Chapter 2: The Beast's Reputation

(Lyra)

Dawn was still hours away, but the village was already whispering.

I stood in the doorway of our cottage, a single leather bag hanging from my hand, and listened to the wind carry their voices from the tavern down the road.

“…strangled her on the wedding bed…”

“…no, no, he tore her throat out with his teeth…”

“…the second one lasted three months. Three. Then she just… disappeared…”

My fingers tightened on the bag’s strap.

The cottage behind me was dark. My father had finally fallen into a deep sleep after I’d fed him the last of the herbal brew. He didn’t know I was leaving. I’d written a letter—short, clumsy, full of lies about going to work in the city—and left it on his pillow.

Better that he think me gone than know where I was truly going.

I stepped back inside and set the bag on the table. It was small, barely big enough for a change of clothes, a comb, and the dagger my father had given me on my sixteenth birthday. I opened it and looked inside.

One dress. Wool, gray, patched at the elbow.

One pair of boots, resoled twice.

One ribbon, faded blue, that used to belong to my mother.

And the letter from Elder Marik, still folded in my apron pocket. I pulled it out and read it again by the dying firelight.

…transferred to the household of King Caspian Blackwood as a contractual bride…

The words hadn’t changed. I wished they would.

A floorboard creaked behind me. I spun.

Old Marta, the neighbor who had helped raise me after my mother died, stood in the doorway. Her face was a map of wrinkles and worry. She held a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“Child,” she said. “You’re not really going.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I have to.” I tucked the letter away. “The debt—”

“The debt is an excuse.” Marta shuffled closer and pressed the bundle into my hands. Bread, cheese, and a small flask of water. “They’re sending you to die. You know that, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

Marta grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. Her eyes were wet. “The first wife—Elara of House Vane—she was no ordinary wolf. She was a warrior. Trained from birth. And he killed her before the marriage was even consummated.”

“I heard he did it in self-defense.”

“That’s what the king’s men say.” Marta released my chin and shook her head. “But the body was never found. Only blood. So much blood that they had to burn the wedding sheets.”

My stomach turned.

“The second wife,” Marta continued, lowering her voice, “was a healer. Gentle. Soft-spoken. They say she lasted longer because she never challenged him. But one morning, her chambers were empty. Her scent—gone. Not even a trail.”

“Maybe she ran away.”

“From the Iron Keep?” Marta laughed bitterly. “No one runs from that place, Lyra. The walls are spelled. The forest around it belongs to him. He can smell a rabbit from three miles away.” She paused. “He would have found her.”

I packed the bread and cheese into my bag anyway. “Then what happened to her?”

Marta was silent for a long moment. Then she whispered, “Some say he got bored. Some say he ate her. And some say…” She glanced toward the window, as if afraid the shadows themselves might hear. “Some say she’s still there. Locked in the dungeons. Screaming so quietly that only the walls remember.”

I tied the bag shut with shaking hands.

“You don’t have to do this,” Marta said. “Run. Tonight. I have a cousin in the southern packs. She’ll hide you.”

“And my father?”

Marta’s face crumpled.

“The elders will throw him out before sunrise,” I said. “He’ll die in the cold. Alone.” I slung the bag over my shoulder. “I won’t let that happen.”

Marta pulled me into a hug. Her body was thin and bony, but her arms were strong. “Then you go with this,” she murmured into my hair. “The Ruthless King may have killed his first wife. But you are not Elara. You are a Null. He won’t see you coming.”

“What do you mean?”

She pulled back and cupped my face. “Nulls have no scent. No wolf. No magic for him to track or fear. You are invisible to his kind, Lyra. Use that.”

I wanted to believe her. But invisibility had never saved me from bullies or hunger or the cold weight of a debt I didn’t owe.

I kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Marta.”

She nodded, wiped her eyes, and slipped out the door.

I was alone again.

I looked around the cottage one last time. The chipped cups. The crooked table. The bed where my father lay breathing, still alive, still mine. I memorized every crack in the ceiling.

Then I walked outside into the dark.

---

(Caspian)

The Iron Keep did not sleep.

Three hundred years, and the stones had forgotten how.

I stood at the window of my tower chamber, staring at the moon. Below, the courtyard was empty. The guards patrolled in silence. No one spoke after midnight. No one dared.

My wolf stirred beneath my skin, restless and hungry.

Soon, I told it.

A knock came at the door. Light. Careful.

“Enter.”

My steward, Corvin, slipped inside. He was old—almost sixty—but he moved like a man half that age. Fear kept him nimble.

“My king,” he said, bowing. “The contracts have been sent to all packs. We have received eleven responses so far.”

“And?”

“One has been selected. Silverpine Pack.” He unfolded a parchment and read aloud. “A Null female, age nineteen. No wolf, no scent, no family ties. Her father’s debt will serve as payment.”

A Null.

I turned from the window. Corvin flinched. He always flinched.

“No one else wanted her,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“She is… considered undesirable, my king.”

“Good.”

Corvin hesitated. “The council wishes to remind you of the terms. One year. If she does not survive—”

“She will survive.” My voice came out harder than I intended. The wolf pressed against my ribs. “I am not the monster they paint me to be.”

Corvin said nothing. He didn’t have to.

We both knew the whispers. Elara’s blood on my hands. The second wife’s empty room. The stories had grown teeth over the decades. I had let them. Fear was a weapon, and I wielded it well.

But a Null.

A girl with no scent. No magic. No wolf to scream when I lost control.

Perhaps, this time, the beast inside me would stay quiet.

“When does she arrive?” I asked.

“Tomorrow evening, my king.”

I looked back at the moon.

“Leave me.”

Corvin bowed and retreated. The door closed with a soft click.

Alone again.

I pressed my palm to the cold stone wall and let my wolf breathe. The room filled with the sound of my own growl—low, ancient, and utterly alone.

One year, I told myself.

But I had lived three centuries.

What was one more disappointment?