Chapter 43 Unexpected Decision
Dahila's POV
I heard there was to be another ceremony in the pack. King Dagnoth was still in search of a mate. I had thought all of that was over, but it appeared it wasn’t.
The worst news came when the elders ordered me to remain in the pack and participate in the ceremony. I didn’t know what purpose it would serve, but I was not above the pack laws, no matter how defiant I claimed to be.
Dahlia
I knew something had changed long before anyone spoke to me.
The palace felt different, it was too quiet, too watchful. Servants moved with their heads lowered and their steps quick, as though afraid to linger. Guards stood straighter than usual, eyes sharp, hands never far from their weapons. Even the stone corridors seemed to carry a restless hum, like the air itself was holding its breath.
I felt it deep in my chest.
When the summons came, it did not surprise me.
A young maid stopped me near the western corridor. She did not meet my eyes when she spoke. “My lady, you are requested in the east hall this evening.”
No reason was given. None was needed.
I nodded and thanked her, then continued walking, though my steps slowed as soon as she left. The east hall was not used for meals or meetings. It was reserved for tradition. For decisions that shaped kingdoms.
For ceremonies.
I stopped, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. For a moment, I simply stood there, reminding myself to breathe. To remain composed. To remember that fear had never saved me before.
I had endured worse than uncertainty.
By evening, the palace had transformed. Wolves from allied packs arrived in formal attire, their scents heavy with ambition and expectation. Elders gathered in hushed clusters, their voices low and urgent. Torches lined the stone paths, their flames casting long shadows that twisted and stretched across the ground.
I dressed alone.
The gown laid out for me was pale gray—elegant but unadorned. No jewels. No sigils of favor. It was the color of restraint, of someone meant to be seen but not claimed. I tied my hair back with a thin ribbon and studied my reflection.
I looked tired. Older than I felt. But there was strength there too, quiet and unyielding.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself.
When I entered the east hall, the sound of voices faded.
The space was vast, its ceiling carved with ancient symbols of unity and bond. The pack stood in a wide half circle around the stone platform at the center. Every face turned as I stepped inside.
And then I saw him.
The king stood alone on the platform, dressed in black, his presence commanding the room without effort. His posture was rigid, his expression carefully blank. For a moment, his eyes did not seek mine.
That hurt more than I expected.
I took my place among the others.
There were many women this time—daughters of strong packs, their confidence sharpened by hope. Some stood tall, others hid their nerves behind practiced calm. All of them believed this night might change their lives.
I felt none of that.
Only a strange, steady calm.
A horn sounded, deep and solemn, and the murmurs died instantly. An elder stepped forward and began the ancient rites, speaking of balance and unity, of the necessity of a bonded king to protect the realm.
I listened without truly hearing.
My attention stayed fixed on the king—on the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched as if holding something back. He did not look like a man eager to choose.
He looked like a man preparing to sacrifice something.
The ceremony began.
One by one, the women stepped forward. Each reached for him with hope shining in their eyes. Each time, the bond was tested.
Each time, nothing happened.
The silence after every attempt grew heavier, sharper. Whispers stirred among the crowd, cautious at first, then harder to restrain.
When my name was called, the hall went still.
I stepped forward.
The walk felt longer than it was, every step echoing through my chest. I climbed onto the platform and stood before him. Now, his gaze met mine.
It was sharp. Searching. Unsettled.
For a brief moment, the hall disappeared. There was only the space between us, thick with words neither of us spoke.
“Dahlia,” he said quietly.
“My king,” I replied.
At the elder’s signal, I lifted my hand.
He hesitated.
It was brief—so small that most would have missed it. But I saw it. Then he placed his hand over mine.
Warmth spread through me—not magic, not the pull of fate. Something human. Something fragile and real.
The hall held its breath.
Nothing happened.
No glow. No mark. No bond.
I expected relief.
Instead, something hollow settled in my chest.
He withdrew first.
The elder cleared his throat and spoke the formal words, his voice carrying across the chamber. The crowd reacted immediately—disappointment, unease, quiet fear rippling outward like waves.
I stepped back, my face composed, my spine straight. This was how it was meant to be. Or so I told myself.
As I turned to leave the platform, my eyes caught on a small figure near the edge of the hall.
The boy.
He stood beside a servant, watching everything with wide, curious eyes. When he noticed me looking, he smiled shyly and lifted his hand in a small wave.
I smiled back before I could stop myself.
The king noticed.
His gaze followed mine, landing on the child. His body stiffened, and something dark passed through his eyes—fear, sharp and unguarded.
The ceremony ended soon after. No bond was formed. No mate chosen.
The crowd dispersed slowly, tension clinging to them like smoke.
I left the hall alone.
Outside, the night air was cool and clean. I inhaled deeply, letting it steady me.
Footsteps sounded behind me.
“You were calm,” he said.
I turned to face him. “So were you.”
A pause stretched between us.
“This changes nothing,” he said finally.
“I know.”
His eyes searched my face, as though trying to read something I refused to reveal.
“You don’t seem disappointed,” he said.
“I learned not to expect what I’m not owed,” I answered.
The words struck him harder than anger ever could.
“You deserve—” he began, then stopped.
“Peace,” I finished softly. “So do you.”
Silence fell again.
At last, he spoke. “You are free to leave the palace, if you wish.”
“And if I stay?” I asked.
His jaw tightened. “Then you stay.”
I nodded once. “I will decide in the morning.”
He watched me walk away.
I did not look back.
That night, sleep did not come easily. As I stared into the darkness, one truth settled firmly in my mind.
The ceremony had proven what he wanted the world to believe.
But it had also revealed something neither of us was ready to name.
The bond had not chosen.
But the choice was still waiting.