The Alpha King's Contracted Bride

(Lyra)

The smell of wet earth and pine used to comfort me.

Now it smells like goodbye.

I knelt beside my father’s bed, my knees pressing into the cold stone floor of our tiny cottage. His hand—once strong enough to split logs with a single swing—lay limp in mine, the fingers pale and trembling. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill creeping through the cracked walls.

“Papa.” My voice came out smaller than I intended. “Papa, wake up.”

He didn’t move.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps. The healer had left an hour ago, muttering about “heart-weakness” and “no cure for the old.” She’d taken the last of our silver coins with her.

I pressed my forehead to his knuckles. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”

A knock shattered the silence.

Not a gentle knock—a demand. Three heavy thuds that rattled the wooden door on its hinges. I flinched but didn’t let go of my father’s hand.

“Lyra Vance.” A man’s voice, thick and cold. “Open. Now.”

I recognized it. Elder Marik. The pack’s treasurer. The man who had been coming to our door every full moon for the past months, collecting payments that we couldn’t afford.

My father’s illness had drained us. First his savings, then our livestock, then the roof repairs we’d been saving for. The pack elders had loaned him the money six months ago—a “generous gesture” they’d called it. But generosity always came with teeth.

I released my father’s hand and stood. My legs felt like willow branches.

The door swung open before I reached it. Marik stood on the threshold, flanked by two younger wolves I didn’t recognize. His eyes swept past me, landing on my father’s still form.

“He’s alive,” I said quickly. “Just sleeping. He needs rest.”

Marik stepped inside. His boots left mud on the floor I’d scrubbed that morning. “The debt is due, Lyra. Three moons past due, in fact. We’ve been patient.”

“I know.” My throat tightened. “I’ve been working at the tannery. I can pay half now, and the rest by—”

“Half?” He laughed. It was a dry, ugly sound. “You owe three hundred silver marks. The tannery pays you three coppers a day. Do the math, girl.”

I did the math every night before I fell asleep. Three hundred silver marks. Three thousand coppers. Three years of work if I never ate and never slept.

“Please.” I hated how my voice cracked. “My father is sick. Give us more time.”

Marik’s gaze drifted to the bed. He walked past me, stood over my father, and nudged his shoulder with the toe of his boot. My father groaned but didn’t wake.

“He’s dying,” Marik said flatly. “Everyone can see it. And when he dies, the debt falls to you. A nineteen-year-old Null with no wolf, no family, and no prospects.” He turned to face me. “You’ll never pay it back.”

I lifted my chin. “Then what should I do?”

The two wolves behind him shifted their weight. Marik smiled—a thin, cruel line.

“The Alpha King is looking for a wife.”

The words landed like a slap. I blinked. “What?”

“Caspian Blackwood. The Ruthless King of the Northern Territory. He’s sent word to every pack in the realm: he requires a bride. Young. Unclaimed. Expendable.”

My blood turned to ice. Everyone knew the stories. His fortress, Iron Keep, was said to be soaked in blood and silence.

“You can’t be serious,” I whispered.

“The pack council has voted.” Marik reached into his coat and pulled out a folded parchment, sealed with black wax. “Your father’s debt will be erased in full upon your marriage to King Caspian. You will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

My hand flew to my chest. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You don’t have a choice.” He pressed the parchment into my numb fingers. “Nulls have no rights under pack law. You belong to the council until the debt is paid. And the council has decided.”

Behind me, my father coughed—a wet, rattling sound that made my heart clench.

I looked at the parchment. The seal bore the king’s crest: a wolf’s skull ringed by thorns. My thumb brushed the wax. It was still warm.

“If I refuse?”

Marik tilted his head. “Then your father is evicted from pack lands tonight. He’ll die in the wilderness within a week. And you’ll work the tannery until you drop dead at forty—still owing every copper.”

The room tilted. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.

A wife. To a monster.

“What kind of man,” I heard myself ask, “willingly marries a Null?”

Marik’s smile widened. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Perhaps he’s tired of she-wolves who fight back. Perhaps he wants someone too weak to try.”

Weak.

The word should have cut me. Instead, something cold settled in my stomach. I had been called weak my whole life—no wolf, no scent, no magic. The pack’s forgotten daughter. But weakness, I had learned, was a kind of invisibility. And invisible girls survived.

“I’ll need tonight,” I said quietly. “To say goodbye.”

Marik studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Dawn. At the north gate. A carriage will be waiting.”

He turned and walked out. His wolves followed. The door creaked shut, leaving me alone with my father’s ragged breathing and the smell of wet earth.

I unfolded the parchment.

By decree of the Council of Elders, Silverpine Pack, the Null known as Lyra Vance is hereby transferred to the household of King Caspian Blackwood as a contractual bride. Term: one year. Upon completion, all debts are void. No further obligations.

Signed and sealed this day.

One year.

I folded the parchment again, tucked it into my apron pocket, and crawled onto the bed beside my father. His eyes fluttered open—clouded, confused, but still warm.

“Lyra?” His voice was a thread.

“I’m here, Papa.” I pressed my cheek to his shoulder. “I’m going to save you.”

He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t remember this conversation tomorrow. But I would.

Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the howl of distant wolves. I closed my eyes and listened.

Tomorrow I would meet the Ruthless King.