Chapter 1: PROLOGUE: The Boy Who Called Me His Wife

I was ten years old when I discovered what my mother really did for Lord Griffith.

"Stay here, Elira." My mother pushed open the door of a small guest room inside Lord Griffith’s manor.

She pointed to a wooden chair beside the window. "Don’t leave until I come back."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Oh, sweet summer child, you ask too many questions."

She knelt before me and smoothed my dress. Her hands were shaking. That was strange enough to make me nervous.

"But–"

"Please."

Stunned, I stared at her. My mother rarely said please.

Finally, I nodded. "Fine."

She kissed my forehead and left. I lasted three minutes... perhaps four before I heard her voice.

"Please, Lord Griffith."

I slipped from the chair. The sound came from his private study. I knew I shouldn’t have followed it but I did anyway. The door was slightly open. Through the narrow gap, I saw Lord Griffith standing beside his desk. His son, who had but two nights ago celebrated his twentieth birthday, stood across from him.

My mother stood between them with her head bowed.

"You have delayed this long enough," Lord Griffith said.

"Please," my mother whispered again.

"You knew the terms of your employment. You serve every adult male of this household!"

My young neck tilted thanks to my tightening stomach.

"His eighteenth year has come and gone."

"I know."

"Then tonight, his mating will be completed. You will not embarrass my son any further."

My mother went completely still. I didn’t understand what they were talking about but I understood the look on her face. I’d seen her wear it so many times.

Sometimes, it’s fear—sometimes, shame.

And when Lord Griffith’s son stepped toward her while my mother closed her eyes, I ran. I ran before I could see anything else. I ran through the corridors. Down the stairs. Past the servants. Out of the Godforsaken manor.

I didn’t stop until my lungs burned. I hated that house. I hated Lord Griffith. I hated everyone who called my mother a housewoman as though it were something dirty.

But most of all, at that moment, I hated her. Because she had chosen that life. She had chosen to stay. And I had spent ten years paying for it.

Dragonless bastard.

Whore’s child.

Curse.

The words followed me as I ran. So did another thought. A thought I had spent my entire life trying not to ask.

Where is my father?

The man who had abandoned me. The man everyone said had vanished the moment he learned what I was.

Maybe he had been a coward. Maybe he had hated me. Maybe he had never wanted me. But as the village disappeared behind me, I decided something desperate.

I would find him. And if he didn’t want me either—Well. At least I would finally know.

By sunset, I was lost.

The streets around me were unfamiliar, cleaner, wider, lined with buildings far grander than anything in my village. I hid behind walls, inside alleys, and beneath staircases when people passed.

I was dirty, hungry, and beginning to realize that perhaps running away without knowing where I was going had been a terrible plan.

Then I heard someone crying. I halted in my tracks. The sound came again. It was a muffled sob. For some reason, I followed it. Perhaps because I was crying too.

Perhaps because misery recognizes its own.

I found him beneath a stone archway. He was about my age. He could be older.

His silver hair had been braided neatly, though several strands had come loose around his face. He wore black formal clothes that were neater than any ceremonial attire I owned. Not that I owned more than one.

His cheeks were wet with tears. When he saw me, his eyes widened.

"Shh."

My eyes were fixed confusedly at him. He glanced nervously toward the courtyard.

"Come here."

"Why?"

"Because they’ll find me."

"Who?"

"My guards."

I looked around then back at him. "Why are guards looking for you?"

He wiped his face with his sleeve. "You’re not supposed to be here."

Apparently, neither was he.

"And are you?"

For the first time, he almost smiled. Then his expression changed when he looked at me properly; at my torn dress, my dirty knees, and my face.

"Did someone hurt you?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"Who?"

I thought of my mother. Of her bowed head. Of the fear in her eyes.

Finally, my lips pressed together. "My mother."

The boy’s face fell. "Mine too."

I blinked. "Your mother hurt you?"

He shook his head. "She died."

Oh.

I didn’t know what to say. So I sat down beside him. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then his fingers suddenly closed around my hand.

I looked down at our entwined hands. He was staring at me and it was not in the way a boy would look at another child. Something had changed in his eyes.

The tears were gone. His pupils had narrowed. And for one strange second, I felt something warm move beneath my skin.

It was as though his hands in mine were generating a heat that traveled through my core. Albeit, a tingling, soothing heat.

I felt his grip tighten. "I know you," he said.

I frowned. "No, you don’t."

"I do."

"You’ve never seen me before."

"I don’t mean–" He paused. His head tilted slightly, as though listening to something I couldn’t hear. Then his expression became strangely serious.

"I’ll remember your scent."

"What?"

"Even when I’m old."

I pulled my hand away. "That’s a weird thing to say."

He smiled. It was a small smile. The first one I’d seen from him.

"When I’m older," he said, "I’ll find you."

I scrunched my face in confusion. "And then?"

"I’ll marry you."

My mouth fell open. "You don’t even know my name!"

"I don’t need it."

"That’s stupid."

"Maybe."

I narrowed my eyes. "You’re crying because your mother died, and now you’re talking nonsense."

His smile widened. Then he leaned forward and pressed a tiny kiss to my cheek.

"Hoh!" I froze completely.

He pulled back, looking pleased with himself. "My wife."

I stared at him in horror. "What did you..."

"I claimed you."

A voice suddenly shouted somewhere in the distance. The boy jumped. His head snapped toward the courtyard.

"They found me."

I stood too. "Who are you?"

He looked back at me. For the first time, I noticed something strange. The red slits in his silver eyes... they seemed to glow.

He stepped backward into the shadow beneath the archway. "Don’t forget me."

"I don’t even know your name!"

His smile was the last thing I saw. "That’s all right."

Then he ran.

I stood beneath that archway for a long time afterward. Waiting...

But he never came back. Eventually, I returned to my mother. Eventually, I grew up. And eventually, I stopped thinking about the strange crying boy in black who had promised to marry me.

Or at least, I tried to.