I need a moment to gather myself, figure out why I’m reacting so strangely around the creature.
Then I need to find my strength and get ready for this journey.
I mingle with the guests, the bare acceptable minimum, nodding at them and ducking behind hedges and trees to avoid having to talk to anyone.
The image of the muscular, handsome werewolf cradling the bowl of bones to his chest and snarling ferally won’t leave my mind.
I have to stop thinking about Valen and pack my entire life into a few crusty trunks, decide what to take and what to leave behind.
It won’t be that bad,I tell myself.I can always send for more of my things once I’ve settled in my new home. And saying goodbye to my cousins will be hard, sure, but I will see them again soon.
At my wedding, at the latest.
Soon, I’ll be rid of the wolf and enter a new, improved phase of my life. My new husband will be caring and funny andhot, and he will take long walks with me to gather flowers and practice sword training, and read with me in the glow of the fireplace.
I have to believe it.
And yes, I’m well aware that I’m running away from my problems, my one big problem tied to the tree behind me as I eventually truly mingle with the guests, pasting a fixed smile on my face. I let conversation flow around me, let my cousins drag me off to the small labyrinth that my stepmother insists on maintaining on the grounds, but I refuse to talk about the werewolf or my future husband.
I lose myself for a while, in time, in warmth, in the ripple of voices and smells, so familiar and cozy. This garden was my mother’s. She planted everything. Father had brought her the best gardeners and sent people to carry flowers and trees from the rim of the world because she wanted them.
They had loved each other so much.
Every corner of the manor and its estate holds memories for me, and most of them are fond and worth keeping. I look and remember, memorizing everything for safekeeping, storing it in the box inside my mind. It’s half-full with terror and panic, but I’m saving space for the pleasant images and sensations at the bottom.
Hopefully, one day I’ll unpack the box and let the bad stuff go, capturing the good memories to wear in my dreams at night like armor, and maybe… maybe one day I won’t need any armor at all.
Even though it sounds impossible right now.
Even though with every step I take and every word I utter, I’m fully aware of the wolf at my back and the leash I will have to accept once again after the festivities are over. The question is, who is the leash for, the wolf or myself?
I already know the answer.
My moment of freedom and escape soon comes to an end. As the day starts to wane and the curved sky starts to lose its brilliance, as the dragons high up in the air change their flying patterns, preparing either to go hunting or roost in their nests in the mountains, I know my time ignoring reality is over.
I realize the moment Valen emerges from the protective shadow of the tree, accompanied by Kier and Bert, because a familiar silence ripples over the guests who are spread around the gardens. You can hear the whispers dying off, then restarting.
I turn and stare along with them.
He’s standing straighter now. Even that pitiful excuse of a supper seems to have given him back his strength.
Which should frighten me to death.
Instead, I’m caught off guard yet again by his tall physique, those broad shoulders, that angular face that’s once more half-hidden under the leather muzzle, and that sharp, bright gaze under the white streak of his hair.
Bert hasn’t even bothered with the gleaming leash, instead hauling him toward me by the arm, not caring if he loses his hand. It’s as if both human men have lost all fear.
Then again, with the way I’ve been acting around Valen, they’d look chicken-hearted if they acted any less nonchalant, I suppose.
Let us pray none of us lose our hands, limbs, and heads in this madness.
Then Valen is right in front of me, so tall I have to crane my neck to see his face, and the end of the leash is thrust into my hands.
“Here you are, my lady,” Kier says. “He’s all fed and watered, as commanded.”
He’s making a show out of this, a spectacle meant to make me look strong and confident, and I appreciate it.
The leather end of the leash’s thin chain makes my palms sweat—or maybe they were already sweaty. My dress sticks to my skin as I try to suppress the fear, push it back down, and lock it up where it can’t reach me.
