Contracts Bride

Chapter 3

Ethan's Perspective

On the morning of the wedding, the elder matron of the Grey Wolf tribe woke me at first light. She held a dark red beast-hide wedding dress—made from common grey wolf pelts, devoid of any embroidery, its edges rough and unfinished. It was utterly different from the opulence I had imagined for a Wolf King's wedding.

"Ethan," she said, handing me the garment, her voice tinged with regret and helplessness, "word came from the Black Wolf tribe. The ceremony is to be simple. No need for extravagance." She had watched me grow up, knew how much I had looked forward to this day, and now even she couldn't hide her dismay at its starkness.

I took the dress. The coarse fur under my fingertips felt like a small, sharp blow to my heart, stirring a faint disappointment. But I quickly rallied, offering her a smile. "It's fine. Simple is good. I don't mind these things." It was true. I didn't care about the dress's plainness or the scale of the ceremony. I only cared if Kyle might view me with a little more acceptance.

After washing up, I changed into the dark red dress and looked at myself in the small bronze mirror my grandmother had left me. Its polished bone surface gave a blurred reflection, but I could still see my flushed cheeks and the anticipation I couldn't quite hide. I styled my hair into a simple bun, securing it with a bone pin, and tied the bundle of wolf-tail grass I had prepared earlier around my waist. I had searched three slopes on the plains to find it—its leaves were emerald green, carrying a faint, fresh scent. It was the traditional gift from an Omega to her Alpha, symbolizing loyalty and companionship.

By the time I was ready, the small procession from the Grey Wolf tribe had arrived. There was no grand escort, just two wooden carts carrying my modest dowry and a few tribesmen for protection. The dowry consisted of herb seeds my grandmother and I had saved, a few bolts of soft fur, and some small accessories I had sewn myself. It wasn't lavish, but it was everything I could offer.

The journey was quiet. No one mentioned the subdued nature of the wedding, but no one offered blessings either. Sitting in the cart, watching the wilderness scenery pass, I felt both nervousness and a sliver of stubborn hope. Perhaps Kyle just needed time. Perhaps after the ceremony, when he saw my sincerity, his attitude would slowly change.

We reached the Black Wolf dens around noon. By wolf custom, the groom should greet the bride at the entrance. But when I stepped down from the cart, I saw only a few stationed guards. There was no sign of Kyle. The guards acknowledged us with indifference, leading us into the dens without a single word of congratulations.

The dens were eerily quiet. There was no ceremonial bonfire, no cheers from the tribe, less noise than on an ordinary day. The few Black Wolf tribespeople we passed shot me fleeting glances—curious, pitying, some openly dismissive. I clutched the wolf-tail grass at my waist, straightened my spine, and followed the guard, determined not to appear timid. I was here to be Kyle's mate, the Luna of the Black Wolf tribe. Even unwelcome, I would carry myself with dignity.

The guard stopped me at the entrance to the main den. "Wait here for the Wolf King. He should return soon." With that, he left.

I stood on the stone steps under the midday sun and began my vigil. The main entrance was made of massive black stone, carved with a fierce wolf-head totem that exuded authority. Drought-resistant vines climbed the surrounding walls, their leaves green in the sunlight, but this hint of life did nothing to dispel the pervasive chill.

The wolf-tail grass at my waist was wilting in the sun. I carefully gathered it into my arms, shielding it from the wind. Time slipped by. The sun moved from overhead to the west, my shadow lengthening on the ground. I waited from noon to afternoon, from afternoon until sunset. Kyle never came.

The sunset over the plains was beautiful, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and reds, the clouds seeming to catch fire. But I had no heart to appreciate it. A deep cold seeped into me, reaching my fingertips. I had long since sent my escort back. Now, standing alone before the empty doorway, I felt profoundly forgotten.

What if he doesn't come? The thought sent a jolt of panic through me. But I quickly shook my head, suppressing it. The elders had decreed this union. However reluctant, he would return.

Just as my patience was fraying, I heard the sound of rough footsteps and laughter in the distance. I straightened immediately, looking toward the noise. Kyle was approaching, accompanied by a few of his warriors, his steps unsteady. He wore his black beast-hide armor, his hair disheveled, his cheeks flushed an unnatural red. As he drew nearer, the heavy scent of alcohol hit me—he had been drinking. He was drunk.

My heart plummeted, as if plunged into an icy pond. I had thought that even if he didn't like me, he would at least honor the wedding. I never imagined he would forget it entirely to go carousing.

Kyle reached the entrance. Seeing me on the steps, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by profound impatience and disgust. His warriors, noticing me, tactfully halted and melted away, leaving the two of us alone.

"What are you doing standing there?" His voice was hoarse from drink, his tone a cutting blade of ice. "Trying to seduce me? Don't waste your effort."

The words struck me like a thunderbolt. I stood frozen, my cheeks burning. The wolf-tail grass fell from my numb fingers. I looked at him, my lips parting, but no sound emerged; my throat felt sealed shut.

He paid my reaction no mind, didn't even glance at the fallen grass. He brushed past me into the den. The smell of alcohol and his sharp, cold aura washed over me, making me instinctively step back.

Then, he shoved open the stone door to the main chamber. It slammed shut with a resonant boom, severing the space between us, shattering the last of my hopes.

I stood there, rigid, until the last of the sunset faded below the horizon and twilight descended. Slowly, awareness returned. The wolf-tail grass on the ground had been trampled by his foot, its leaves broken, its fragrance mostly gone. I bent to pick it up, clutching it tightly. The sharp edges of the grass cut into my palm, a minor pain that was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

A young she-wolf, who seemed to be a maid, approached. She kept her eyes downcast, her tone respectful but cold. "Miss Ethan, the Wolf King asks me to show you to your room."

I nodded and followed her deep into the dens. We passed through empty halls and long corridors, finally stopping in a remote corner. She pushed open a narrow stone door. "This is it. You will stay here."

I stepped inside. A damp chill hit me, making me shiver. The room was tiny, holding only a crude stone bed and a worn wooden chest. Dust and cobwebs clung to the walls. In one corner lay a pile of discarded hides and sticks. Compared to Kyle's spacious, bright chamber, this was a storage closet.

So, this was the place he had prepared for me.

The maid set down a small bundle and left without another word. When the door closed, darkness and silence engulfed me, broken only by the occasional lonely howl from outside.

I placed the bundle of wolf-tail grass on the chest and sat on the stone bed. The hide mattress was thin and hard; I could feel the cold of the stone through it. Leaning against the icy wall, I felt the heat behind my eyes. This time, the tears fell.

This was the wedding I had anticipated for a fortnight. No blessings, no warmth. Only his cruelty and disgust, and this cold, tiny room. I began to doubt my resolve. Perhaps I had been wrong. Perhaps he would never accept me.

But once the tears dried, that familiar stubbornness rekindled within me. Grandmother had said the women of the Grey Wolf tribe were resilient. We did not surrender easily. Even if he didn't like me now, I would persevere. Perhaps if I tried hard enough, I could eventually warm his heart.

I wiped my tears, stood up, and by the faint moonlight filtering through the door c***k, began to clean. I moved the discarded junk outside, used a soft pelt from my dowry to wipe down the walls and chest, and neatly folded my clothes inside it. The room remained stark, but it now held a faint trace of life.

By the time I finished, it was deep night. I lay on the cold stone bed, tossing and turning, sleep elusive. Kyle's harsh words and his retreating back played in my mind, my heart aching with a sour bitterness. Yet, amidst the pain, I formulated a plan. Tomorrow at dawn, I would prepare his breakfast according to custom. I would show him through my actions that I truly wanted to build a life with him.

The next morning, I rose as the sky was just lightening. From my dowry, I took a clean clay bowl, went to the pack's kitchen for fresh beast blood, and found some smoked boar meat. Tradition dictated that on the first morning, an Omega should prepare a warm breakfast for her Alpha, symbolizing her commitment to his care.

I warmed the blood by the fire and cut the smoked meat into small pieces, arranging them on a stone platter. Looking at the warm blood and fragrant meat, a new flicker of hope ignited. Perhaps seeing my effort, he would be slightly kinder.

Carrying the breakfast, I went to his chamber door. I hesitated for a long moment before knocking softly.

"Enter." His voice from within was cold, devoid of any warmth.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The main chamber was indeed spacious and bright, with a thick black wolf pelt on the stone bed, weapons hanging on the walls, and scrolls of pack business on his stone desk. Kyle sat at the desk, wearing loose sleep hides, a scroll in his hand, his expression focused.

I brought the food to him, keeping my voice gentle. "Kyle, I've prepared breakfast for you, as is customary. Please eat it while it's warm."

He looked up. His gaze fell upon the bowl and platter in my hands, and his eyes instantly filled with revulsion. Before I could react, he swept his arm out, knocking the items from my grasp.

A loud clatter echoed as the bowl and platter hit the floor. Warm beast blood splattered across the stones, the smoked meat rolling into a corner. Shards of pottery flew up, one slicing my ankle. A sharp pain shot through me, blood immediately welling and staining my bare toes.

"I don't eat anything you've touched. Get out." His voice was piercingly cold. His eyes held no pity; he didn't even glance at my bleeding ankle, as if I were merely a stranger who had dirtied his floor.

I stood frozen, my hands still cupped around the absent bowl. The pain in my ankle intensified, and a wave of humiliation washed over me, threatening to drown me. This was my first time making breakfast for him, my first time being so openly rejected and dismissed. The sting of it cut deeper than the pottery shard.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I bit my lip hard, refusing to let them fall. I would not cry in front of him. I would not let him think me weak.

Without a word, I slowly knelt, ignoring the pain in my ankle, and began gathering the broken pieces. A sharp edge cut my finger, blood dripping onto the blood-stained stone floor, a vivid, accusing red.

Kyle remained seated, still reading his scroll as if none of this concerned him. The room was terrifyingly quiet, filled only with the faint sound of me collecting shards and the occasional rustle of his parchment.

When I had finally gathered all the fragments and the scattered meat, I used some herbs I carried to bandage my ankle and finger. Then, holding the debris, I silently retreated from the chamber.

The moment the door closed behind me, the tears finally fell, splashing onto the hide bandage and spreading into dark, damp circles. I leaned against the cold wall, my shoulders trembling slightly, the weight of my disappointment and hurt nearly crushing me.

I truly wanted to give up, to return to the Grey Wolf tribe immediately, to never come back to this place of such profound humiliation. But then I remembered my grandmother's words, my own initial resolve, the resonance of the Destiny Totem. I hesitated.

Just then, I overheard two maids whispering in the corridor.

"Did you hear? The Wolf King has an old injury on his shoulder, from a black bear claw when he was a child. It pains him terribly when the weather is damp, and even the old shaman can't help."

"Really? That's awful. If only there were an herb to ease it."

My heart leapt. Herbs! Of course. I had learned about herbs from my grandmother since childhood. I knew a type of mint grew on the plains, cooling in nature. Crushed and applied to wounds, it could effectively relieve pain, especially the deep ache of old injuries.

Perhaps I could gather some for him. Even if he didn't appreciate it, it might lessen his suffering. And perhaps, seeing my genuine concern, he might think slightly better of me.

The thought rekindled a fragile hope. I returned to my small room, found my small digging tool and bamboo basket, changed into a sturdier pair of hide boots, and, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle, resolutely headed for the plains beyond the dens.

The plains after a light rain smelled of damp earth and fresh grass. I remembered a shady spot on a distant slope where mint often grew.

I took a deep breath and started toward the slope. My ankle protested with every step, but I paid it no mind. My focus was singular: find the mint. Perhaps this was the first step toward reaching him.

The grass on the slope was high, wet with rain, soaking my trousers. I knelt, searching carefully through the foliage. Mint leaves were serrated with a distinct, fresh scent, easy to identify. Soon, I found a small patch, emerald leaves beaded with rainwater, looking vibrantly alive.

I carefully dug up the plants, roots and all, so they would last longer. As I worked, I prayed silently: Kyle, I hope this helps you. I hope you can see my heart.

By the time my basket was full, the sky was beginning to darken again. Carrying the basket, I walked slowly back toward the dens. The pain in my ankle was sharper now, but my heart felt lighter, filled with anticipation. I could almost picture it—Kyle's pain easing after using the herbs, him looking at me with the first hint of gentleness in his eyes.

What I didn't know then was that this very sincerity, in his eyes, would be just another "calculated" attempt to curry favor. What I saw as a step "closer" would only fuel his disgust and lead to deeper hurt. But even so, I was unwilling to give up. Because in my heart, the destined bond, and my feelings for him, were worth one more try.