Elira fought against the coarse ropes biting into her wrists, her cries muffled by the gag pressed cruelly between her lips. Her bare feet scraped over frozen dirt as her stepbrothers dragged her through the dense woods, each step pulling her closer to a fate she didn't choose.
"Stop squirming, girl," snarled Darran, the older of the two. "You're lucky the Beast Lord even wants you."
She kicked, screamed behind the gag—but they only laughed.
Her stepmother rode ahead on horseback, her fine cloak untouched by the branches that lashed at Elira's face. "You should be grateful," the woman said over her shoulder. "He paid a king's ransom for you. You'll never go hungry again. Perhaps you'll even warm his bed—if you don't turn his stomach first."
The carriage that had once belonged to her father was gone. So was her name, her home, her future.
All that remained was this bargain.
A girl, bound and gagged, traded for gold.
When they reached the gates of the Beast's domain, the castle loomed like a dark omen on the cliffside. Storm clouds brewed overhead, and the howl of wolves echoed through the forest.
They didn't knock.
The gates creaked open as if they'd been waiting.
A towering shadow stepped out from the mist, and the stepbrothers fell silent. Even the cruel smile slipped from her stepmother's face.
He was huge—his shoulders broad beneath a dark, fur-lined cloak. A silver mask covered the top half of his face, revealing only a sharp jaw and mouth set in a grim line. He said nothing at first.
Then he looked at Elira.
Bound. Gagged. On her knees in the dirt, eyes wild with fear.
His voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Untie her."
Her stepmother laughed, nervous. "She's feisty. We thought it safer to—"
"I said untie her," he growled, stepping closer. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his boots.
When Darran hesitated, Kael drew a dagger from his belt and slashed the rope himself. Elira collapsed forward, trembling. The gag fell away, and she gasped for breath.
"She is no beast's meat," he said coldly. "She is mine. And you will not touch her again."
He turned to Elira then, dropping the dagger at her feet.
"You walk in on your own," he said softly. "Or you may use that blade on me now."
Elira looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. The dagger glinted in the dirt between them. Her heart pounded. She had been sold. Betrayed. But this beast… offered her a choice?
Elira's fingers curled around the dagger's hilt.
It was heavier than she expected, the steel still warm from his touch. Her breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling in frantic waves. Her wrists throbbed where the ropes had torn her skin, and her throat burned from the gag—but her eyes never left the man before her.
The Beast Lord.
The silver mask covering the top half of his face gleamed even in the dim light, intricate patterns etched like ancient runes along its surface. It didn't hide the scar that traced down his right cheek, or the quiet, unreadable stillness in his dark eyes.
Her stepmother had said he was a monster. A brute. A savage who devoured virgins and drank their screams.
But he hadn't hurt her.
He had cut her free.
He had offered her the blade.
She rose slowly, dagger in hand. Her stepbrothers backed away. Even her stepmother held her breath, waiting for the girl to snap—to leap at the man and plunge the weapon into his heart.
But Elira didn't.
Because this man hadn't betrayed her.
She turned, instead, to stare at the ones who had.
"I should gut you like pigs," she hissed, voice hoarse, shaking with fury. "Every last one of you."
Her stepmother rolled her eyes, masking fear with scorn. "Be sure to leave your hands soft, dear. He'll want something to hold when he takes you."
Elira moved a step toward her—but a gloved hand came to rest on her shoulder. Firm. Grounding.
"That's enough," Kael said.
He didn't yell. He didn't threaten.
But they flinched like cowards all the same.
"This girl is mine now," he said, loud enough for the woods to carry it. "You've sold your blood for coin. Do not come crawling when winter takes your last breath."
And with that, he turned toward the gates—keeping his hand at Elira's back, not forcing her, only guiding.
She looked once more at the blade in her hand. Then dropped it at her stepmother's feet.
"No blade I take from a monster will ever touch my skin," she whispered. "But I hope he haunts your dreams."
The gates closed behind them with a thunderous finality.
And Elira—bride of the Beast—was swallowed by the dark.