"You will not leave my side for the duration of these festivities."
That was all the warning I got before Sea clasped my hand, his fingers fitting into the spaces between mine. Like a warm,intimate vice.
Dammit. I silently muttered a string of forbidden internet words. But then I remembered the opening to his first letter.
…in those long years of solitude, I dreamed of you. I imagined holding hands with my queen as we oversaw important rites like holidays and weddings.
This was a moment he had been waiting for, I realized. Ever since he had been left alone in his castle, ruling over the secret kingdom with only a visiting uncle serving as regent.
Part of me wanted not to care and snatch my hand back.
However, the other part — the part that had stayed up well into the night reading and re-reading Sea’s long letters couldn’t bring myself to make him let me go.
Let him have this,I decided as we walked down the hill to the Wild Wolves encampment. Together. It probably wouldn’t hurt to give him a false sense of comfort as I continued to mentally plot my escape.
Also, pretending felt… not horrible. I’d never held hands with a male before, and that sort of thing was discouraged amongst the mated wolves in St. Ailbe — something about PDA being akin to vulgar bragging.
The hand-holding act made a warm, happy emotion flutter in my chest, though. Like putting on mittens to build a snowman in the winter.
We stopped a few meters away from a communal fire pit surrounded by stones. Among those gathered, I noticed not only the other captured she-wolves and their hopeful male suitors but also something I hadn't seen in the week or so since we arrived: older males and a smaller group of she-wolves in their forties.
The she-wolves eyed my jeans and t-shirt with open disapproval, and I guess I couldn’t blame them.
Unlike me, they were dressed for the occasion in long shifts adorned with dusky gold jewelry that glinted under the simulated sun's waning light. Each woman was flanked by two older male wolves wearing green tunics with embroidered edges. For some reason, many of the males held instruments: a mix of harps, wooden flutes, something that looked like a miniature guitar, and large frame drums.
“These are the elders from both the Sea and Wild packs," Sea explained beside me, unprompted.
“Oh!” I said, noticing that the number of wolves had almost doubled. I then asked, “Which ones are Wild’s parents?”
Wild, in his wolf form, went still beside me.
“If his parents were here, he would not be your Irish King,” Sea answered for him.
What did that mean?
Sea began speaking to the assembled audience in the Irish version of Gaelic before I could ask.
It was hard to label the mood of the wolves waiting outside the hut as they listened to Sea speak, but it was solemn. As if the most important thing ever was about to happen, and it made me wonder how long it had been since this village hosted a wedding.
Sea, who still hadn't let go of my hand, seemed to be reciting some kind of poem. None of the words rhymed, but his tone held a cadence that reminded me of a spoken song. Even though I didn't understand a word he was saying, his resonant voice held me riveted as the sky darkened to reveal the secret kingdom's approximation of a new moon.
As soon as the sliver of light appeared above us, Wild lifted his muzzle to the sky and led his shifted pack in a strange howl of a wolf song to accompany Sea's spoken verse.
On cue, the males holding the instruments began playing a tune so wild and intense that my heart sped up with anticipation, even though I hadn't wanted to attend this wedding in the first place.
Then, without warning, Sea stopped speaking, and the wolves' synchronous bay and the males playing music came to a dramatic halt. A crackling fire silence fell over the gathering as almost everyone turned to face the large hut directly behind the fire pit.
For a moment, all was still, and then Lorcan and Ronan emerged from the hut with Amanda between them, each male holding fast to one of their mate's hands. Lorcan and Ronan were dressed similarly to the unmated Sea Wolves in white tunics with gold-embroidered edges.
However, my breath caught at the sight of Amanda in a gown made of rich, blood-red fabric with intricate embroidery along the edges. The dress featured long bell sleeves with detailed patterns at the cuffs and a wide black belt cinched at her waist. She also wore a fur stole draped over one shoulder, and her long blond hair was styled with delicate braids interwoven among loose strands, with two medium-sized plaits keeping the rest of her locks out of her face.
But her non-Ordnung-approved hairstyle and dress weren’t what made me catch my breath.
To my shock, Amanda didn't look defeated or even sad as Lorcan and Ronan guided her to stand on the other side of the communal pit. She smiled up at her mates, her blue eyes sparkling in the firelight — not with her wolf’s night vision but with genuine happiness. The kind of happiness that comes from within and cannot be faked.
She looked… radiant.
I had been planning to intercede before the ceremony began to remind Amanda that she still had choices. But the formerly prudish know-it-all vibrated with a joy I’d never seen her express before — not even during a rousing game of baseball. This wasn't resignation — but a visible excitement that made my planned intervention suddenly feel unnecessary.
