Moonbound to the Beast King

Aria woke to silence.

She curled deeper into the thick furs, blinking slowly as cold air bit at her cheeks. For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then she remembered, the carriage, the wolves, the man at the top of the stairs.

The Beast King.

Her body went stiff beneath the furs, and her breath rose like mist into the still air.

The fire had long burned to ash, and frost laced the corners of the window like delicate white veins. Cold seeped through the stone walls, quiet and merciless, wrapping around her like a second skin. She had never been this cold inside a room.

She sat up slowly, the ache in her muscles a quiet reminder that she hadn't slept well. Her dreams had been strange again, full of doors she couldn't open, shadows that moved just out of sight, and a low growl that echoed behind her even after she woke.

Someone had left a tray of bread and dried meat near the door. She hadn't heard them enter. She hadn't heard anything.

She stood and crossed the room, wrapping the thick shawl tighter around her shoulders. The food was untouched, the cup beside it still steaming faintly.

Her stomach twisted. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

She sat on the edge of the bed and ate slowly, in silence. The bread was dry, the meat a little salty. The drink tasted faintly of herbs and something stronger, perhaps to keep the cold away. It warmed her throat, but not much else.

When she finished, she set the tray aside, rose and crossed to the wardrobe.

It groaned when she opened it, the hinges stiff with age. Inside were a few neatly folded garments, dresses made from thick, plain fabrics. No lace. No ribbons. No color. Only dark green, black, deep blue, and silver-gray. Northland clothes. Heavy. Practical. Designed for snow and silence.

She reached out and touched one. The fabric was rough, but warm.

At the very back of the wardrobe, something glinted.

A chain.

She pulled it free, a thin silver necklace with a crescent moon charm. Simple, but finely made. Cold to the touch.

Was this left behind?

Did someone live in this room before me?

She looked at it for a long moment, then set it gently back where she found it.

That's when she noticed the mirror.

It stood tall in an old, dust-covered wooden frame, pushed slightly to the side of the room. A long crack ran from corner to corner, splitting her reflection in two. Her face looked unfamiliar in it, thinner, paler, and strangely distant.

Do I look like a bride?

Or a prisoner?

At the far end of the room was the narrow window. She had to climb up onto the bench beneath it to see out.

Beyond the frost-covered glass lay the wild, white world. Snow blanketed the cliffs and trees below. The sky was still thick with clouds, heavy and low. In the distance, the forest swayed in the wind, dark shapes between the trunks shifting back and forth.

She leaned closer.

Wolves.

Three of them. Maybe four. Moving slowly along the edge of the trees. Watching.

They didn't snarl. Didn't come closer. They just paced.

As if they were waiting for something.

She turned from the mirror at the sound of a knock. Before she could respond, the door creaked open.

A woman stepped inside.

She was tall and thin, her skin the color of old paper. Her eyes were sunken, and her mouth pulled tight, as if smiling took too much effort. Wisps of grey hair slipped from beneath a dark scarf. In her hands, she carried a single wooden bucket that let off a faint curl of steam.

Without looking directly at Aria, the woman muttered, her voice flat and uncaring. "Your bath is prepared, my lady."

Then she set the bucket on the floor with a dull thud.

Aria blinked, glancing between the woman and the small amount of water.

How am I supposed to bathe with this? Back home, the servants filled the tub three times over.

She said nothing aloud, but the thought echoed loudly in her head.

The woman didn't seem to care. She reached into her coat and pulled out a small cloth, dropping it beside the bucket like she was tossing scraps to a dog.

"Be quick," she muttered, already turning toward the door. "You don't want the water to go cold."

And then she left. The door creaked shut behind her, leaving Aria in silence once more.

Aria stared at the bucket for a long moment after the woman left. Steam still rose from the surface, curling in the cold air like ghost-breath. The cloth beside it looked rough, more like something meant for scrubbing floors than skin.

She crouched slowly, dipping her fingers into the water.

Warm. Just barely.

She exhaled through her nose, a short, dry sound, half laugh, half sigh.

This was her life now.

No maids. No porcelain tub. No warm towels or sweet-smelling soaps. She pulled off her nightgown, shivering as the cold air scraped across her skin. The stone floor bit at her bare feet.

She dipped the cloth into the bucket and wrung it out, then began to wash. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision as she pressed the damp cloth to her skin. She missed home. She missed the scent of lavender drifting through the halls, the soft murmur of her mother's voice, the comfort of knowing she belonged somewhere.

The water was already cooling. The cloth was coarse. Her skin stung wherever it touched.

Still, she scrubbed.

She washed her arms, her neck, her back. She rinsed her face and splashed what little warmth was left along her shoulders. Goosebumps rose across her skin, but she didn't stop.

You are still a lady, she told herself, jaw tight.

Here, there was only stone and the gnawing question of what awaited her next. She crossed to the window again and leaned closer, breathing a slow fog onto the glass.

The wolves were gone.

Only snow remained, endless and blank, hiding whatever paths might have led her here.

She rested her forehead against the pane, cold sinking into her bones. Somewhere beyond these walls, the Beast King moved through the halls.

She didn't know what he wanted from her. But she knew one thing with sudden clarity. She would not break easily.

Not here. Not for him.