Amanda
The packhouse is a hive of activity. Preparations for the commitment ceremony are in full swing, with servants bustling through the halls carrying linens and trays of food. The scent of pine and roasting meat hangs in the air, but I cannot taste it. I am a ghost here, watching a life that is supposed to become mine.
Then I see her. Standing in the main entryway, looking small and defiant amidst the chaos. My grandmother.
“Nana.” The word is a breath, a prayer. I run to her, and her arms, strong and familiar, wrap around me. I bury my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and home.
“Hush now, little wolf,” she murmurs into my hair. “Did you think I would let you face this alone?”
She pulls back, holding a long, flat bundle wrapped in cloth. “I brought you something. For the ceremony.”
She unwraps it carefully. It is a cloak. Woven by hand from the softest Silverwood wool, dyed the deep grey of a twilight sky. Along the hem and hood, she has embroidered a delicate, winding pattern of silverleaf vines. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It is a piece of my soul.
“It’s our history,” she says, her voice thick. “Every Luna of our line has worn a cloak woven by her mother or grandmother. This is your strength, Amanda. Do not forget it.”
I can only nod, my throat tight with tears I refuse to shed. “Thank you, Nana.”
“There you are!” Lila’s cheerful voice cuts through the moment. She glides toward us, her eyes landing on the cloak. “Oh, my. How… rustic. What a charming little heirloom.”
My grandmother’s eyes narrow, but I place a warning hand on her arm. “It was made for me,” I say, my voice level.
“Of course it was,” Lila says with a brilliant smile. “You must be Amanda’s grandmother. I am Lila, the Alpha’s Beta.”
Nana just gives a short, sharp nod.
“Let me help you take that to your room,” Lila insists, reaching for the cloak. “You do not want it getting wrinkled before the ceremony. I have some special ink for the treaty scroll, very dark and permanent. We must keep it far away from this lovely fabric.”
Her words are a casual warning, yet they hang in the air like a threat.
Later, in my chambers, I lay the cloak out on the bed. It feels like a shield. A piece of home in this cold stone fortress. Nana sits in a chair by the window, watching me with worried eyes.
Lila enters without knocking, carrying a small, unstoppered bottle of that same ink and a quill. “The Alpha needs your formal signature on the preliminary pact,” she says, her voice all business. “Just right here on the table is fine.”
I move toward the table, but Lila stumbles. It is so artfully done. A tiny, theatrical gasp as she lurches forward, her arm flailing out. The uncorked bottle flies from her hand.
It happens in slow motion. The arc of the dark liquid through the air. The splash as it lands, a black, spreading stain, directly in the center of my ceremonial cloak.
Silence. Thick and absolute.
“Oh, no.” Lila’s hand flies to her mouth, her green eyes wide with fake horror. “Oh, Amanda, I am so dreadfully clumsy. I cannot believe I did that. It’s ruined.”
My grandmother rises from her chair, her face a mask of cold fury. “You did that on purpose.”
Lila’s facade cracks for just a second. A flash of triumph shines in her eyes before she smothers it with pity. “Ma’am, please. It was an accident. The ink is indelible, made from crushed river stone and oil. It will never come out.”
She turns back to me, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “Do not worry. I knew something like this might happen with such an old garment. I took the liberty of finding you a replacement. It’s plain, of course, but it will have to do.”
She pulls a folded cloak from a bag by the door. It is a drab, scratchy brown. The cut is awkward, the fit clearly wrong for my frame. It is a servant’s cloak.
My heart feels like a lead weight in my chest. I stare at the black stain, a gaping wound on the symbol of my heritage. I cannot speak. I cannot breathe.
She won. Lila has won.
Nana stays until the last possible moment, but she must take her seat in the hall. She kisses my cheek, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. “Be strong, my girl.”
I stand before the mirror, the pathetic brown cloak hanging from my shoulders. I look small. Broken. A charity case. The weight of my isolation, of my utter powerlessness, presses down on me until I can barely stand.
The double doors to the great hall loom before me. This is it. This is the walk I have to make, in this ugly cloak, to stand beside an Alpha who despises me.
Just as I am about to take the first step, Lila appears at my side, a shadow in the dim corridor.
“A final piece of advice,” she whispers, her voice a venomous caress. “Do not pretend to be anything more than what you are. A placeholder. He will never mark you. He will never desire you. Every time he looks at your plain face, he will be thinking of me. You will always be second best.”
Her words are the final blow, shattering the last of my composure. A tear slips down my cheek.
With a triumphant smirk, she turns and disappears into the hall. I take a shuddering breath, trying to piece myself back together for the public humiliation that awaits.
I lift my chin and prepare to walk into the hall.
Then a presence fills the corridor behind me. A sudden drop in temperature. A wave of raw, absolute power that makes the hairs on my arms stand up.
Thorn.
He stops beside me, saying nothing. His gaze sweeps over me, taking in my tear-streaked face, my devastated expression, and the pathetic, ill-fitting cloak I am wearing.
His face is stone. Unreadable. But his eyes… his eyes are a different story. A storm gathers in their grey depths. A silent, dangerous fury flashes within them, so cold and so intense it makes me flinch. A storm that is not directed at me, but for me.
