Chapter 3 — **Chapter 3**

Seraya

I let my fingers trace the sandy-colored tiles along the corridor wall, their warmth a fleeting comfort. Walking the halls of my father’s palace one last time, I yearn to etch every detail into memory. The palace sprawls wide and open, with few walls beyond those guarding our private chambers. Small gardens and tranquil oases dot the patios, their lush green a defiant stand against the endless desert beyond. Sunlight gilds the palace in molten gold, a beacon in the arid expanse.

I step onto the balcony of my room, the desert heat pressing against my skin, carrying the distant murmur of market voices and the whisper of wind through palm trees. My gaze sweeps over the kingdom below—humble houses cluster around the main city, punctuated by a few grand villas, a new school, and an infirmary. I rarely mingle with those outside the palace, forbidden to venture out alone, but I find solace in watching them from afar. The Everlasting Desert has only recently begun to bloom, its fields once barren under relentless heat. My oldest brother, Kiyan, changed that with his vision for a new watering system, coaxing life from the sands. Yet, as I linger here, a bitter thought surfaces: this prosperity is no longer mine to witness. In twenty-four hours, I will no longer call this home. The Frostveil Dominion awaits—a land of ice and, according to Father, savagery. A shiver crawls down my spine, not from the heat, but from the dread of what lies ahead. He calls them barbarians, werewolves who seize what they desire without remorse. And I am to wed one of these monsters, as he names them, traded to seal a peace treaty and, perhaps, to rid himself of a daughter he scorns. My chest tightens, a familiar ache blooming at the thought. Father’s disdain is no secret; he sees me as a burden, a pawn to barter for political favor with a kingdom he despises. Does he hope to mend old grievances with Frostveil through this union, or merely to be free of me?

“Princess Seraya?”

I turn, my eyes meeting General Dareth’s. “Is it time already, General?”

He nods, his usually stern face softening with a gentle smile. “Come, my princess.” He offers me a dark brown robe, and I slip into it, hoping it will shield me from the cold of my new home. Beneath, I wear a white, flowy tunic and sandals—clothing suited for desert life, useless against Frostveil’s ice. Another shiver grips me as I imagine the biting cold and the rough men who await.

“Will you accompany me on this journey, General?” I ask, my voice formal despite the unease knotting my stomach.

He inclines his head. “I’d never leave you alone in a foreign land among strangers,” he says simply.

Relief eases the weight on my shoulders. Dareth is more than my bodyguard; as my guardian, appointed by Father, he is the closest I have to a true father. In his thirties, composed and strict, yet kind beneath the surface, he stands nearer to me than any family save Kiyan. At least Father showed a sliver of mercy in allowing Dareth to join me, though I suspect it was more due to the general’s insistence than any paternal care.

Dareth leads me to our caravan—a handful of carriages flanked by warriors on horseback. I glance back at the palace, its sandy walls and vibrant windows catching the light, curtains fluttering like farewell banners in the breeze. As expected, no one stands to bid me goodbye. On the highest balcony, Father’s silhouette leans against the balustrade, unmoving. I raise a hand to wave, a fleeting hope for some acknowledgment flickering within me, but he remains still, a statue of indifference. My hand falls, the ache in my chest deepening—I long for even a gesture of warmth, though I know it’s futile. My siblings are absent too, unsurprisingly. Only Kiyan holds a place in my heart, but he’s away on a mission. A bitter suspicion gnaws at me: Father chose this day for my departure knowing Kiyan would have fought it.

With a sigh, I climb into my carriage, only to freeze in surprise. “Simin?”

“Oh, my princess,” my maid and dearest friend beams. “General Dareth insisted I keep it a surprise.”

“Simin!” I exclaim, enveloping her in a hug.

“It’s going to be alright, Seraya,” she murmurs. “I’ll stand by you, no matter what these wolves are like.”

A snort echoes outside our window—Dareth, no doubt.

“I mean it, General,” Simin huffs.

“I know,” he replies. A quick knock prompts me to draw the curtain aside. “Princess,” he whispers, ensuring privacy, “I would never deliver you to those who would harm or enslave you. If that were your fate, I’d take you and flee without hesitation.”

“And me,” Simin interjects.

“Of course,” he sighs. “If I didn’t, you’d trail us anyway.” His gaze meets mine. “Trust in me, Seraya.”

I nod, though my mind remains burdened. “I’ll try.” At least I have my two truest companions—more than many can claim.

“We set off now, Princess,” Dareth announces. “I’ll ride with the warriors to ensure your safe arrival.”

“Thank you,” I reply, forcing a steadier posture.

The caravan lurches forward, and Simin begins chatting eagerly. “I’m so curious,” she says, eyes bright. “I’ve never seen werewolves or other shifters.”

“Nor have I,” I admit. “Our kingdom only recently opened its gates to other realms. It takes time for cultures to blend.”

“I wager there’ll be many handsome warriors,” Simin muses with a grin.

My face falls, the weight of my purpose crashing over me again.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Father intends for me to marry into the Frostveil Dominion,” I confess. “He said it’s my chance to finally prove my worth.”

“He holds no sway there,” Simin argues.

“He’s gifted me to their king,” I counter. “I’m a token to cement their peace treaty.”

“But you don’t know King Gillean’s true intent,” she insists. “I’ve heard no tales of slavery in Frostveil. You’re learned and powerful—perhaps he seeks your mind, your insight.”

“Most fear me, though,” I remind her. My so-called gift, whatever it may be, isolates me. I’ve read of it, yet I don’t fully grasp its nature. Dareth says it’s not hatred that drives people away, but fear born of ignorance. Simin, fearless and kind, is a rare treasure among friends.

“I’m saying this could be your chance to escape your family’s shadow,” she presses.

I regard her skeptically. “Do you truly believe that? All I’ve heard is that werewolves are savages.”

“I don’t know,” Simin admits softly. “But it wasn’t wolves who hurt me—it was our own people.”

Her words linger as I mull them over. “You’re right,” I concede. “I should wait before judging. Still, caution won’t hurt.”

To distract ourselves, Simin offers to braid my hair—a challenge in the jostling carriage. I smile as she tumbles off her seat repeatedly, her grin undeterred. She weaves my thick, slightly curled hair into two double braids, forming a crown atop my head, the rest cascading in a long ponytail. “Your hair is stunning, Seraya,” she declares. “So full and healthy. I’m envious—mine’s just flat.”

“It’s a burden to wash and dry,” I sigh, smiling. “We’re never content with what we have, are we? And for the record, your silky hair is lovely.”

She laughs. “In Frostveil, I’ll find new styles, I promise. We’ll become ice princesses.” Her tone dips slightly, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “Though I wonder if I’ll fit in there, among such different folk.”

I squeeze her hand. “We’ll face it together,” I assure her, her vulnerability mirroring my own.

We fall into a comfortable silence as I nudge the curtain aside to watch the passing landscape. The familiar deserts and scattered oases of Father’s kingdom blur by, a golden memory I might never reclaim. Soon, the terrain roughens, the road turning rocky as we near mountain ridges. The palace is long behind us, and my heart clenches with each mile.

“Let’s rest here for the night,” Dareth calls, halting the caravan.

I step out once we stop, watching the warriors erect a tent for me. They avoid my gaze, as always, their silence a familiar sting.

“Ignorance,” Dareth murmurs beside me. “They mean no harm.”

I watch them work, the ache lingering. “Does it matter?”

He tilts his head. “Perhaps not,” he admits, a shadow of frustration crossing his stoic features—anger, perhaps, at Father’s coldness, though he masks it swiftly.

I open my palms, staring at them. “I don’t understand, Dareth. I wield no magic. It’s only the oracle’s word that I was born with this gift.”

Aside from me, only one sister shares this supposed blessing. She, a shy girl, married an elderly minister and rose in status, never inspiring fear as I do. My own people treat me as if my mere presence curses them.

“It’s from the incident when you were a child,” Dareth explains. “A sandstorm struck, and you shielded three children. You likely don’t recall it clearly—you were so young. But when the storm passed, there you stood, protecting them with a fierce, unyielding look in your eyes.”

“To me, that makes you a hero,” Simin adds, approaching with dried fruits and nuts. “The warriors will hunt soon,” she tells Dareth, who eyes the meager fare with a frown. She turns to me. “A child saving others? That’s heroic.”

“It is,” Dareth agrees, a rare smile breaking through. “I was proud to be your guardian that day.”

“Then why do they fear me?” I ask, shrugging.

“They think you command the elements, that you could unleash storms if wronged,” Dareth says. “That day, your gaze was so resolute for a child, fearless. It fueled their beliefs.”

“Does Father think the same?” I press.

Dareth’s expression darkens. “I can’t say what King Naseem truly believes.” A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crosses his face, a crack in his usual composure, before he masks it.

We stay overnight to regain strength. At dawn, after tea and breakfast within the tent to avoid unsettling the warriors, Dareth approaches with a frown. “Princess, the path ahead is too narrow for the carriages.”

Simin and I exchange a glance. I stand. “Can we transport the luggage?”

“Yes, we’ll secure it to the horses,” he assures me.

“Then it’s settled,” I say. “Simin and I can ride as well.”

“Princess,” he hesitates, torn. “Seraya, I can’t ask this of you—”

“You can,” I insist with a faint smile. “I may have lived secluded, but I’m still a Desert Princess. I won’t demand a detour for a spoiled noble. If I’m to survive Frostveil, I must shed the fragility Father sees in me.”

Respect glints in his eye. “Very well, Princess.” He steps outside, addressing the group. “The Princess will join us on horseback. We leave the carriages behind and ride onward.”

His words draw curious glances, though the warriors quickly avert their eyes. It can’t be helped.

“Seraya,” Simin whispers, shifting nervously.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, just…” She hesitates.

I grasp her hand, remembering. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” Simin fears horses, a scar from a childhood trauma. “Dareth will watch over you. If it’s too much, we’ll detour—”

“No,” she interrupts, voice trembling but resolute. “We won’t detour for me. In this new life, I’ll face my fears.”

I nod, respecting her resolve. Dareth, though visibly annoyed I won’t ride beside him, relents. I mount a white horse, the familiar rhythm of riding returning despite the years. The path proves treacherous—rocks litter the way, evidence of a recent storm. Dareth takes my reins to guide me through, then aids Simin, ensuring our safety.

The landscape shifts as we ride. The barren deserts of home yield to sparse mountain greenery, a world foreign to my eyes. We cross the border of the Everlasting Desert, guards casting wary glances as we pass into no-man’s land. The air grows colder, vegetation changing from lush oases to moss and grassland, then to a needle tree forest—my first, its whispering branches and darting creatures a marvel.

Soon, snowflakes drift down. “Snow,” Simin whispers, eyes wide.

“Seeing it is different from pictures,” I agree, my breath catching as the chill bites my skin, a stark contrast to desert warmth seared into memory.

“It’ll grow colder,” Dareth warns. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable. I’ve blankets ready.”

My fingers already tingle with cold, but my horse’s warmth sustains me. I want to endure, to let my body adapt. The temperature plummets as we descend the mountain, defying logic—shouldn’t valleys be warmer? Yet this is Frostveil: snow and ice. Thicker flakes blanket us, and Dareth halts to wrap Simin and me in blankets.

“You’re shivering,” he chides, frowning. “I asked you to speak up if you were cold.”

I flush. “I’m sorry. I wanted to adjust first.”

“Let’s move on,” he says. “We’ll soon cross into Frostveil Dominion, safer within their borders than here in no-man’s land.”

We follow his lead. The snow eases as we exit another forest, and I halt at the edge of a hill. “Stop,” I call, riding forward. Before me stretches a desert of white, snow glittering under emerging sunlight. A village lies distant, steam rising from chimneys, while a snow-laden forest looms to the left. It’s unlike anything I’ve imagined.

“I’ve never seen such a sight,” I breathe. “You’ve been here before, General?”

He nods. “It’s breathtaking at first.”

“It’s cold, too,” Simin murmurs behind us.

I smile faintly. “Let’s continue.”

Dareth guides us through the snow, hastening now that the path is clear. Before reaching the village, we arrive at the border, heavily guarded against the vast White Waste separating us from home. A man steps forward, bowing with a smile, his fellow guards echoing the gesture. “Welcome, Princess of the Desert.”

“Thank you,” I reply, caught off guard by their direct address and gaze—so unlike the aversion I’m accustomed to.

Two figures approach—a man, shirtless despite the cold, and a woman in athletic garb and pants, an unfamiliar sight, accompanied by a massive wolf. My heart races at the beast’s size, hands trembling beneath the blanket. This must be a werewolf. Yet, oddly, no dread grips me—only awe.

“Not sure about letting so many men enter,” the shirtless man grins, winking at Simin and me. “But these two lovely flowers may stay as long as they wish. I’d hunt the fiercest boar in the White Waste for mates as fair as you.”

The woman elbows him sharply.

“Just jesting,” he laughs. “I don’t mind charming men either. Why choose?”

“Forgive him, Your Highness,” the woman says, bowing. “Princess Seraya, General Dareth, we’re here to officially welcome you to Frostveil Dominion.”

Dareth dismounts, shaking her hand. “Gamma Ita, a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise,” she smiles at me. “We’re honored to host you, Princess. King Gillean sent us personally to ensure your safe arrival and comfort.”

“Thank you, Gamma Ita,” I say, grateful for Dareth’s lessons on werewolf hierarchy. This warmth is unexpected—not the hostility I feared. My father’s warnings echo, yet their kindness contradicts every tale. Still, I can’t shed my wariness so easily.

Ita senses my curiosity, gesturing to her companions. “These are elite warriors. Tynan here,” she nods to the shirtless man with wild dark-brown hair, “will accompany us in human form. And Royan—” she indicates the wolf, who keeps his distance. My pulse quickens again at his sheer presence, Simin tensing beside me, though her eyes gleam with interest. “Royan remains in wolf form for added protection. He’ll relish the attention of two unmated females.”

I blush, flustered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Don’t worry, he enjoys it,” Ita chuckles. “It’s natural to gape at a werewolf the first time. At least you didn’t stumble like your general.”

“Excuse me,” Dareth frowns.

“Is that true?” Simin giggles.

“He did,” Ita confirms.

Tynan steps closer, smirking. “A pleasure, Princess. I’m glad I won the bet to meet you in human form.” He inhales deeply, eyes flashing with a predatory glint—not threatening, but searching. Curiosity, not danger, radiates from him.

Ita smacks his arm. “Focus, Ty. The king forbade improper remarks or advances toward the Princess and her companions unless invited.”

She growled—a sound that should alarm me, yet I’m strangely captivated. These people, rough-edged but welcoming, defy my expectations. Of course, they’re but a few among many, and humans dwell here too. Only time will reveal the truth.

Ita and Tynan lead us to the nearby village to rest before reaching the main town tomorrow. As voices swell beyond the hill, each cheer tightens the knot in my chest. Are they here to gawk at the cursed princess, to shun me as my own do?

“We’re here!” Tynan shouts to the townsfolk, grinning. A snowball strikes his face, and he grumbles, wiping it off as laughing boys pelt more. He growls playfully, charging at them.

I smile despite myself, while Simin giggles helplessly.

“He’s a fine warrior,” Ita assures Dareth.

Dareth’s lips twitch, suppressing amusement. “I trust your word, Gamma Ita.”

She guides us into the village, voices buzzing louder. “Look, it’s the Desert Princess!” a boy yells.

People spill from their homes. Tynan holds back eager children, while some men eye me with the same glint Tynan showed until Ita’s glare makes them look away.

“I want to see her!” a girl whines, weaving through adult legs to the front.

Her mother follows. “Fiona, don’t!”

“But I want to see the princess!” she insists. I smile instinctively, bracing for the mother to pull her away. Instead, Fiona beams and waves. “She looked at me, Mommy, she smiled!”

For once, a smile meets mine without fear. Relief washes over me, tentative but real. I dismount, determined not to appear aloof. This is my new home, like it or not—I wish to know its people on equal ground. Dareth mutters under his breath, signaling his warriors to stay at the outskirts, then helps Simin down as we follow our werewolf escorts.

Simin hurries after me. “Wait!” She bumps into a man, blushing. “Sorry.”

He laughs. “A lovely lady may bump into me anytime.” He smirks at Ita. “Though my true favorite ignores me.”

“Your favorite will best you if you misbehave,” Ita retorts.

“Is this a town or a pack?” I ask her quietly.

“Both,” she replies. “Most packs are self-sufficient, though not all resemble towns. This is among the larger ones.”

“And all under King Gillean?”

“He’s their Alpha King,” she confirms.

“The people are kind,” I murmur.

She smiles. “Surprised?”

“I know little of shifters beyond books and teachings,” I admit. “I didn’t expect such warmth when they saw me.”

“You thought we’d devour you?” Tynan teases, catching up.

“No,” I say, watching the cheering crowd. “It’s… this. The welcome.”

“You’re a princess,” Ita says, puzzled. “Don’t people react this way everywhere?”

“It’s different,” I reply solemnly, recalling festivals in the desert I could only watch from balconies, barred from joining, always an outcast.

“They’ve been eager for your arrival,” Ita explains. “Frostveil is isolated, and a foreign princess visiting is exotic, thrilling. Though our cultural reverence for unique gifts might play a part too—unlike the fear I hear grips your homeland.” Her words stir something in me—could my gift, whatever it is, hold value here?

“Mates,” I venture, shifting topics. “You’ve mentioned it. Is it like a husband or wife?”

“Not quite,” Ita clarifies. “Mates share a bond blessed by our goddess, often marked visibly among warriors with tattoos or tokens of union.”

“So it’s true?” Simin beams. “How romantic!”

“Unless you’re bound to a brute like Tynan,” Ita grins.

“Excuse me,” he sputters. “I’d be a fine mate—hunting for them, serenading them under the moon, as the goddess intended.”

“Likely still bloodied from the hunt,” Dareth quips, surprising me. I can’t suppress a grin.

“That’s what I mean,” Ita laughs. “Barbaric.”

I watch their banter, intrigued, as they lead us to an inn. Dareth’s bionic hand rests on my shoulder. “Princess, what’s on your mind?”

“Many things,” I admit. “Do they truly know who I am?”

“Of course.”

“And the rumors?”

He nods.

“I’ve judged them more harshly than they’ve judged me,” I confess.

“You didn’t know better,” he says.

“But what of the king and his court?” I ask, dread coiling at the thought of another gilded cage, barred from the world. “Will it be different among the nobility?”

Dareth tilts his head. “Why not wait and see?”