Chapter 7 Ready to Meet My Husband
(Thalia's POV)
I walk to the bathroom and flush them down the toilet.
I stare at the empty toilet bowl where the pills disappeared in a swirl of water, waiting for something catastrophic to happen.
Nothing does.
No sudden sprouting of fur. No overwhelming urge to howl at the nonexistent moon. No feral madness consuming my rational mind.
I'm just... me. Standing in my bathroom at seven-fifteen in the morning, heart racing with equal parts terror and exhilaration, wondering if I've just made the bravest or stupidest decision of my life.
"Miss Thornewood?" Petra's voice filters through the door. "Your mother has sent up the dress for this morning's meeting. We should begin preparations soon."
"I'll be right out."
I splash cold water on my face, studying my reflection in the mirror. Same pale skin, same hazel eyes, same unremarkable features that have stared back at me for nineteen years. If there's a powerful wolf lurking beneath this ordinary exterior, she's being remarkably patient about making her presence known.
Maybe Mother was lying about the feral transformation. Or maybe it takes time for the suppressants to leave my system.
Or maybe Lucien is lying about me having a wolf form.
Either way, there's no going back now.
I emerge from the bathroom to find Petra has laid out the blue dress Mother mentioned, a conservative knee-length sheath in midnight silk. Elegant. Expensive.
The uniform of a political asset.
"Your mother suggests minimal jewelry," Petra says, already moving toward my closet with professional efficiency. "The pearl studs, perhaps. And she's sent up a different perfume... something more... traditional."
I want to refuse, to assert some control over my own appearance, but what's the point? Casimir isn't coming here to admire my fashion sense. This is a business arrangement dressed up in wedding finery.
The next hour passes in preparation that feels more like armor-donning than getting dressed. Petra works silently, pinning my hair into an elegant chignon, applying makeup with the precision of someone who's done this countless times. When she finally steps back, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror.
She looks like Mother. All ice and poise and calculated beauty.
"Perfect," Petra pronounces. "He arrives in twenty minutes. Your mother wants you in the formal receiving room."
I follow her downstairs, hyperaware of the increased security presence. Guards at every landing, cameras in every corner, the air thick with territorial aggression. They're not just protecting me, they're sending a message to any other Voss operatives foolish enough to try infiltration.
Lucien won't be coming back. Can't come back, not through this gauntlet of armed wolves all primed to kill on sight.
The realization sits in my chest like a stone. I pressed that button. Activated the beacon that transformed my home into a fortress and guaranteed I'd never see him again.
I'm sorry, I think desperately, hoping somehow the hears me with his supernatural hearing or something. I panicked. I didn't mean...
But nothing. Either he's too far away, or he's deliberately blocking me, or I simply don't know how to use it properly yet.
Mother is already in the receiving room when I arrive, standing by the window with her usual ramrod posture. She turns, and something shifts in her expression as she takes in my appearance.
"Good. You look appropriate." The closest thing to a compliment I'm likely to get. "Remember, first impressions are everything. Casimir is assessing you just as much as you're assessing him. Show intelligence. Think of it as a performance."
"Everything in our lives is a performance," I say quietly.
"Yes. And those who perform well survive while those who don't... don't." She adjusts the drape of her own dress, black Givenchy that makes her look like an elegant predator. "The Dragomir pack values strength and control above all else. Casimir became Alpha at eight years old when his parents died. He's had to be hard to survive."
Eight years old. The detail catches me off guard. I try to imagine a child that young inheriting the responsibility of leading an entire pack, making life-and-death decisions, navigating supernatural politics that would challenge adults.
No wonder he's cold. Childhood like that would freeze anyone.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Garrett appears, expression neutral. "They've arrived, ma'am. Three vehicles. Casimir, his uncle Sorin, and a security detail of six."
"Show them to the blue parlor. We'll receive them there in five minutes." Mother waits until Garrett leaves, then turns to me with laser focus. "Do not embarrass me, Thalia. This alliance is too important for mistakes."
"I understand."
"Casimir controls territories from Prague to Moscow. His pack is the largest in Eastern Europe. If he decides you're unsuitable, if he breaks this engagement, the political fallout will be catastrophic."
"Then maybe you should have consulted me before arranging my marriage to a stranger."
Her hand moves so fast I don't see it coming. The slap cracks across my cheek with enough force to snap my head sideways, and for a moment the room tilts.
"You will never speak to me that way again." Her voice is glacial. "Especially not in front of the Dragomirs. Whatever rebellious impulses that Voss operative planted in your head, you will extinguish them. Immediately. Am I clear?"
My cheek throbs, but I force myself to meet her eyes. "Crystal."
"Good." She smooths her dress, composure already restored. "Now let's go meet your future husband."