I walked down the long aisle to the altar where my future mate awaited, each step heavier than the last. My eyes stayed fixed on the marble floor, blurred and shimmering through the veil and the tears that wouldn't stop. I was too busy grieving the loss of Caleb to lift my head. If I left this place today, I would never see him again. Never hear his quiet laugh, never feel his callused hand slip into mine. The thought carved something hollow inside my chest, sharper than any fear of the man waiting at the end of this path.
It wasn't until the officiant's voice called my name that I finally forced myself to look up.
"Prince Liora, second Prince of Valerion, do you take—"
The rest of the words died in my ears.
The man standing before me was not the tyrant I had been prepared to face.
He was… beautiful. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in severe black velvet trimmed with silver wolf fur. His hair was pale gold, almost white in the candlelight, cut short against his head. And his eyes—gray, like winter storms over the northern sea—fixed on me with quiet intensity. Not black, as the rumors had sworn for the king. Just gray. Deep, steady, unreadable.
This was not the Black Wolf. This was not King Alaric Voss.
I glanced around in confusion. The Valerion side of the hall was empty. Not a single crimson banner, not one familiar face. My parents had not come. My brother had not come. Only the Larkin delegation filled the space on the right—knights in black-and-silver livery, servants, a handful of nobles watching with polite curiosity.
My heart stuttered. What was happening?
The officiant cleared his throat and continued as though nothing were wrong.
"Prince Liora, second Prince of Valerion, do you take Prince Gideon Voss, Duke of Grimshaw and Lord of the Northern Marches, as your mate?"
Prince. Not king.
The word hit like cold water. Prince Gideon Voss. The king's younger brother. Not the monster I had been promised—but his sibling. A warrior, they said. A duke who guarded the northern borders. Why had they sent him instead of Alaric? Had Alaric refused me? Had my own family lied about who I was marrying?
My mind raced. I remembered the rumors: the king would not keep his end of the bargain. Was that it? Did Alaric distrust Valerion so deeply that he sent his brother as a substitute? Or was I simply not worthy of a king's hand?
The empty Valerion seats seemed to laugh at me. They hadn't even bothered to show up. They didn't care enough to tell me the truth.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Yes," I said. My voice came out small, cracked, barely audible.
The officiant turned to the man in front of me.
"Prince Gideon Voss, Duke of Grimshaw and Lord of the Northern Marches, do you take Prince Liora to be your mate?"
"Yes," he answered.
The word rolled out in a deep, resonant timbre—low and steady. It vibrated through me, stirring something instinctive and unwanted.
"I now pronounce you alpha and omega," the officiant intoned. "Alpha, you may kiss your omega."
Gideon reached out with gloved hands that were surprisingly careful. He lifted the veil slowly, folding it back over my head with gentleness. For the first time, I saw his face up close.
Those gray eyes held mine for a long heartbeat. No cruelty. No malice. Just… something quiet. Assessing. His gaze flicked to my red hair, then to my mismatched eyes—one green, one blue. He did not flinch. He did not look away in disgust, as my family always had. He simply looked at me.
Then he leaned down.
His lips brushed mine—soft at first, almost tentative, then firmer. Not possessive. Not bruising. Just a kiss. Warm. Steady.
His people clapped. Polite, restrained applause.
I stood there, veil pushed back, lips tingling from a stranger's kiss, heart hammering with confusion and grief and the tiniest, most treacherous spark of something else.
Who was this man? Why had Alaric sent him? And why—why—did my own kingdom not even attend my wedding?
Gideon offered me his arm without a word. I took it automatically, my fingers trembling against the fine wool of his sleeve. He smelled of cedar smoke and crisp winter air, clean and grounding.
Together we turned and walked back down the aisle.
The Larkin side watched us pass with respectful silence.
The Valerion side remained empty.
I didn't look back. There was nothing there to see.