Morning in the human kingdom arrived with no mercy.
The storm from the night before had not calmed, it had only changed its form.
Dark clouds still hung low in the sky, casting a dull gray light over the towering palace of the human royals.
The wind whispered through the tall windows, cold and restless, as if carrying an omen no one could yet understand.
Inside the palace, however, everything appeared… controlled.
Perfect.
Orderly.
A lie.
"Absolutely not."
The sharp, unwavering voice cut through the royal chamber like a blade.
Lyra stood at the center of the room, her posture straight, her chin lifted, her eyes blazing with defiance.
She wore a simple but elegant gown, her hair falling freely over her shoulders but there was nothing soft about her presence.
She wasn't trembling.
She wasn't afraid.
She was furious.
"I refuse," she said again, slower this time, each word deliberate. "Find someone else to sacrifice. I will not marry a beast."
Across from her, the king, her father, sat heavily on his throne, his expression strained with something between frustration and exhaustion.
"Lyra," he warned, his voice low, "this is not a request."
She let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Of course it isn't," she said. "It never is."
Her gaze hardened.
"You've already decided, haven't you? You've already offered me up like a peace treaty wrapped in silk."
The silence that followed was enough of an answer.
Lyra's hands clenched at her sides.
"So it's true," she whispered, though there was no real surprise in her voice. "You're sending me to them."
Not them.
Everyone in the room knew who she meant.
Werewolves.
Creatures of strength, violence, and instinct. Beasts that ruled through power and fear.
The very beings responsible for countless deaths along the borders… including,
Lyra's expression flickered for the briefest moment.
Then hardened again.
"I won't do it," she said firmly.
"You will."
The king rose from his throne, his presence suddenly heavy, authoritative. "This is not just about you, Lyra. This is about the survival of our kingdom."
She stepped forward, her eyes locking onto his.
"And what about my survival?" she shot back. "Or does that not matter as long as your throne stays intact?"
A murmur spread through the advisors in the room.
"Careful," one of them whispered.
But Lyra didn't care.
She had never cared about their whispers.
"They are monsters," she continued, her voice colder now. "You expect me to live among them? To marry one of them?"
Her lips curled slightly.
"To bear his child?"
The words felt like poison in her mouth.
The king's jaw tightened.
"You think I don't know what they are?" he said, his voice rough. "You think I don't understand what I'm asking of you?"
"Then don't ask it," Lyra replied immediately.
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
For a moment, just a moment, something almost like regret passed through the king's eyes.
Then it was gone.
"You don't have a choice."
The words fell like chains.
Lyra stared at him.
For a long time.
Then
She smiled.
But it wasn't a soft smile.
It was sharp.
Dangerous.
"Then neither do they."
The room stilled.
"What do you mean?" the king demanded.
Lyra tilted her head slightly, her expression calm now, too calm.
"You want me to marry a werewolf?" she said. "Fine."
A few of the advisors let out relieved breaths.
Too soon.
"But don't expect obedience," she continued. "Don't expect me to bow to him. Don't expect me to play the role of a quiet, obedient bride."
Her eyes darkened.
"I will not belong to him."
The king frowned. "Lyra-"
"I will go," she interrupted. "I will marry him. I will give you your alliance."
Her voice dropped, low and unyielding.
"But I will never accept him."
A chill ran through the room.
"And when this is over," she added, "I will leave."
The king stared at her, searching her face for hesitation.
There was none.
Only steel.
"…You would risk angering them?" he asked quietly.
Lyra's lips curved faintly.
"Let them be angry."
Her gaze shifted toward the window, where the storm still lingered in the distance.
"I'm not the one who should be afraid."
Hours later, the palace buzzed with quiet tension.
Servants moved quickly through the halls, preparing for something no one dared to speak of too loudly. Guards stood at every entrance, their expressions grim.
The news had spread.
The princess was to be married to a werewolf.
Lyra walked through the corridors alone.
No attendants.
No hesitation.
Her fingers brushed lightly against the cold stone walls as she moved, her thoughts loud in the silence.
Marriage.
The word felt foreign.
Unwanted.
She had always known her life would not be entirely her own, that was the reality of being a princess. But this…
This was different.
This was being handed over to something she had spent her entire life hating.
Her steps slowed.
Her gaze lowered.
And for the first time since the conversation,
Her expression cracked.
Just slightly.
A memory surfaced.
Blood.
Screams.
Claws.
Lyra stopped walking.
Her hand clenched into a fist.
"…I won't forgive them," she whispered under her breath.
Not now.
Not ever.
A sudden gust of wind pushed open the large doors at the end of the corridor.
Lyra looked up.
Outside, the sky darkened once more, thunder rumbling in the distance.
It felt like the world itself was warning her.
Or maybe…
Welcoming her.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Let's see," she murmured.
Her voice was quiet.
But filled with something unbreakable.
"Which one of us breaks first."
Far away, in the werewolf kingdom…
Kael stood on the palace balcony, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon.
The storm had reached them again.
His expression was unreadable.
But his hand
Resting against the stone railing
Tightened slowly.
"Prepare the envoy," he said coldly, his voice carrying through the air.
A guard behind him immediately bowed.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Kael didn't turn.
Didn't hesitate.
"Send word to the human kingdom."
A pause.
Then
"I accept the marriage."
The words felt like ash in his mouth.
Below him, the wind howled violently.
As if the world itself rejected his decision.
Kael's eyes darkened.
"Let them send their princess."
And just like that.
Two enemies…
Began walking toward the same fate.