Cecelia POV:

A plain carriage delivered me to the gates of Prince Jude's castle. It was larger and more menacing than I had imagined, a beast of gray stone hunched against the bruised twilight sky.

No one came to greet me.

Only a sharp-featured Beta werewolf, his posture rigid with disapproval.

"I am Alastair Reynolds," he said, his voice clipped. "The castle steward."

His gaze passed over me, briefly lingering on my plain dress and scarred face. The coldness in his eyes made it clear that I was nothing more than a duty he had to fulfill. "Follow me. The ceremony is about to begin."

He led me directly to the grand hall. A handful of guests were scattered amongst the pews, their dark clothing making the event feel more like a funeral than a wedding.

An elderly woman named Agnes Miller, the presiding elder, stood before the altar. Her expression was grim. She gave me a slight nod, a flicker of pity in her eyes.

Alastair escorted me to the front. "As the prince is... no longer with us," he said calmly, a faint trace of amusement hidden in his eyes, "you will complete the binding with his ceremonial dagger."

On a velvet cushion atop the stone altar lay a silver dagger. A sapphire glittered in its pommel, and the Montgomery wolf sigil was etched into the hilt.

A dagger for a husband.

A cold anger rose within me. This was not merely an insult. They had stripped away my identity and treated me as nothing more than an offering for a dead prince. To them, even Jude’s ceremonial dagger held more value than I did.

Agnes began the ancient rites, her voice a low drone in the cavernous hall. The guests whispered behind their hands. I could feel their eyes on me—a mix of pity, curiosity, and morbid amusement.

"Now, Cecelia Kensington," Agnes said, her voice softening slightly. "Take the prince's sigil, and let the Moon Goddess bear witness to your union."

I reached for the dagger. My fingertips hovered inches from the cold metal.

Alastair's smile widened slightly. He seemed to take pleasure in the scene before him, as if this moment was the humiliation he had been waiting to witness.

The moment my skin was about to touch the silver, I snatched my hand back.

I took a step backward.

"No."

The word, quiet but clear, dropped into the silence like a stone. The whispering stopped. Every head turned toward me.

Agnes paused, her eyes wide with surprise. "What did you say, child?"

Alastair's smile vanished. He moved toward me, hissing under his breath. "Do you have any idea what you are doing? This is a command from the Alpha King!"

I turned to face him, meeting his furious gaze. My voice was steady, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"The Alpha King commanded me to bind with Jude Montgomery," I said. "Not with a piece of iron."

I let my words sink in before continuing. "I was named this prince's Mate. The future Luna of this house. By the laws of our people, I am to be afforded the respect of that station. To substitute an Alpha with a dagger is a blasphemy. An insult to the prince, to the House of Montgomery, and to the Moon Goddess herself."

I had spent the carriage ride memorizing the oldest texts on pack law. I knew that tradition was the only weapon that could defeat a man like Alastair.

"You..." He sputtered, his face flushing a deep red. He had no counter-argument.

I pressed my advantage, taking another step forward until he was forced to look up at me. "Or perhaps, Steward Reynolds, you believe you have the authority to reinterpret the King's command and the Goddess's law?"

The accusation hung in the air. It was a weight too heavy for a mere Beta steward to bear. The color drained from his face.

The guests were no longer looking at me like a pathetic creature. They were looking at me like a player in the game.

A hint of approval warmed Agnes's eyes. She cleared her throat. "The ceremony is suspended. We must reconsider."

She moved to my side, her voice a low murmur meant only for me. "You did the right thing, child. No one can force a Luna to accept an incomplete rite."

In that moment, she acknowledged my title.

I gave her a grateful nod, then turned my attention back to the pale, furious steward. "Mr. Reynolds, please arrange for my rooms. As the future mistress of this castle, I believe I have the right to know where I will be staying."

My tone was polite, but it held the unyielding edge of a command.

Alastair gritted his teeth. "... This way," he bit out.

He led me in silence through long, drafty corridors. I could feel the anger radiating from his back.

The room he brought me to was in the west wing, far from the heart of the castle. It was small, cold, and sparsely furnished.

"Your room, 'my lady,'" he said, the title dripping with sarcasm.

I ignored his petty jab, surveying the space. "Excellent. I am not to be disturbed. By anyone."

He left, slamming the door behind him.

I let out the breath I had been holding. The first step was done. I had refused to lower my head before them and forced them to acknowledge my presence.

But this was only the beginning. I leaned against the door, letting my eyes sweep over the unfamiliar room. This castle was not my home. Every person inside it had their own motives, and I could not afford to trust anyone yet.

Cecelia POV:

I spent the first night in the cold, quiet room. The next day, Alastair was nowhere to be seen. A silent Omega maid brought me a simple meal of bread and broth. The castle staff was giving me a wide berth, isolating me.

It suited me perfectly. It gave me the privacy I needed to access my greatest secret.

After carefully checking the room for any prying eyes or listening ears, I retrieved the strange, smooth piece of metal I had kept hidden. It was the only thing I had brought back from that world.

I closed my eyes, focusing my will upon it, just as I had practiced in my mind a thousand times.

The gray stone walls of the room dissolved.

In their place stood a vast, brightly lit space. Gleaming metal consoles and strange, humming machines lined the walls. Surgical instruments of impossible sharpness lay neatly arranged on sterile trays.

My secret. My pocket dimension laboratory.

I took a moment to inventory my supplies. Antibiotics, scalpels, a blood analyzer. Any one of these items could cause a revolution here.

My plan was simple. First, use the castle's resources to finish my antidote. Second, find a way out of here and establish a foothold in Lunaris. A clinic would be ideal—a place to earn money and gather information.

But the castle was a fortress, and the gates were locked after curfew. I needed an opportunity.

For the next week, I played the part of a docile, forgotten bride. I kept to my room and the small, withered garden outside the west wing. I wanted Alastair to believe I was no threat.

At night, I retreated to my dimension, studying. I devoured texts on this world's herbology, cross-referencing them with my own knowledge of pharmacology.

The "Healers" of this world, I discovered, relied on instinct and simple herbal remedies. They knew nothing of surgery, of pathology, of the microscopic world. It was a gaping void I intended to fill.

A week later, my chance came.

The quiet Omega maid, in a rare moment of chatter, let slip that Alastair would be in the city on family business. The castle guard would be lighter than usual.

That evening, I retrieved a set of men's clothing from my dimension, along with a sophisticated disguise kit.

I applied a special salve to my face, concealing the sallow, blotchy skin of my poisoning. I used putty to build up the bridge of my nose and shadow to deepen my eye sockets, hardening my features. A wig and a cap completed the transformation. In the mirror, a plain but unremarkable young man stared back.

I would call myself Julian.

Using my knowledge of the castle's layout, gleaned from old blueprints I'd studied, I found a disused servant's passage. It led me out beyond the walls.

The streets of Lunaris were empty. A cold fog clung to the cobblestones. I pulled my cap low and stuck to the shadows, heading for the city's black market to acquire some rare herbs.

Suddenly, the clatter of hooves echoed from the street behind me.

I ducked into a narrow alley, holding my breath.

An ornate but unmarked carriage thundered past, its movement erratic. It was fleeing something.

As it passed my hiding spot, a wheel hit a loose stone. The carriage lurched violently, tilting at a dangerous angle. The driver cursed, pulling hard on the reins as the horses whinnied in panic.

Then I smelled it. Blood. Thick and coppery, mixed with another scent—something foul, metallic, and burning.

The smell of silver.

My Healer's instincts immediately recognized the danger. Silver was poison to werewolves. A wound caused by a silver weapon could be fatal.

The carriage shuddered to a halt a short distance away. The driver leaped down, pounding on the door. "My lord! Are you alright? My lord!"

Silence. The smell of blood grew stronger.

I hesitated. This was not my business. I was already risking everything just by being here.

But the scent was a hook in my gut. I was a doctor. I couldn't turn my back on a dying person.

I stepped out of the alley, pitching my voice lower. "Do you need help? I'm a physician."

The driver's head snapped up, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and suspicion. "A physician? What are you doing out after curfew?"

"A house call," I said calmly. "If you waste any more time, your master will be dead."

My confidence and the reek of blood convinced him. With a desperate curse, he wrenched open the carriage door.

The stench that rolled out was overwhelming.

Inside, slumped on the velvet seat, was a tall man. A massive wound gaped in his abdomen, soaking his dark coat with blood. His face was ashen.

I recognized the injury instantly. A silver weapon. The flesh around the wound was already blackening with necrosis.

And the man's face... though smeared with blood and sweat, it was unmistakable. The chiseled jaw, the strong brow. It was the face from the royal portraits.

It was Jude Montgomery.

My dead husband.