glowing red eyes. “Open the door,” he commanded, his voice low and cold, the kind that made even shadows recoil.

Marie opened the door with a shiver, her fingers trembling against the worn handle. She looked up and up into the cold face of Dalston, who stood a full six feet one, his shadow swallowing the light from the doorway.

Marie, a wolf by blood and spirit, barely reached his shoulder at five foot seven. Her golden eyes flicked nervously over his features, the flawless pale skin, the sharp jaw, and the crimson eyes that glowed like dying embers.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she stammered, her voice barely steady. “I was in the kitchen… cooking lunch.”

Dalston tilted his head slightly, a cruel hint of a smile touching his lips. “Cooking,” he repeated softly, the word curling in his mouth like mockery. “How domestic of you, Marie.”

“How can I help you, Lord Dalston?” Marie asked, forcing her voice to stay calm though her hands twisted in her apron.

Dalston’s smile was practiced, almost pleasant, the kind of expression that hid fangs just beneath the surface.

“I’m only here to make sure everything is still set in place,” he said, stepping just inside the doorway without being invited. “And,” his gaze drifted lazily around the small room, “to catch a glimpse of my stunning bride-to-be. I’d hate to think she’s planning an escape from our little arrangement.”

“Oh-my lord, she’s out at the moment,” Marie said quickly, lowering her eyes. “Most likely in the Great Hall. I’ll be sure to tell her you stopped by.”

She forced a trembling smile, trying to steady her voice. “And no need to worry. My Ephy is.. excited to become Mrs. Dalston. We’ll be going dress shopping in the coming month.”

Dalston’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. The lie sat heavy in the air, sweet on the surface, but sharp underneath.

“Well, in that case,” Dalston said smoothly, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I must give you some money.”

He slipped a gloved hand into his coat pocket and drew out a thick wad of cash, the bills crisp and folded with deliberate care. He held them out between two fingers, watching Marie’s hesitation with quiet amusement.

“I want my bride to look her best,” he said, his voice low and velvet-soft, but there was something in it that made Marie’s stomach twist.

As Marie reached for the money, Dalston’s fingers closed around her hand, not gently, but with a deliberate, crushing force. She gasped softly, pain flashing through her eyes, yet she didn’t dare pull away.

His grip tightened just enough to make his meaning clear, this was not a gift. It was a warning.

A silent threat that everything about this arrangement must not go wrong.

When he finally released her, the skin of her hand throbbed where his had been, and the money felt like poison resting in her palm.

Marie stood frozen in the doorway long after Dalston had gone, her hand still throbbing from his grip. The air felt colder, heavier, as if his presence had soaked into the walls.

She started to think perhaps for the first time that this had not been the best way to ensure Ephy’s safety. The plan that once felt like protection now tasted like betrayal.

But it was too late. The contract had been signed nearly six years ago, sealed in her own blood. There was no undoing it now.