The first time I saw the mansion, I understood why people believed some places were built to keep the devil comfortable.
It stood on a hill surrounded by a forest so dense that sunlight barely reached the ground. Black iron gates towered over the road, their sharp tips resembling the teeth of some enormous beast. Beyond them stretched a narrow driveway, bordered by dead rose bushes and statues of creatures I couldn't identify.
There were no neighbors.
No children playing.
No sounds of ordinary life.
Just the wind, the trees, and the occasional distant howl that made my skin crawl.
I sat in the back of my father's car, clutching a small brown suitcase containing everything I owned.
Two dresses.
One old sweater.
A hairbrush with missing teeth.
And a photograph I had stolen from the sitting room years ago.
It was the only photograph of my family I possessed.
Jacinta stood between our parents, wearing a beautiful pink dress. My father had one hand on her shoulder, and my mother was kissing her cheek.
I wasn't in the picture.
I had taken it anyway.
Perhaps I had wanted proof that the family I belonged to had once existed, even if I had never truly been part of it.
"Stop fidgeting," my father snapped from the front seat.
I immediately folded my hands in my lap.
He hadn't spoken to me much since the previous night. This morning, he'd simply ordered me to dress properly and get into the car.
No explanation.
No reassurance.
Not even a goodbye to the room I had slept in for sixteen years.
My mother had given me a small gold necklace before we left.
"For good luck," she'd said.
I had stared at it in disbelief.
Good luck.
As if a necklace could protect me from being sold to a stranger who wanted a bride for his wolf.
The car slowed as we approached the gates.
A man in a dark uniform stepped out of a small guardhouse. He looked at our vehicle, then at my father.
"State your business."
My father lowered the window.
"We're here for the marriage arrangement."
The guard's expression changed.
His eyes moved to me.
For a moment, he looked almost sorry.
Then he stepped aside.
The gates began to open.
And just like that, my old life disappeared behind us.
---
The man waiting at the entrance was not what I expected.
He was tall, perhaps in his late fifties, with silver hair, a perfectly pressed black suit, and an expression so stern that even my father seemed uncomfortable in his presence.
"Mr. Vale," he greeted my father.
Then his gaze settled on me.
"Miss Rose."
I stiffened.
Nobody outside my family had ever called me Miss.
"My name is Alistair," he continued. "I manage this estate. You will address me as Mr. Alistair."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded once before turning toward the double doors.
"Come with me."
My father reached for my suitcase.
For one ridiculous second, I thought he intended to carry it inside for me.
Instead, he handed it to the servant standing beside the entrance.
"Take care of her belongings."
Then he turned to Alistair.
"About the remaining payment..."
Of course.
Even here, at the gates of the place where his daughter would be spending the rest of her life, my father had money on his mind.
Alistair regarded him without expression.
"The agreed sum will be transferred once the conditions have been fulfilled."
"And my daughter's marriage?"
"His Highness will decide when he is ready to receive her."
My father frowned.
"His Highness?"
Alistair's expression grew colder.
"You were informed that this arrangement concerns the heir to a royal house, Mr. Vale. Surely you read the documents you signed."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Royal house?
My father glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
He had sold me to royalty.
Not that it made much difference. A crown wouldn't make a cage less of a cage.
"I understand," he said.
He extended his hand.
Alistair shook it.
Then my father turned toward the car.
Panic seized me.
"Papa?"
He paused.
I rushed forward, my heart hammering.
"Are you leaving?"
He looked at me as though the question irritated him.
"Of course I'm leaving. What did you expect?"
I swallowed.
"I thought..."
I didn't know what I had thought.
That he would tell me to be brave?
That he would promise to come back?
That perhaps, at the last moment, he would remember I was his daughter?
My father sighed impatiently.
"Rose, don't embarrass me."
Those were his last words to me.
He climbed into the car.
The engine started.
I stood at the top of the steps, watching as the vehicle turned around and disappeared through the gates.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
I wondered how long it would take him to forget what I looked like.
Then the gates slammed shut.
The sound echoed through the grounds.
I was alone.
"Miss Rose."
I turned.
Alistair stood behind me.
"Your room is ready."
I looked at the mansion.
Somewhere inside it was a cursed prince.
Somewhere inside it was the wolf.
And apparently, somewhere inside it was my future.
"May I ask you something, sir?"
Alistair studied me.
"You may ask."
"Is the wolf going to eat me?"
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement flickered across his face.
"No."
Relief loosened my chest.
Then he added, "His Highness would never permit it."
My relief vanished.
"His Highness?"
Alistair turned toward the doors.
"Come along, Miss Rose."
I followed him inside.
And I began to wonder whether being eaten might have been the kinder fate.
---
The mansion was enormous.
The entrance hall alone was larger than the entire house I had grown up in. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, scattering pale light across a marble floor. Portraits lined the walls, depicting men and women dressed in elaborate clothing from centuries past.
They all had the same unusual eyes.
Gold.
Amber.
Some nearly brown, others bright enough to resemble molten metal.
I slowed before one portrait.
It showed a young man with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a cold, commanding expression. He wore a black military uniform decorated with medals, and one hand rested on the hilt of a silver sword.
He looked no older than twenty-five.
Yet the painting appeared ancient.
I leaned closer.
There was something familiar about his face.
Not because I had seen him before.
Because I had seen those eyes.
Those same golden eyes had stared at me from the television screen.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my suitcase.
"Who is he?"
Alistair stopped beside me.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
"Prince Lucien."
I looked at him.
"The wolf?"
Alistair's jaw tightened.
"Mind your words, Miss Rose."
I stared back at the painting.
Prince Lucien.
The name sounded beautiful.
Dangerous, too.
"Is he dead?"
Alistair turned toward me so abruptly that I stepped backward.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because the painting looks old."
"It is old."
"How old?"
His gaze hardened.
"Old enough that you should learn not to ask questions about matters you don't understand."
I lowered my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
He studied me for another moment before continuing down the hall.
I followed, but not before glancing back at the portrait.
The prince's painted eyes seemed to follow me.
And for one unsettling instant, I thought the corners of his mouth had lifted into a smile.
I blinked.
The expression was gone.
I hurried after Alistair.
---
My room was on the eastern side of the mansion.
It had a four-poster bed, a fireplace, a private bathroom, and windows overlooking a garden filled with white roses.
A wardrobe stood against one wall. Beside it was a dressing table with a silver-framed mirror.
I had never slept in a room this beautiful.
I had never even imagined such a room could belong to me.
"Your meals will be brought here until His Highness gives further instructions," Alistair explained. "You are not permitted to enter the west wing. You are not to wander beyond the gardens without an escort. After sunset, you will remain inside the mansion."
I nodded.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
He hesitated.
"Three things."
My stomach tightened.
"First, if you hear howling after midnight, do not leave your room."
I stared at him.
"Second, if His Highness calls for you, you will answer immediately."
"Yes, sir."
"And third..."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"Never attempt to remove the silver collar from his neck."
I went cold.
"The wolf wears a collar?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That is not your concern."
"But if it hurts him..."
"Miss Rose."
His voice was quiet, but it silenced me instantly.
"Whatever you believe you understand about this arrangement, you understand very little."
He moved toward the door.
I hurried after him.
"Please, sir."
He paused.
I pressed my hands together.
"Can you tell me why he wants a bride?"
For the first time since I had arrived, Alistair looked genuinely troubled.
Not angry.
Not annoyed.
Afraid.
He glanced toward the corridor, as though he feared someone might be listening.
Then he leaned closer.
"Because the curse is getting worse."
Before I could ask what that meant, he walked out and closed the door.
I stood frozen in the middle of my beautiful room.
The curse.
He had called it a curse.
Not an illness.
Not a condition.
A curse.
And somehow, I was expected to become part of it.
---
Dinner arrived at seven.
A servant brought roast chicken, vegetables, rice, and a glass of orange juice. There was more food on the tray than I usually ate in an entire day.
I thanked her.
She stared at me strangely.
"You're welcome, Miss."
Then she hurried out.
I ate slowly, trying to convince myself that the food was real and that nobody would slap me for taking too much.
When I finished, I wandered toward the window.
The garden below was illuminated by small lamps. White roses covered the trellises, their petals almost luminous in the darkness.
At the far end of the garden stood a stone archway.
Beyond it was a stretch of forest.
Something moved between the trees.
I leaned closer to the glass.
A black shape emerged from the shadows.
My breath caught.
The wolf.
Even from the window, I could see how enormous it was. Its shoulders rose high above the grass, and its thick black fur seemed to swallow the moonlight.
It walked slowly, its head lowered.
Then it stopped.
I stopped breathing.
The wolf lifted its head.
Its golden eyes found my window.
Found me.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I stepped away from the glass.
This was ridiculous. I was standing several floors above the ground, behind a closed window. The animal couldn't possibly know who I was.
I forced myself to approach the window again.
The wolf was still watching me.
Then it did something that made my blood turn cold.
It sat.
Perfectly still.
Like a person waiting for someone to open a door.
My fingers trembled against the windowsill.
"Go away," I whispered.
The wolf tilted its head.
Then, slowly, it raised one enormous paw and placed it against the stone wall beneath my window.
A low sound rose from its throat.
Not a growl.
Not a howl.
Something that sounded almost like a sigh.
And then a voice spoke behind me.
"You're not supposed to look at him."
I screamed.
I spun around so quickly that I knocked over the glass on my dressing table.
A young woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark blue uniform. She looked about twenty, with brown skin, tightly braided hair, and frightened eyes.
"Who are you?" I gasped.
"Elena. I'm assigned to assist you."
I pressed a hand against my chest.
"You scared me!"
"I'm sorry." She closed the door and hurried toward the window. "Did he see you?"
I stared at her.
"Who?"
She looked at me as though I had asked whether the sky was blue.
"The prince."
My gaze flew back to the window.
The wolf had disappeared.
Only the empty garden remained.
I turned to Elena.
"Why are you all so afraid of him?"
She looked toward the door.
Then she lowered her voice.
"Because the last woman who tried to help him died."
My stomach dropped.
"What woman?"
Elena's face went pale.
"I shouldn't have said anything."
"Please. I'm supposed to marry him. I need to know what I'm getting into."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she whispered, "There was another bride."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"Another bride?"
"Years ago."
"What happened to her?"
Elena shook her head.
"Nobody knows. One night, she entered the west wing. The next morning, she was gone."
"Did she run away?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
Elena swallowed.
"Because the gates were locked from the inside."
Before I could ask another question, three sharp knocks sounded at the door.
Elena jumped.
Her eyes widened.
"Don't say another word."
The handle turned.
The door opened.
Alistair stood in the doorway.
His expression was unreadable.
"Miss Rose," he said. "His Highness requests your presence."
My heart stopped.
"Now?"
"Now."
Elena caught my wrist.
Her fingers were ice-cold.
"Whatever you do," she whispered, "don't let him touch you."
Alistair's eyes snapped toward her.
"Leave us, Elena."
She released me immediately and hurried out.
I stared at Alistair.
"Why did she say that?"
"Because she has forgotten her place."
"Will he hurt me?"
Alistair didn't answer.
He simply held out his hand.
"Come, Miss Rose."
I wanted to refuse.
I wanted to lock the door, crawl beneath the bed, and pretend none of this was happening.
But my father had already taken my money, my freedom, and my choice.
I had nothing left to bargain with.
So I followed Alistair into the corridor.
We passed the grand staircase, the portraits, and a series of closed doors. Eventually, we reached a narrow hallway I hadn't seen before.
At the end stood a pair of enormous black doors.
Silver symbols had been carved into the wood.
I couldn't read them.
But the moment I approached, a strange pressure settled behind my eyes.
I stopped.
"What is this place?"
Alistair ignored me.
He knocked three times.
Silence.
Then a voice came from the other side.
"Enter."
It was deep, cold, and unmistakably human.
Alistair opened the doors.
I stepped inside.
The room was dark except for the fire burning in a stone fireplace. Heavy curtains covered the windows, and shelves of ancient books lined the walls.
A man stood with his back to me.
He wore black trousers and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was dark, slightly tousled, and his shoulders were broad.
He was tall.
Much taller than my father.
And there was something about the way he stood that made the entire room feel as though it belonged to him.
He didn't turn around.
"Leave us, Alistair."
"Your Highness."
The door closed.
I was alone with the prince.
My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear myself breathe.
"Come closer, Rose."
I obeyed, taking three careful steps forward.
"Stop."
I stopped.
He turned.
And the world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
He was the man in the painting.
The same sharp cheekbones. The same dark hair. The same golden eyes.
He looked twenty-five.
Perhaps twenty-seven.
But the portrait downstairs had been painted centuries ago.
I stared at him, unable to speak.
His gaze moved over my face, taking in my wide eyes, my trembling hands, and the old dress I had worn because it was the least damaged of the two I owned.
Something flickered across his expression.
Disgust?
Anger?
I couldn't tell.
"You're younger than I expected," he said.
I swallowed.
"I'm sixteen."
"I know."
His answer came too quickly.
I stared at him.
"You know?"
He walked toward a table and poured himself a glass of water.
"Your family provided your details."
"My family told you everything?"
"Everything they considered relevant."
I thought of my mother's words.
He knows everything he needs to know.
My hands curled into fists.
"Then you know they sold me."
He paused.
For the first time, he looked directly at me.
"Yes."
No apology.
No attempt to soften the truth.
Just that single, terrible word.
I hated him immediately.
"You could have chosen someone else."
"Yes."
"Someone who actually wanted to be here."
"Yes."
"Then why me?"
He set down his glass.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the crackling fire.
Then he approached me.
I forced myself not to step backward.
He stopped just beyond arm's length.
"Tell me, Rose. Do you believe in curses?"
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Answer the question."
"I don't know."
"Do you believe people can become monsters?"
I thought of my father counting money.
My mother turning away.
Jacinta laughing while I ate in the backyard.
"Yes," I whispered.
Something changed in his eyes.
For one strange moment, he looked almost human.
"Good."
He turned toward the fireplace.
"Then perhaps you will understand what happens next."
A sudden pain crossed his face.
He grabbed the edge of the mantelpiece, his knuckles turning white.
I froze.
"Your Highness?"
"Stay back."
His voice had changed.
It was rougher now, strained, as though each word hurt him.
He staggered.
The glass on the table shattered.
He dropped to one knee.
And then I heard it.
The sound of bones cracking.
I stumbled backward with a cry.
His shoulders convulsed. His fingers curled against the floor, nails stretching into dark claws. A terrible growl tore through the room, shaking the windows in their frames.
I ran for the door.
It wouldn't open.
I pulled at the handle with both hands.
"Help! Somebody!"
Behind me, something crashed against the furniture.
I turned.
The prince was gone.
In his place stood the black wolf.
It was even larger than the creature I had seen in the garden. Its eyes blazed gold, and a thick silver collar encircled its neck.
The wolf stared at me.
I pressed myself against the door.
"Please," I whispered.
The animal took one step forward.
I shut my eyes.
This was it.
This was how I would die.
Sold by my own father, abandoned by my mother, forgotten by everyone who should have protected me.
I waited for the teeth.
For the pain.
For the darkness.
But nothing happened.
Instead, I heard a strange metallic sound.
A chain dragging across the floor.
I opened my eyes.
The wolf stood barely a foot away.
It lowered its head.
Then it did something I would remember for the rest of my life.
It bowed.
Not like an animal lowering its head.
Like a king acknowledging another royal.
I couldn't move.
The wolf's golden eyes searched my face.
Then a voice echoed inside my head.
Not from the doorway.
Not from the shadows.
From somewhere deep inside my own mind.
Found you.
I gasped.
The wolf raised its head.
And for the first time since I had arrived at the mansion, I understood something far more frightening than the possibility of being eaten.
The prince hadn't bought a bride because he wanted a wife.
He had bought me because he had been looking for me.
For a very, very long time.
And whatever had brought us together, whatever curse bound him to the wolf, it had recognized me the moment I stepped through those gates.
The wolf moved closer.
I pressed my hands against my ears.
"Get out of my head!"
Its ears flattened.
The voice came again, quieter this time.
Rose.
I stared into its eyes.
Then I whispered the only question I could think of.
"Who are you?"
The wolf's lips pulled back, revealing a row of sharp white teeth.
And the voice inside my head answered.
The man your mother prayed you would never meet.
The wolf lunged.
I screamed—
and the silver collar around its throat snapped open.