From waves to peaks: claimed by the mountain Prince

The waves crashed against the rocky shore, their endless rhythm had become the lullaby Kassandra Rhodes had known all her life. From the high window of their stone cottage, she watched the sea churn under the silver light of a waxing moon. It was a wild, beautiful sight — one that spoke of freedom she had only ever dreamed of. "Kassandra, close the shutters," her mother’s husky voice floated up the narrow stairwell, sharp against the rising wind. "The storm is coming." Kassandra hesitated, savoring the briny air that carried the scent of salt and rain. Somewhere beyond that endless expanse of water, the world stretched out — four great kingdoms shaped by wolfkind: the Sea to the south, her home and her blood; the Mountains to the north, fierce and cold; the Desert to the east, dry and merciless; and the Plains to the west, vast and wild. Each kingdom bore its own traditions, its own rulers, but all shared the bond of the wolf within. She wondered for a moment if there wasn't another young girl like her, longing for more than the life of her station as a woman afforded her. If there was another Omega out there dreaming of adventure. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass for a heartbeat longer, then pulled the shutters closed, sealing out the night. Their cottage stood near the edge of the Sea Kingdom, perched atop cliffs where the salt air never truly left the stones. Most of their village was tucked farther inland, but Maria Rhodes — Kassandra’s mother, and a priestess of their coastal tribe — had chosen the high place, away from prying eyes. Closer to the temple where they paid respects to their God. Here, they lived between the tides and the sky, close enough for Maria to walk to the village center when duty called at the village shrine, yet distant enough to remain apart. At twenty-three, Kassandra had lived a life of careful isolation. From the moment she entered her first heat at sixteen, Maria had shielded her fiercely. Her mother claimed it was for her protection, that a greater purpose awaited her. But Kassandra wasn't sure she believed that anymore. Downstairs, Maria stirred a pot of broth over the hearth. Her dark blue skirts whispered as she moved, the shells and beads woven into her silver-streaked hair clicking softly with each step. It was a sound that had once comforted Kassandra — now it only made her restless. "Your scent is carrying farther than before," Maria said without looking up, her voice tight. "The storm will stir more than the waves tonight." Kassandra brushed a hand through her dark red hair, frustration rising. She said nothing, but her sea-green eyes flickered with the skepticism she dared not voice. Maria had once been a woman of strength, a voice of wisdom at the king’s court. Even now, she spoke with the Sea King regularly, summoned to council when the tides grew restless or the tribe faced troubles. Kassandra admired that strength — but she also saw the cracks. Ever since her father's death, Maria had grown more rigid, more fearful. Her father had been a fisherman, lost when a sudden storm dragged his vessel beneath the waves. The village elders had called it a bad omen, a sign of the sea god’s displeasure. They said someone had offended the ancient powers. In the months that followed, the storms worsened, the fish grew scarce, and the village’s fear festered into something poisonous. Kassandra had been just a girl then, watching her world unravel. She dropped onto the bench near the fire, wrapping her arms around herself as the wind howled outside. "But why now?" she asked carefully. "Why would anyone care about me?" Maria turned at last, her face pale in the flickering firelight. Her sea-gray eyes burned with urgency. "Because you are untouched," she said grimly. "Still pure. And the people are desperate." Kassandra stiffened. "The storms, the flooding, the poor fishing —" Maria continued, voice low, "the king fears the people's unrest. They whisper that the sea god is angry. That old way must be honored to earn forgiveness." Kassandra shook her head. "Those are just stories. They wouldn’t really—" Maria’s gaze sharpened. "You underestimate what fear can drive good people to do." The old stories spoke of sacrifices made to appease the sea — blood offerings at the altar on the cliffs. Virgins chosen to calm the tides. Legends Kassandra had dismissed as childhood nightmares. Until now. Maria crossed the room and knelt before her, gripping her hands tightly. "I spoke with the king himself this morning," she said. "He swore no such rites would be sanctioned. But he cannot control every desperate soul. Some believe that if no offering is made, the storms will drown us all." A chill ran through Kassandra. The king’s word might protect her in court — but not in the dark corners of the village where fear ruled. Not to mention the Kings own daughters who would also fit the same requirements. "I have kept you hidden all these years for this very reason," Maria whispered. "To keep you safe from being taken. But I fear...I fear it may not be enough now." Outside, the storm grew stronger, rattling the shutters. The sea roared like a living beast beyond the cliffs. Kassandra’s heart pounded. "We could go to the king — plead for protection." Maria shook her head, anguish written in every line of her face. "If we appear before him now, if they smell your heat... it would only hasten what we wish to prevent. Desperate people do not listen to reason.He has been good to us, he will not reveal you " Kassandra rose and moved to the window, prying it open just enough to peer outside. The village below flickered with torchlight. Figures gathered at the old stone altar by the shore — the one long abandoned, the one Maria had once warned her to never approach. Voices rose in a low, rhythmic chant, almost lost against the howl of the wind. A ritual. Or worse — a choosing. She closed the window with shaking hands. "They’re preparing," she whispered. Maria was already moving, gathering a small satchel, shoving bread, dried meat, and a flask inside. "We leave tonight," she said. "We go north. Toward the mountains. They will not follow us there." "The mountains?" Kassandra repeated, dazed. Wolves from the Sea Kingdom rarely ventured that far. The Northern tribes were fierce, cold-blooded — strangers to their ways. Maria thrust a small dagger into Kassandra’s belt. "Take it. If someone tries to claim you by force — you fight." Kassandra hesitated, her fingers trembling as they closed around the hilt. She had never drawn a blade against another wolf before. The very thought sickened her — and yet, the fear in her mother’s eyes silenced any protest. Outside, the storm howled louder, battering the cottage. Kassandra slung the satchel over her shoulder and followed Maria to the door. She cast one last look back at the hearth, the worn chairs, the woven nets that spoke of a simpler life — a life that was now over. The door creaked open. Rain lashed against them, cold and punishing. Somewhere down the path, torches bobbed toward the cliffs, their flames defiant against the storm. "They’re searching, but how unless... Unless we have been betrayed..." Maria murmured. "Go now, you must hurry my heart. Run." Kassandra hesitated on the threshold, sea spray misting her face, fear knotting her stomach. Far below, the altar stood stark against the churning sea, its surface stained dark by old blood. A memory of her father's laugh ghosted through her mind — warm, alive, now silenced by the same tides. A silence that threatened to claim her as well.