As we step from the hall, I’m determined to still keep her safe. I don’t care what I have to do to ensure that the Grey Prince doesn’t select her. Even if he does, there must be something I can do. There’s no chance that I’ll be chosen by any of the wolves, and I’m fine with that. It means I can worry about Lyra and her fate.
Moving through the halls, I realize that the two guards I’ve interacted with have fallen into step around Lyra and me. I clench my jaw at this. I’m sure they’ve realized that I’m trouble. Good. I hope to make good on that as I find a way to protect Lyra. If I have my way, I’ll leave every wolf here regretting the day they accidentally grabbed me. There’s a reason women like me are passed over by the wolves, and I’ll just have to remind them.
Entering the main part of the castle, I’m surprised by the buzz of activity. For the last week that I’ve been slipping away, the castle has felt more like a tomb than anything. Not today. Servants rush about, shooting curious glances at us as we pass. Men and woman in elegant clothing stand around, watching us with amusement in their eyes as they sip from glass flutes. I hate the way their eyes move over us, as though we’re nothing more than entertainment to them. I suppose we are.
Again, I find myself wishing we lived in a different world. One where the wolves didn’t hold all the power. What I wouldn’t give to be the one standing there, watching the lambs being paraded about on the way to slaughter. Rage burns through me, pulling at me lips as I force my eyes away from those in the hall. There is no point wishing in the impossible, not when I’m so close to the end of this battle. I need to focus now on the unpleasant reality that I live in, not some make believe world that will never be.
We are led through the large gate at the front of the castle into a large courtyard. At the other end is a large dais where the Grey Prince lounges in a silver throne of twisted branches and fangs. It’s a grotesque thing meant to remind us why we are here. Next to him sits a strikingly beautiful woman. Her gaze is cold as she watches us approach, a delicate hand placed on the Grey Prince’s thigh. This must be his mate, the one unable to provide him with an heir. The one that has made all of this a necessity to their kind. Behind the Grey Prince and his mate is a row of male wolves standing at attention. The men that the prince will be gifting us to.
Past the dais, I can just make out the countless faces of those who have come to watch. They spill into the courtyard to the left of the dais, some having taken to the roofs around the courtyard as well. All eager, I realize, for a glimpse of us. The women that have been dragged here to die at the hands of the wolves. My stomach twists at the thought just as their cheers reach my ears.
I nearly stumble when I realize what today must mean to these creatures. It’s a day of celebration to them. They see us as nothing more than the vessels that will carry the next generation. It matters little to them that most, if not all, of us, will be dead within months. That’s just the way of life for them. They see us as nothing more than a means to an end. Our lives are so utterly meaningless to them that they celebrate without realizing it’s our deaths that bring them such joy.
The guards led us toward the dais, stopping just feet away. The Grey Prince doesn’t so much as glance at us, his eyes on his people crowding the courtyard. Trapping us as they move to catch glimpses of us. My lungs constrict at the thought. There’s no easy escape in this crowd. No way to weave my way through until I’ve blended myself in with them. I’m that’s the reason the prince allows them to jostle even closer to us. The guards move to create a semi-circle around us. Another reminder that we are not to even attempt to escape.
A moment passes before the Grey Prince stands. His mate stands as well. Her silk dress hugs her delicate curves as it dips to her belly button. She reveals more of herself than I’ve ever seen. And yet, none of the wolves in the courtyard seem to glance at her. They only care about us. The human women. I imagine this is why her eyes flash in disgust as she takes us in.
The Grey Prince holds up a hand, and the courtyard falls silent. Not a sound can be heard as he steps toward the end of the dais. A cold smile stretches his lips as his eyes roam over us. I want to move in front of Lyra as he eyes find her. It’s hard to miss the way desire passes across his face. His mate, who I watch as she watches him, tenses at this.
“Let the Choosing begin,” the Grey Prince declares to a deafening roar from the gathered crowd.
19
Rose
The Grey Prince steps from the dais as his mate returns to her seat. Her eyes follow him, and I note the way her eyes flash as he reaches the first woman. I’m curious about this woman that stands at the prince’s side. Is she aware of what it is her mate does in his free time? Or is she nothing more to him than a pretty thing to have at his side? I’m not sure, but I do know that she is one to keep an eye on. Whatever she might be to the prince, it’s clear that she doesn’t like the way he stands before the women.
Tearing my eyes from his mate, I watch the Grey Prince. Eight women stand between him and Lyra. Every single one of them is pretty, in their own ways. Almost all are beautiful with their soft smiles and sparkling eyes. I’ve come to learn that some are kind and others caring, though I doubt the prince cares about those features. All he must care about is which of us would be the most desirable to mate with. The thought makes my stomach jolt, and I have to push memories of a man shoving me into a wall, his hands clumsy at my skirts until his rough hands met my delicate skin.
Nothing about the Grey Prince will be gentle. Perhaps that is why he has yet to have an heir. Every woman he has chosen to carry his heir has died. Either before she could become impregnated or during the pregnancy, if the whispers of the other women are to be believed. It would take a very hardened woman to be able to survive him and be able to finally give him the heir he wants. None of these women meet that requirement. They are too soft and gentle. Pretty instead of tough. Until now, they’ve not had to be.
My gaze slips to Lyra. She’s pale in the afternoon sun. Her eyes are on her slippers as she twists her hands before her. I reach over, gently tugging at her hand and giving it a squeeze. She glances at me with her wide eyes, and I offer the smallest of smiles. A way to reminder that she is not alone today. We both stand here, waiting for the prince to reach us before deciding our fates. Whatever he decides, I won’t let her face it alone.
“This one is pretty,” the Grey Prince comments. “But I fear there’s not a thought in her pretty little head. I do believe that’s just how Jacobs likes them, is it not?”
The crowd roars with laughter. On the stage, one of the wolves grins as disgust fills me. The woman, I believe her name to be Abigail, blushes red as the crowd throws insults at her. Lyra squeezes my hand. Reminding me that I can’t rush to her defense.
With a shrug, the Grey Prince drops her chin and moves to the next woman, petite and quiet Marie. He runs a hand along her cheek, causing a shiver to wrack her body. She tries to fight it but can’t. His grin turns cruel at this.
“She can’t stand to be touched by me. What a shame, for all the things I could teach her. Perhaps I still shall.”
The crowd howls with more laughter at this. A few deep voices call out their offers to take her off the prince’s hands. He pretends to consider this for a moment. Then he reaches out and tilts her chin.
“I think she’s too delicate for us,” he states. “Wouldn’t last a day. Perhaps barely even an hour with any true man. No, she shall remain Unchosen.”
A gasp works its way through the crowd before a loud cheer erupts from them. I glance around, taking in the smiling faces. The gleam in their eyes makes me wonder what awful fate awaits her as an Unchosen. Perhaps I should have given in to Ms. Thompson and asked. It can’t be good if the crowd is this excited about the prince’s declaration.
He moves to the next woman, walking in a circle around her. His hand slips out as he smacks her bum. The crowd goes wild at this, and he shoots them all a smirk. I grind my teeth together as the woman, Ember, turns pink. Then I glance toward the dais. The prince’s mate’s gaze has singled in on Ember, her eyes sharp enough to cut from a distance. Perhaps the prince’s cruelty is not the only thing to be wary of at this court. A muscle in her neck pops as she glowers toward her mate, who remains unaware. Clearly, she doesn’t like the way he touches and caresses the women.
“She will make an excellent mate for Asher,” the prince declares.
The crowd cheers, though not as loudly as they did when he sentenced Marie to her fate as Unchosen. With one last slap to her backside, he moves on. He tugs at Natalie’s curls, making a face that sends the crowd rolling with laughter. This apparently is enough to have her deemed Unchosen. As he moves on, I watch her let out a sigh. I can’t blame her. She was fortunate the prince took little interest in her.
“Well, this one is rather delicious.”
Evie pales as the prince runs a hand down her neck. He leans in close. I watch his lips move as he says something to her but can’t make out the words. Whatever it is, it has all color leaking from her face. He grins at this. Satisfied with his words, he glances toward the dais.
“Eli, this one is for you,” he calls. “She’ll be perfectly obedient, I should think. The little squeak she makes when surprised almost has me tempted to claim her for myself. I could never tire of hearing that from her.”