The grave still had no headstone. Just turned earth, dark and raw against the frost-pale grass of the Crimson burial ground, and a wreath of black hemlock someone had laid there before dawn. My mother, probably. She always did think grief needed decoration. I knelt anyway, because kneeling was the only thing left that felt like mine. I pressed my palm flat against the dirt, fingers spread, like I could feel him through it. Like some part of Raphael might still recognize my hand, even now, even like this. "You'd hate this," I told him. "All of it. The ceremony. The way they're already calling it peace - like your name is a price someone else gets to spend." The wind answered instead of him. It always did, now. I thought of the promise he'd made three winters ago, forehead pressed to mine, both of us still gangly and unfinished, more pup than wolf. Not until after the war, he'd said. I won't make you a widow before you've even been a wife. I'd laughed at him. Told him nothing was going to happen to him, that he'd outlive every one of us out of sheer stubbornness. He'd smiled like he knew better and let me believe it anyway, because that was Raphael - he'd rather I be wrong and happy than right and afraid. He'd been right to worry. He just hadn't guessed it would be a duel that killed him. Not the war. Not some nameless enemy on a battlefield he never got to reach. A duel, in the training woods, against a man who could have let him live and chose - chose - not to. My hand curled into the earth until dirt packed under my nails. Raulph let him die. Worse than that. Raulph made sure of it. I'd heard it from three different mouths now, each version colder than the last: Raphael had backed down. Lowered his guard, dropped his challenge, done the thing that was supposed to end it without blood. And Raulph had killed him anyway, because a duel conceded is a duel that proves nothing, and Raulph has never in his life been interested in anything that didn't prove something. I was going to marry that. Footsteps behind me - careful, deliberate, announcing themselves so as not to startle me. I didn't have to turn around to know it was my aunt. "Evelyn." The old formality. The one she only used when something serious was coming, as if my full name could brace me for what my nickname couldn't. "They're ready for you." "I know." "The alphas are already gathering. Both packs." A pause, longer than it needed to be. "You look like you haven't slept." "I haven't." I rose, brushing the dirt from my knees like I could brush off the last hour of my life along with it. "Does it matter? No one's marrying me for how well-rested I look." She didn't answer that. There wasn't a kind answer to give. We walked the path back toward the Great Hall in silence, and with every step I felt myself being folded back into a shape I recognized - spine straight, chin level, the soft, unforgivable grief I'd allowed myself at the grave tucked somewhere no one else would be permitted to see. By the time the doors came into view, I wasn't the girl who'd knelt in the dirt and talked to a dead boy anymore. That girl didn't exist here. Here, I was Evelyn of the lowest pack, offered up like a treaty wearing a woman's face. I hated how easy it was to become her. I hated that I was good at it. The Hall was already full when I stepped inside - Crimson elders lined along one wall, faces carved from something colder than grief, the kind of cold that comes from swallowing rage for the sake of survival. On the other side stood the Alpha's court, watching me the way you watch weather you can't control: with resignation, and a little bit of fear that it might still ruin something. I felt the weight of every eye in that room before I found the one I was looking for. Raulph stood near his father, arms crossed, that same expression settled over his face that I'd already learned, in the space of a handful of encounters, to hate more than almost anything else about him. Not guilt. Not even discomfort. Just tolerance - like this whole arrangement, this whole marriage, was an inconvenience he intended to survive with his dignity fully intact, while mine was somebody else's problem entirely. Our eyes met across the Hall. He didn't look away first. Neither did I. Good, I thought. Let him see it. Let him know exactly what he's marrying. Someone had started speaking - I recognized the Alpha's voice, low and formal, words like unity and sacrifice and the future of both packs moving through the air like they belonged to a different conversation than the one happening in my chest. I barely heard any of it. I was too busy holding Raulph's stare like a blade held steady between us, refusing to be the one who flinched. He didn't know I knew. Or maybe he did and simply didn't care - that was entirely possible, given what I understood of him. But I knew. I knew Raphael had lowered his guard. I knew there had been a moment, one single moment, where this could have ended with both of them walking back out of those woods, and Raulph had looked at that moment and decided he'd rather have a body than a rival who owed him a debt. I wondered, watching him now, if he thought about it. If it visited him at night the way Raphael visited me - not as guilt, maybe, but as an itch under the skin, something that wouldn't quite settle. Looking at him, arms crossed, jaw set, utterly unbothered by an entire room deciding his future for him, I doubted it. Men like Raulph didn't lie awake over what they'd already decided was necessary. I hoped I was wrong. I hoped, somewhere under all that stillness, something in him was rotting from what he'd done, slow and constant, the way it was rotting in me from what had been taken. "Evelyn." The Alpha's voice, directed at me now, gentler than I expected and somehow worse for it. "Come forward, child." Child. As if I hadn't spent the last three days learning how to bury someone and put on a wedding dress in the same week. I walked forward because there was nothing else to do. My aunt's hand fell away from my shoulder. The elders on both sides straightened, and I felt the room hold its breath the way rooms do right before something is made official - before a thing that was only spoken becomes a thing that is true. I stopped an arm's length from Raulph. Close enough now to see the faint scar along his jaw, the one I hadn't noticed from across the Hall. Close enough to see that his eyes, up close, weren't as flat and unaffected as I'd assumed. There was something moving behind them. I told myself it didn't matter what. "This union," the Alpha said, addressing both packs now, "ends what could have become a war neither side wanted. It honors the dead-" here his gaze flicked, briefly, respectfully, toward the Crimson elders, "-by refusing to create more of them." Honors the dead. I nearly laughed. There was nothing honoring about this. This was a debt being paid with a body that hadn't died yet. Raulph's voice, when it finally came, was low enough that I don't think anyone else caught it. Meant only for me. "You've been staring since I walked in." "You killed my mate," I said, just as quietly. "I think I've earned the right to stare." Something flickered across his face - gone before I could name it. Not shame. I refused to believe it was shame. "He backed down," Raulph said. "That was his mistake, not mine." "You had a choice." "So did he." His jaw tightened. "He should have made a better one." I hated him then with a clarity that felt almost peaceful, like something finally settling into its correct shape. Whatever this marriage was going to be - whatever peace it was meant to purchase for two packs who'd rather be at each other's throats - it was never going to be forgiveness. Not from me. Not for this. "Then let's be clear with each other," I said, low enough that only he would hear it, my voice steady in a way that surprised even me. "I will stand beside you. I will wear your ring and answer to your name in front of every pack in this territory, because that is apparently the price of peace, and I am apparently the coin. But do not mistake tolerance for forgiveness, Raulph. You took the only future I wanted for myself. I intend for this one to cost you exactly as much." For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at me the way you'd look at a threat you hadn't fully accounted for. Then, behind us, the Alpha began the binding words, and the room rose to witness two people who despised each other become, officially, each other's problem. I did not look away from Raulph again. Not once. I wanted him to remember, every single day of this marriage, exactly what he was standing next to, and exactly why.

The dining hall was huge. Too huge. The table could fit thirty people, but only six chairs were set out, which somehow made it feel worse - like the empty space was there on purpose, just to remind me I didn't belong. I'd been married for six hours. I already hated this house. "You'll sit next to Raulph," Dregor said, pointing me to a seat near the head of the table. He said it kindly enough. At least he was trying. I sat down. Raulph didn't look at me. That was fine. I didn't want him to. Parker walked in next, and the room got colder. He moved like Raulph - quiet, controlled - but his eyes were different. Colder. He looked me over like he was checking a price tag. "So this is her," he said, not really to anyone. "The peace treaty." "Parker." Dregor's voice had a warning in it. "What? I'm allowed to look at my new sister." Parker almost smiled. "Smaller than I expected." I didn't say anything. I was already learning - in this house, giving people a reaction was like handing them a weapon. Phiona came in right after, like she'd timed it. She was beautiful in that sharp, careful way, like everything about her had been arranged for effect. She kissed Parker's cheek, sat down, and turned to me with a smile that looked warm until you actually looked at it. "Evelyn," she said. "We've heard so much about you." "Good things, I hope." "Mostly." Her smile didn't change. "Tell me - is it true Crimson doesn't even have its own war college? I heard your border guards train with old Frevnent weapons. Must be embarrassing, needing someone else's steel to protect your own land." The table went quiet. Beside me, Raulph went still, but he still didn't look over. I smiled right back at her. "We do use Frevnent steel, yes. Funny - I heard you needed a Silver Moon last name before anyone outside your own pack took you seriously. Must be embarrassing, needing someone else's bloodline just to matter." Something flickered across Phiona's face. Not anger exactly. Surprise. Like she hadn't expected the girl from the lowest pack to actually bite back. "She's got teeth," Parker said. For the first time all night, he almost looked entertained. It didn't feel like it was on my side, though. More like he was just taking notes. "Watch it, brother," Scott said, dropping into the last chair like he owned the room. "Keep looking at her like that and Raulph's going to think you're jealous." "Jealous of what," Parker said. "A Crimson girl with a smart mouth?" "Jealous that your wife just got beat at her own game," Scott said, grinning, and poured himself some wine like he hadn't just said something insane out loud. Then he turned to me, and his whole face changed - softer, warmer, definitely flirting. "The rumors were wrong, by the way. They said angelic eyes. They didn't mention you've also got a temper." He grinned wider. "Honestly? Raulph doesn't deserve you. I'd have made a much better husband." "Scott." Raulph's voice, low. "What? I'm being nice." Scott lifted his glass toward me. "To the first interesting thing that's happened in this house in years." I felt my face go warm, and I hated that. Not because I believed him - I didn't, not really - but because it was the first time all night someone had looked at me like I wasn't a problem to be managed. I didn't drink to the toast. I wasn't sure yet if Scott was actually kind, or just enjoyed causing trouble. Phiona wasn't done. She tried again, softer this time, like she was being caring instead of cruel. "It really is impressive, though, how fast you've adjusted. Girls from lower packs usually struggle so much with our customs here. The manners, the - " she waved her hand, " - refinement. I do hope Raulph's patient with you. It can't be easy, marrying so far above your station." "Enough." Raulph's voice cut across the table. He didn't say it loud. He didn't need to. The whole room stopped anyway. Phiona blinked. "I only meant -" "I know exactly what you meant." He set his glass down slowly. "You've been part of this family two years, Phiona, and you still introduce yourself with your father's title instead of my brother's name. If we're talking about refinement tonight, maybe start there before you pick on my wife." Nobody said anything for a second. Parker's jaw tightened, but he didn't jump in to defend her. Phiona opened her mouth, closed it again. For the first time all night, she had nothing to say. I looked at Raulph, waiting for him to glance at me - to see if there was anything behind what he'd just done. There wasn't. He'd already gone back to his food like it was nothing. Like defending me had just been a job he needed to finish, not something that meant anything. I didn't know what bothered me more. That he'd done it. Or that some annoying part of me had liked it. "Well," Dregor said, breaking the silence with the tired cheerfulness of a man used to cleaning up after his kids, "shall we talk about the harvest tributes instead?" The conversation moved on, careful and a little stiff. Scott caught my eye across the table and winked, like we had some private joke going. Parker didn't look at me again for the rest of dinner, which somehow felt louder than if he had. Beside me, Raulph ate in silence. Close enough that I could feel the warmth off his arm. Far enough that neither of us had to say anything about it. I kept thinking about the two words he'd used. My wife. Not sweet. Not soft. Just a fact, thrown out like a weapon. And still, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I hadn't asked him to defend me. I definitely hadn't asked to feel anything about the fact that he had. Careful, Evelyn, I told myself, poking at food I didn't want anymore. That's exactly how this stuff starts.

Dinner ended the way it started - stiff and polite on the surface, tense underneath. Dregor said goodnight first, patting my shoulder like I was a niece he felt sorry for. Then Parker, who nodded at me like I was a decision he hadn't finished making yet. Phiona left without looking at me at all, her heels clicking hard against the stone floor, like she wanted the whole hallway to know she was leaving angry. Scott was the last to go, and he leaned close on his way out. "Don't let this place turn you cold," he said, quiet enough that only I could hear it. "It's done that to better people than you." Then he was gone, footsteps fading down the corridor, and it was just me and Raulph, standing in a hallway that suddenly felt way too quiet. "That was fun," I said, mostly to fill the silence. "That was Tuesday." Raulph didn't look at me. He was already walking, and I guessed I was supposed to follow. I followed anyway. There wasn't much else to do. My feet hurt from standing all evening, and the shoes I'd been given for the wedding weren't made for walking, only for looking pretty while I sat still and let people stare at me. We walked without talking for a while. The halls here were cold, all stone and old portraits of Silver Moon alphas, generation after generation, all wearing the same unbothered face. I studied them as we passed. Not one of them looked like they'd ever lost anything. Not one of them looked like they'd ever had to. I wondered if Raulph would look like that too, someday. Carved into a painting, staring down at some other girl who'd been handed to his family like a peace offering. I wondered if he already did. "You didn't have to do that," I said finally. "Back there. With Phiona." "I know." "Then why did you?" He stopped walking. Turned to look at me for the first time since dinner started. In the dim light of the hallway, his face looked less like stone and more like something tired underneath it. "Because she was disrespecting this house," he said. "Not because of you." "Right." It shouldn't have stung. It did anyway, a little, more than I wanted to admit. "Good to know where I stand." Something in his face shifted, just slightly. Like he wanted to say something else and decided against it at the last second. "You held your own with her before I said anything," he said instead. "You didn't need me." "No," I said. "I didn't." "Then we're clear." He started walking again, like that settled it. "We're not clear on anything," I said, catching up, my shoes clicking too fast against the floor to keep pace with him. "You killed the person I loved. You married me because it was convenient for everyone but me. Your family looks at me like I'm something that got tracked in on someone's boots. So no, Raulph, we are very much not clear." He didn't answer right away. We kept walking, past more doors, more portraits, more of this house that wasn't mine and never would be, no matter how many rooms it had. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. "I never said this was easy for either of us." "You didn't say much of anything," I said. "That's kind of the problem. You want me to just accept all this - the wedding, the family, the way your brother looks at me like I'm a bug he hasn't decided whether to squash - and you won't even talk to me." "What do you want me to say?" "I don't know. Something. Anything that isn't three words and a closed door." He didn't answer that either. I decided I hated the silence more than I hated anything he could have actually said. We reached a set of double doors near the end of the hall, carved dark wood with a silver crescent moon worked into the center. He pushed them open, and I realized this was it - my new room. Our room, probably, though the thought made my stomach twist in a way I didn't want to look at too closely. "This is you," he said. I stepped inside. The room was bigger than my entire home back in Crimson - bigger than the house I'd grown up in, bigger than the house Raphael and I used to talk about building someday, back when someday still felt like something we were allowed to have. There was a huge bed with dark covers, tall windows looking out over land that belonged to a family that didn't want me, and a fireplace already lit, like someone had known I was coming and prepared for it without asking what I actually wanted. It didn't feel like mine at all. It felt like a very expensive cage. "Raulph." I turned back before he could leave. He stopped in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, waiting. "Did you know? That Raphael backed down. That you didn't have to kill him." The question hung there between us, heavier than anything that had been said all night. For a second I thought he wasn't going to answer. I almost hoped he wouldn't - some small, cowardly part of me didn't actually want to hear it out loud. "Yes," he said finally. "I knew." "Then why?" "Because backing down doesn't win wars," he said. "It just delays them. I made a choice that day. I'm not going to pretend I didn't, and I'm not going to apologize for it just because it's inconvenient for you now." "He was going to be my husband." "I know that too." "Do you feel anything about it? At all? Or is it really that simple for you - a choice, a war, nothing else?" His jaw tightened. For a second, something moved behind his eyes - something that looked almost like the thing I'd been hoping to find earlier at dinner, something that looked almost human. Then it was gone, locked back up behind that same wall he wore like armor. "Goodnight, Evelyn," he said, and shut the door before I could answer. I stood there a long moment, staring at the space where he'd been, listening to his footsteps fade the same way Scott's had, the same way this whole night had - everyone leaving, no one staying long enough to actually say what they meant. I hated that I wanted him to feel something. I hated even more that some part of me had been waiting, hoping, for the answer to be yes. I sat down on the edge of the bed that wasn't mine, in the room that wasn't mine, in the life that wasn't mine, and let myself cry for exactly as long as it took the fire to burn low. Then I wiped my face, because there was no one left to see it, and because crying wouldn't bring Raphael back, and it definitely wouldn't make Raulph into someone he wasn't. Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I'd figure out how to survive this. Tonight, I just wanted to stop feeling so much.