The Bite
1230 Words
After they adorned her in beautiful jewelry—pieces more dazzling than anything she'd ever dared to dream of—Everett was finally shown her reflection. A large ornate mirror was brought before her, and for the first time, she saw what they had turned her into.
She looked… otherworldly.
Her face, though pale and drawn from anxiety, shimmered with soft makeup. Her lips were touched with a red tint, her eyes lined with kohl, and her long hair fell in dark, brushed waves down her back. Gold threads woven into her gown caught the light like fire. Necklaces, bangles, and rings sparkled on her skin.
She barely recognized herself.
The girl staring back from the mirror looked like someone of worth, someone loved.
But inside, she felt hollow.
“I suggest you eat, my lady,” one of the elderly women attending to her spoke gently, interrupting the moment. “Before the ceremony begins.”
Everett closed her eyes.
A part of her didn’t want to. What would be the point of eating if she was going to die tonight? But her stomach betrayed her thoughts—clenching and twisting with hunger.
She hadn’t eaten since the journey here. Not that she was ever truly fed properly back home. Her palace meals were often leftovers, scraps from the royal table, rarely warm, and never plentiful.
Food was brought in—dozens of dishes laid on a long table before her. Meats, fruits, soft bread rolls, vegetables soaked in buttery spices. Her eyes widened the moment she saw it. Her mouth began to water uncontrollably.
She wasn’t lying when she told the Wolf King she was hungry.
And now, seeing the feast before her, the hunger inside her screamed.
Without hesitating, Everett picked up a piece of roasted meat, its scent rich and savory. The first bite melted on her tongue, warm and seasoned to perfection. Her eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
She hadn’t tasted anything like this in her life.
These weren't palace scraps. This was real food—prepared for someone important.
Prepared for a bride.
She tried not to think about what the ceremony would entail, or what would come after. For now, she let herself get lost in the food, bite after bite pulling her deeper into a rare moment of peace.
The bread was soft and buttery. The fruits were sweet and ripe. Every flavor was new and overwhelming, and for a brief while, Everett forgot the weight hanging over her.
When she was finally full, she sat back in her seat, her stomach heavy and warm. A small smile found its way to her lips without permission. It had been so long since she had eaten like a person.
She lifted her head and caught the maids staring at her in surprise.
“Ah… I’m through,” she said softly, a bit awkwardly, one hand resting over her full belly.
They nodded and gently helped her stand. Her dress was adjusted once more, her hair rechecked, and then she was led away—this time, not back to the room she came from, but to a large ceremonial hall.
Her steps slowed when she saw what awaited her.
At the far end of the hall, beneath a great arch lit with glowing torches, stood King Amarok.
The man she was about to wed.
He stood tall, majestic even, wearing a dark robe laced with silver and gold embroidery. Jewels gleaned from his collar. He even wore a single earring, a deep red stone that caught the firelight. His long, dark hair, as black as midnight, fell down his back untamed.
He looked untouchable. Unshakable.
And yet, there was no warmth in his gaze.
She was brought to stand in front of him, and it was then she noticed a man beside him—an officiator, old and stern, holding a scroll.
But Amarok…
He hadn’t spared her a single glance.
Even now, with the ceremony about to begin, his expression remained blank—bored, even. As if marrying her was just a task to be crossed off a list.
Everett clenched her fists. She had promised herself she wouldn’t show fear, not today. She had prepared for this her whole life. If he thought he could break her with indifference, he had another thing coming.
She had lived in hell.
Growing up in the palace, as the king’s daughter by a concubine, she was never treated as royalty. She was always treated as what she was meant to be—a sacrifice. Something to be offered up to this man in front of her.
She had endured scorn, pain, and isolation. Nothing Amarok could do would be worse.
“Do you, Everett Wilson,” the officiator’s deep voice rang out, “take King Amarok to be your husband? To submit and to respect him until the day you die?”
The words stung like a slap.
Until the day you die.
Her heart skipped, but she forced herself to stay still. “Yes, I do,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.
But everyone heard it.
The officiator then turned to the king. “And do you, King Amarok, take Everett Wilson as your bride and mate?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
His tone was flat, disinterested.
Everett bit the inside of her cheek. Can this man even feel anything? she thought. Can he respect anyone, let alone me?
What was she even thinking? He was likely older than her entire kingdom. Probably saw humans like insects.
The officiator nodded. “You may now mark your wife, my Lord.”
Everett blinked, confused.
Mark?
She turned slightly to glance at the officiator. Did he mean kiss? That was the tradition she’d seen—weddings ending with a kiss. A soft, tender moment.
But this wasn’t that kind of wedding.
Before she could react, she felt a hand rest on her shoulder. Her body stiffened instantly.
Amarok.
She felt his fingers lightly trace her neck.
Her breath hitched.
She turned to face him—and what she saw made her blood run cold.
His mouth opened slightly, and from behind his lips, two sharp fangs extended.
Her eyes widened. Is this how I die?
She wanted to speak, to beg for mercy, but her voice failed her. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum.
She shut her eyes, the words “Please don’t kill me” dancing on her tongue.
But before she could say them, she felt the sharp, sudden pain of his bite.
“Argh!” she gasped, her body jerking in shock.
She felt his teeth sink into her neck. Her chest heaved. Her skin burned.
The moment he pulled back, she stumbled, clutching her neck as blood spilled out, warm and terrifying.
She looked up at him, trembling, but his face hadn’t changed.
Still cold. Still expressionless.
Without a word, he turned his back on her and walked away.
The heavy doors shut behind him.
She stood there in a daze, until her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. The maids who had dressed her rushed to her side with towels and clothes, trying to stop the bleeding.
Everett’s eyes blurred.
So much for being strong.
Right now, she was just a girl on the floor, wounded and alone.
- Writer
