Chapter 2 – Cold Eyes at the Altar
861 Words
“You're not Aelia," the soldier sneered, yanking Vera down the torch-lit corridor. “Redfang's gonna skin you alive once he's bored."
“I hope he starts with your tongue," Vera replied flatly.
The soldier growled and shoved her forward. “Keep talking. See where it gets you."
Chains scraped stone as a heavy door opened. Inside, a chamber with iron walls, a single brazier, and an obsidian chair shaped like a wolf's jaw. Waiting beside it: Layton Redfang.
He didn't look up.
“Leave us," he said.
The soldier hesitated. “Alpha, she—"
“I said leave."
The door slammed shut.
Vera stood in silence. Her wrists were still bound, veil removed, hair uneven from last night's s***h. She looked every inch the wrong bride—bruised, grim, eyes mismatched and glowing faintly in the firelight.
Layton finally raised his eyes.
“You're not noble. Not trained. Not even subtle."
“Yet here I am," she said. “Still breathing."
He rose slowly. “That was a mistake I intend to correct."
“Then stop talking."
Layton's expression didn't change. “You're bold for a pawn."
“Pawns reach the other side of the board too."
“You think you've reached anything?" He stepped closer. “You were shoved into a gown meant for someone else and thrown at me like meat."
Vera's chin lifted. “Maybe. But meat can bite."
He studied her a moment longer. “Tell me your real name."
“No."
“Why?"
“Because names are power," she said, “and I've had enough stolen."
Layton turned away, jaw clenched. He picked up a scroll from the table, scanned it, then tossed it into the brazier.
“They want me to annul the marriage," he said casually. “Say it was under false pretenses. Declare you a fraud and hang you at dawn."
“Sounds efficient."
He glanced over his shoulder. “But I'm curious."
“About what?"
“Why you're still standing. Most girls in your position would've cried, begged, or slit their wrists."
Vera met his gaze. “I don't die for free."
Layton approached slowly, unsheathing a ceremonial dagger from his belt. “Then let's test your price."
He sliced a thread from her sleeve, then pressed the blade to the side of her neck. Not hard. Just enough for her to feel the weight of it.
Vera didn't flinch.
Layton's eyes narrowed. “No fear?"
“Oh, I'm terrified," she whispered. “But not of you."
A strange silence stretched between them. Then he lowered the dagger.
“You're either the stupidest woman I've met, or the most dangerous."
“Maybe both."
He stepped back. “I was going to toss you in the kennels."
“How charming."
“But I've changed my mind."
“Oh?"
“You'll spend the night in the turret tower. Alone."
Vera raised an eyebrow. “A reward?"
“A test." He turned to the guard now returning outside the door. “Make sure she doesn't jump."
“I won't," Vera said before they could speak. “Not yet."
Layton's gaze lingered on her. “You'll want to. Before this ends."
---
Later that night, the turret creaked in the storm. Wind howled through cracks in the stone, tugging at Vera's hair as she stared through the narrow window. Below, the Redfang banners snapped like wounded beasts.
The door creaked again.
She spun around, dagger in hand—stolen from the guard's belt.
But it wasn't a soldier.
It was Layton.
Again.
This time without armor, just a black tunic and war boots.
“No guards?" she asked.
“They're outside."
“Brave."
“I wanted to see what kind of storm you were watching."
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer. “Why aren't you crying?"
“Because that would please too many people."
Layton studied her again, expression unreadable.
“You really think you can survive here?"
“I don't plan to survive," she said quietly. “I plan to win."
He tilted his head. “Even if you're not the heir they wanted?"
“Especially because of that."
Layton looked out the window.
“The army marches south tomorrow," he said. “War on the horizon."
“Let me guess," Vera murmured, “you need a bride who can smile at corpses and wave from a bloody carriage."
He didn't smile. “No. I need a field companion."
She turned sharply. “What?"
“You have... something. I don't know what yet. But I want to see it in battle."
“You're using me."
“Of course," Layton said. “But you'll benefit too."
“And if I say no?"
“You'll be dead by sunrise."
Vera exhaled slowly.
“What kind of contract?"
“A pact. You ride with my army, do what I say, and I won't expose your identity."
She hesitated.
“And in return?" she asked.
“I keep you alive."
She looked down at her bound wrists.
“Give me the terms in writing," she said at last. “I don't trust you."
Layton pulled a small knife from his boot. “We write in blood here."
- Writer
