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 in the empty corridors, never feel his callused hand slip into mine when the world felt too big and cruel. 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 words died in my throat before they could fully form.
The man standing before me was not the tyrant I had been prepared to face.
He was… beautiful. Insanely, unfairly handsome in a way that stole the breath from my lungs. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in severe black velvet trimmed with silver wolf fur, the color stark against his pale skin. His hair was not black as the rumors had sworn—it was pale gold, almost white in the candlelight. His eyes, though—those were black. Deep, endless black, like polished obsidian, catching no light and giving nothing away. They fixed on me with quiet intensity, unblinking, 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. No courtiers, no priests from our temple, no one. Only the Grimshaw delegation filled the space on the right—knights in black-and-silver livery, servants standing in neat rows, a handful of richly dressed nobles watching with polite, distant 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 Warwick, Grand Duke of Grimshaw, as your mate?"
Prince. Not king.
The word hit like cold water. Prince Gideon Warwick. Grand Duke. Not the king. Not Alaric. Someone else entirely.
My mind raced. Was this a trick? Had the king sent a proxy? A substitute? Had they switched my intended at the last moment without telling me? But why would they bother? My own kingdom hadn't even bothered to show up to the ceremony. They hadn't told me anything beyond "you are to be married to the king of Grimshaw in three days." That was it. No portrait, no name beyond Alaric Voss, no warning that the man at the altar might not be him.
They didn't care enough to tell me.
They never had.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Yes," I said. My voice came out small, cracked, barely audible over the pounding in my ears.
The officiant turned to the man in front of me.
"Prince Gideon Warwick, Grand Duke of Grimshaw, do you take Prince Liora, second Prince of Valerion, 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 in my omega core despite the chaos in my head.
"I now pronounce you alpha and omega," the officiant intoned. "Alpha, you may kiss your omega."
Prince Gideon—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 clearly.
Those black eyes held mine for a long heartbeat. No cruelty in them. No malice. Just… something quiet. Assessing.
Then he leaned down.
His lips brushed mine—soft at first, almost tentative, then firmer. Not possessive. Not bruising. Just… a kiss. Warm. Steady. Over too quickly.
His people clapped. Polite, restrained applause that echoed off the high stone walls. No cheers. No joyful cries. Just the sound of gloved hands meeting in quiet approval.
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?
And why—why—did my own kingdom not even bother to 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 faintly of cedar smoke and crisp winter air, clean and grounding in a way that made my knees feel unsteady.
Together we turned and walked back down the aisle.
The Grimshaw side watched us pass with respectful silence.
The Valerion side remained empty.
I didn't look back.
There was nothing there to see.