Chapter 2: A choice of her own
The silence that followed their departure was absolute.
She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the empty hallway where her father and brother had vanished, cloaked in indifference and power. The echo of their boots had long since faded, yet the weight of their dismissal still pressed against her chest like a stone.
Nyrielle Venye was alone again.
She turned slowly and stepped back into the vast marble corridor of the ancestral home, the cold stone beneath her bare feet grounding her in the moment. No one stopped her. No servant dared to meet her eyes. Here, she was not daughter nor sister—only a shadow of what should have been. The girl without a wolf. The offering.
In one week, she would be married.
Not for love. Not for redemption. Not even for peace.
For politics.
To a man who loathed her blood, her name, and everything she represented.
Kael Drenmor. The surviving son of the Alpha her father had betrayed, slaughtered, and tried to erase from memory. The boy whose bloodline was buried under ash and snow—except it wasn't. He had risen like vengeance made flesh, and now, for reasons none dared voice aloud, he had agreed to marry the daughter of the traitor.
Her.
Nyrielle curled her fingers into fists at her sides, walking slowly down the corridor with her heart like a clenched, bitter fist.
What kind of life awaited her now? A stranger's home. A cold bed. A husband who would tolerate her presence but never her soul. She had long abandoned the notion of love as a destiny, but a part of her—small, hidden, foolish—had always hoped it might be offered to her, once.
A hope as naïve as it was fragile.
It shattered now beneath the truth.
She paused at the edge of the great stairway, resting her hand on the polished banister, and whispered to herself, "If I'm to be bound in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life… then I want to know what love is."
Her voice trembled. Not from fear. From hunger. From a yearning so old and deep it ached in her marrow.
Not love in its lofty ideal, but in its simplest, most human form.
A touch. A glance. A night where she could pretend she mattered.
She had always imagined she would give herself to someone who cherished her—to someone who saw beyond her cursed wolfless fate and the blood of her father. But that dream was dead.
What remained was choice.
And before it, too, was taken from her… she would use it.
The sun dipped low the next evening, casting fire through the tall windows of the estate. Nyrielle paced the narrow corridor that led to the servants' wing, her cloak tight around her shoulders despite the lingering warmth of day.
She stopped at a small wooden door, hesitated, then knocked softly.
It creaked open after a moment, revealing a girl a few years older than her, with strong hands and weary eyes.
"Milady?" she asked, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Is something wrong?"
Nyrielle managed a small smile. "No, Renna. I… I just needed to ask you something."
Renna stepped aside, letting her in without another word. She had been Nyrielle's maid since they were children—assigned to her, at first, out of duty. But over the years, necessity had forged something quieter, steadier: a fragile thread of trust. Perhaps even the echo of friendship.
Renna gestured for her to sit on the low cot in the corner, but Nyrielle remained standing, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"When is the Moonfire Carnival?" she asked.
Renna blinked. "The carnival?"
"Yes."
The maid furrowed her brow. "It's in two days. But… why do you ask?" Her voice softened, wary. "You never leave the estate unless ordered. You've never asked about the festival before."
Nyrielle looked away, toward the small window that opened onto the forest beyond.
"I want to go," she said quietly. "Just once. Before…"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
Renna stood slowly. "You want to go alone, don't you?"
Nyrielle didn't answer. Her silence was answer enough.
Renna's mouth pressed into a thin line. "It's dangerous."
"So is living here."
The words came out sharper than she intended. Renna's eyes softened.
"Nyrielle…"
"I just want…" Her voice cracked. She swallowed it down. "I want one thing of my own. Something real. Something not dictated by council votes or father's cold orders. I want to feel—something—before I belong to someone who will never want me."
Renna was quiet for a long time.
Finally, she said, "The Moonfire Carnival is held at dusk. In the lower village. It's… wild. Loud. Messy. You won't be recognized easily. You'll need to dress plain. And dark."
Nyrielle looked at her, hope flickering behind her tired eyes.
"I'll help you," Renna added. "But if you're caught…"
"I won't be."
A breath passed between them.
Then, for the first time in what felt like years, Nyrielle smiled.
That night, she stood before the mirror in her chambers, the silver moon catching in the hollows of her collarbones. Her dress was simple—black, unadorned, the kind a village girl might wear on a cold evening. Her long raven-black hair was braided back tightly, tucked under a hood. No jewelry. No perfume. Nothing to mark her as Nyrielle Veyne, daughter of the betrayer.
Only a girl. Lost in the world. Looking for something that had always been denied her.
She pressed her hand to her chest, to the place where a wolf should have lived. Where a mate should have one day been drawn to her. Where a future had once burned bright, then dimmed into ash.
In just a few days, she would marry Kael Drenmor.
But tonight… tonight she would choose herself.
And that night, under the moonlit skies of the carnival, she would look for someone who didn't know her name. Someone who didn't care about lineage or legacy. Someone whose eyes might linger not because of what she could offer politically, but because of who she was in that stolen moment.
Not a Veyne.
Not a daughter.
Not a wolfless girl.
Just Nyrielle.