ISABELLA POV. . . . . .

All my life, I knew this day would come.

A princess is not raised to dream.

She is raised to serve.

I stood before the tall mirror in my chambers, barely recognizing the girl staring back at me. Silk and gold wrapped around my body like chains disguised as elegance. The gown was breathtaking — layers of white fabric embroidered with silver wolves and royal crests — but it felt heavy. Everything felt heavy.

The crown resting on my head was lighter than the future waiting for me downstairs.

“Your Highness, you look magnificent,” Lydia whispered behind me.

Magnificent.

If only magnificence could silence the fear clawing at my chest.

Ylva adjusted the jeweled necklace around my throat. “The alliance will secure peace. The people will be safe. That is what matters.”

Peace.

Safety.

Words men use when they trade their daughters like currency.

My father called it duty.

I called it sacrifice.

Kingdoms were collapsing at our borders. Rival packs were growing stronger. And to prevent war, my father had offered me — Princess Isabella of Valoria — to the most feared ruler in the north.

Alpha King Lucas Draven.

The Ruthless Alpha.

They say he claimed his throne in blood.

They say his wolf bows to no one.

They say mercy is not a word he understands.

Some even whisper that he is cursed.

I tried to ignore the rumors. After all, rumors are born from fear.

But fear does not disappear just because you close your eyes.

A knock sounded at the door.

“My lady,” the royal attendant announced softly. “It is time.”

Time.

I swallowed hard.

As I walked down the grand staircase of the palace, every step felt like the closing of a door behind me. The hall below was filled with nobles, warriors, and diplomats from both kingdoms. Their voices blended into a dull roar in my ears.

This was not a wedding.

This was a treaty.

My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted the hem of my dress.

Do not fall.

Do not show weakness.

Do not cry.

Halfway down the staircase, my heel caught in the fabric.

I stumbled.

A gasp escaped the crowd.

Before I could fall, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me with effortless strength.

Heat.

That was the first thing I felt.

Then power.

I looked up.

And my breath left me.

His eyes were not simply gold.

They burned.

Like molten fire beneath the surface of calm control.

Alpha King Lucas.

He was taller than any man I had seen, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark ceremonial armor etched with the sigil of a wolf’s head. His presence alone silenced the hall.

Danger radiated from him — quiet, controlled, undeniable.

“Careful, Princess,” he said, his voice low and smooth, yet commanding enough to make the air feel thinner. “I would not want my bride injured before she becomes mine.”

Mine.

The word should have angered me.

Instead, my wolf stirred beneath my skin for the first time in years.

Our eyes locked.

And in that moment, something ancient shifted between us.

Not fear.

Not hatred.

Something far more dangerous.

Recognition.

He tightened his grip slightly before releasing me, as if reminding both of us who held the power.

The crowd began to whisper.

But I barely heard them.

Because the Ruthless Alpha was looking at me not like a pawn…

Not like a political offering…

But like a discovery.

And I suddenly realized something terrifying.

The rumors had been wrong.

Lucas Draven was not a monster without control.

He was a predator with perfect control.

Isabella

The hall felt smaller with him standing beside me.

Or perhaps it was simply that his presence consumed the space.

Alpha King Lucas did not look at the crowd. He did not look at my father. He did not even look at the officiant waiting nervously at the altar.

He looked at me.

As if I were the only thing in the room worth acknowledging.

My pulse betrayed me, quick and uneven beneath my ribs. I forced myself to lift my chin, to remind both him and myself that I was not some trembling village girl.

I was Princess Isabella of Valoria.

And yet… standing this close to him, titles felt meaningless.

His hand hovered at the small of my back as he guided me forward. He did not touch me again, but the heat of his palm lingered through the thin silk of my dress.

The hall fell silent when we reached the altar.

My father’s voice echoed from somewhere behind me. “May this union strengthen both kingdoms and secure lasting peace.”

Peace.

Always peace.

The officiant cleared his throat and began the ceremonial vows of binding between royal wolves. Words of loyalty. Words of territory. Words of blood and alliance.

But the only thing I heard clearly was the steady rhythm of Lucas’s breathing beside me.

Controlled.

Calm.

Predatory.

When it was time for the vow of acceptance, the officiant turned to him first.

“Alpha King Lucas Draven, do you accept Princess Isabella of Valoria as your lawfully wedded mate and queen, to stand by your side and strengthen your kingdom?”

A pause.

A single second.

But it felt like a lifetime.

Lucas stepped forward slightly. The movement was subtle, yet the entire room seemed to tense.

“I do,” he said.

Two simple words.

Yet they sounded less like a promise… and more like a claim.

The officiant turned to me.

“Princess Isabella, do you accept Alpha King Lucas Draven as your husband and king?”

The weight of a thousand eyes pressed against my skin.

This was the moment.

This was the point of no return.

I thought of my childhood chambers. Of Lydia and Ylva. Of walking freely in the palace gardens at dawn. Of being someone’s daughter instead of someone’s offering.

Then I felt it.

A faint pull in my chest.

Not fear.

Not reluctance.

Something deeper.

My wolf stirred again.

And to my shock… it did not resist him.

“I do,” I whispered.

Lucas’s eyes darkened.

The officiant nodded quickly, clearly eager to finish. “By the authority granted under the laws of both kingdoms, I declare you bound by oath and blood. You may seal the union.”

Seal.

The word hung between us.

My breath caught.

Lucas turned toward me fully now. Close enough that I could see the faint scar cutting across his jaw. Close enough to feel the power coiling beneath his skin.

His hand lifted slowly, deliberately, tilting my chin upward.

The gesture was dominant.

Possessive.

Yet not cruel.

Gasps rippled softly through the hall.

His lips brushed mine.

The kiss was not gentle.

But it was not forceful either.

It was controlled.

Measured.

A silent warning wrapped in heat.

And when he pulled away, his forehead nearly touching mine, he murmured so low only I could hear:

“You don’t fear me.”

It wasn’t a question.

My throat tightened.

“Should I?” I whispered back.

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

“Yes.”

He straightened, releasing me as though nothing had passed between us.

But everything had.

Because in that kiss, in that single exchange, I understood something the rumors had never mentioned.