Chapter 7:The warrior's gift
632 Words
The Welcome to the Frost Fortress
The heavy iron-reinforced gates of the Snow Pack stronghold groaned open, but instead of the cold silence Luna expected, she was met by a triumphant blast of horns that echoed off the glacial peaks.
She flinched at first, her mind still echoing with the war cries of the Red Moon, but as the carriage rolled forward, her eyes widened. The city inside the walls was a riot of life. Music swelled from the courtyards, and dancers moved in rhythmic circles, their furs flashing under the torchlight. Despite the biting cold, the scent of crushed winter flowers drifted through the air, thrown by the citizens who lined the streets.
They reached the heart of the city, where the High Alpha Damon stood on the great stone stairs, flanked by his council and fellow Alphas. There was no trace of the "flint-eyed" interrogator from the dungeon; instead, his face was lit by a warm smile.
"Welcome, Princess Luna of the Snow Pack and of the Blood Wolves," Damon’s voice boomed, carrying a weight of authority and genuine welcome. "And welcome to the future Luna of our people."
For the first time since the marriage had been decreed, the icy wall around Luna's heart cracked. She stepped from the carriage, the heavy wolf-skin cloak rustling against the stone. She bowed in respect, a deep, graceful movement. Looking at the cheering crowds and the golden light pouring from the Great Hall, she felt a sudden, strange surge of peace.
Perhaps this wasn't a cage. Perhaps this was where she was meant to be.
Gifts were presented to her—chests of shimmering silver, rare furs from the northern reaches, and blades forged from mountain steel. For a moment, the war in the West felt like a distant nightmare, replaced by the overwhelming embrace of her new home
Later that evening, Luna sat in her quarters. One of her maids kept her company, weaving stories of the North to distract her from the weight of the day.
The door creaked open, and Harland interrupted. "My lady, may I have a moment of your time?" he asked, his expression unreadable.
At his signal, two guards entered the room. One led a horse—a rare, powerful beast with a coat the color of a winter storm. The other carried a sword resting on a velvet cushion, its blade forged from a blend of pure silver and the finest steel.
"This is a gift for my warrior lady," Harland said, his voice softening. "A reminder that you will always be a warrior, regardless of this marriage." He looked at her then, finally letting out a smile that reached his eyes.
Luna stood, her fingers hovering over the hilt of the blade. "Thank you, my prince. A blade of silver... it is said only the mightiest can wield such a thing against our kind." She looked up at him, her defiance replaced by curiosity. "I thought the Snow Pack were known for being cold and ruthless in battle. I didn't know you possessed such a warm side."
Harland took a step closer, but remained respectful of her space. "Luna, if you need anything, let me know. I won't force any intimacy or expectations upon you. I know we are still strangers to one another."
He spoke with such sincerity that Luna found she couldn't meet his gaze. She ducked her head to hide her face, but she couldn't stop the heat rising to her cheeks. For the first time, she wasn't blushing out of anger, but out of something far more dangerous.
Harland noticed the silence, but misinterpreting it as fatigue, he gave a short nod. "Rest well, Luna."
- Writer
