Chapter 3 Hypnopompia

NAYA

The grand hall of Varethorne is alive with murmurs, filled with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed pastries, and spiced wine. Servants glide between tables, their trays piled high, offering food to both Varethorne and Draevenmoor nobles. Laughter and hushed conversations ripple through the crowd, but beneath it all, there's an unspoken tension like a pulled string. I feel out of place; I am supposed to be serving delicacies to the guests but sitting on a gilded stool, adorned like a trophy for the winner to take home. I feel suffocated under the web-thin veil like someone will snatch it off and yell 'fraudster!'

At the front of the hall, on an elevated dais, Alpha Drunei, Varethorne's Alpha stands tall. His presence alone is imposing, his silver-streaked hair glinting under the chandelier's glow. His gaze sweeps over the assembled packs before he raises his goblet.

"Tonight," he begins, his voice rich and measured, "we do what no generation before us has dared to attempt. Tonight, we forge unity where there was once bloodshed. Varethorne and Draevenmoor-two great packs, bound by war, now bound by peace."

The hall erupts in polite applause. I keep my hands folded in my lap, my pulse erratic beneath my veil. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, pressing down on my very breath.

The dancers take their place in the centre of the hall as a melodic tune arises from the four corners of the room as if it is played by invisible musicians, their movements fluid, silk skirts swirling as they begin a performance meant to honour the guests. The music rises, a rhythmic beat echoing through the chamber, reverberating in my teeth and bones.

And then-without warning-hands seize mine.

I barely have time to react before I am pulled into the middle of the dancers. A gasp catches in my throat as they twirl around me, their steps precise and barely skimming the polished floor, their energy surrounding me like a storm. Their arms extend, forming a circle around me, and in perfect synchronization, they drop to their knees and bow.

My breath shudders.

This isn't part of the ceremony.

Alpha Drunei strides toward me, his expression unreadable. He extends his hand, and though my fingers tremble, I place mine in his palm.

He lifts his chin and speaks with quiet authority.

"Dear Princess of Varethorne, you have been chosen to bear the honour of uniting our packs. In doing so, you will leave behind your old life and take on a new one-one of duty, strength, and sacrifice."

Sacrifice. The word lingers in my chest like an ache.

Alpha Drunei turns toward the towering figure at the other end of the hall. The man I am to marry.

Alpha Zareth.

He stands motionless, watching. His posture is rigid, unreadable. Beneath my veil, I swallow hard, forcing my breath to steady.

Then, Alpha Drunei starts walking towards him, taking me along. Each step is heavy, the rows of anklets feel like anchors weighing me down. The guests part like a sea, giving us a path to pass. I avoid rising my gaze from the marble floor in case anyone will sense that I'm an impersonator. Instead, I keep my eyes on the henna swirls on my feet as my heart thuds frantically in my ribcage.

Soon, we are a step away from Alpha Zareth and my fake father places my hand in his, officially handing me over to the enemy.

"Do you accept this union?" My fake father's grip tightens ever so slightly as his gaze turns to me, daring me to refuse.

The air is thicker than honey, all eyes are on me, their breaths are bated.

I swallow hard.

"I do." I only recognise the sound of my voice, not realising when I whisper the words.

"Do you accept this offering of Peace, Alpha Zareth?" My fake father asks him.

For a brief moment, I expect him to realise he is being tricked into marrying the wrong woman; a lowly Omega instead of royal blood but he does not realise the foul play, he falls right into the trap.

"I do."

The moment our fingers touch, a shiver runs through me. His grip is firm, his skin rough with the years of battle. He studies me through the veil, his piercing gaze unsettling. Applause bursts in the room but I barely hear it, my new husband is saying something but it fades into the background.

But I am not looking at him.

I am looking at the man standing just behind him.

The younger one.

His dark hair is neatly tied at the nape of his neck, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face. He is striking-intense in a way that is different from his father and other men, in fact. There is something calculated in his stare, something I don't understand.

And the most unnerving part?

He is looking right at me.

A slow, deliberate gaze.

A strange, dizzying warmth unfurls in my chest, spreading through my limbs. My breath hitches.

But he can't see me. Not through the veil.

I feel suddenly unsteady, my balance wavering as the sounds around me blur into a muffled hum. The warmth of the room is stifling, suffocating. The scent of wine, perfume, and burning candles is overwhelming.

My vision wavers.

Something isn't right.

A strange dizziness coils around me, making my limbs heavy. My knees buckle, my fingers twitch as I try to grasp onto something-anything-but all I feel is the slow pull of gravity. And the last thing I hear before darkness takes me is a voice-low, commanding, and impossibly close.

"She's fainting."

My lids flutter, I see a piercing pair of eyes; watching, waiting.

Then-nothing.

~

A cold sensation seeps into my skin. Not ice, but something sharper.

I drift somewhere between consciousness and sleep, my mind floating in fragments of sound. Voices. Distant and distorted.

"She shouldn't have collapsed like that."

"Was she ill?"

"No, she was fine this morning."

Footsteps. A rustling of fabric. The scent of something familiar-lavender and firewood.

I try to move, but my body is sluggish, my limbs refusing to respond. Panic claws at my throat.

Where am I?

My breath hitches.

Then, a voice, closer this time. Deep. Measured.

"She's waking up."

The first thing I notice is the quiet.

The weightless, unnatural kind, like the world is holding its breath. The air is thick with the scent of something unfamiliar-clean linen, burning resin, and something sharper, like steel left too long in the sun. My limbs feel heavy, my body foreign, as though I've been stitched back into myself incorrectly.

I force my eyes open.

A room. Dimly lit by lanterns, their glow casting restless shadows over silk-covered walls.

A memory claws its way back-I fell. I remember the voices, the shock in my father's tone, the anger in Alpha Zareth's. But then, darkness.

For a moment, the world tilts. The ceiling above me is carved stone, and soft candlelight flickers along the walls. I'm lying on something plush-far too luxurious to be my own bed.

The veil is gone.

I shift, my muscles weak, and that's when I see him. A man sits at the far end, his frame cut sharp against the flickering light. He is still, too still, like a beast waiting for a reason to move. My breath catches. His presence is vast, like something stretching beyond the limits of his skin. He's the owner of the voice I heard.

I recognise him as the younger man who had been standing beside Alpha Zareth. His eyes flick to mine the moment I stir. His gaze-steady, unrelenting-sends a pulse through me. A pulse that does not belong to fear. I fight it down.

He's seated in a chair across the room, watching me with a contemplative expression.

"You fainted," he says matter-of-factly.

I blink, my throat parched.

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "Do you feel unwell?"

I struggle to find my voice. "I..." I hesitate, my mind sluggish. "Where am I?"

"In a guest chamber," he replies smoothly. "You collapsed during the ceremony."

Embarrassment burns through me. I failed. I humiliated myself in front of both packs.

I push myself upright, though my limbs protest the movement. "I should-"

"Rest," he interrupts, standing. "You won't be of much use if you collapse again."

His tone isn't unkind, but there's an edge to it, like he's weighing my every reaction.

I study him carefully. His resemblance to Alpha Zareth is undeniable-the same sharp features, the same quiet authority.

And then, realization dawns.

"You're his son," I murmur.

His lips curl slightly, though it's not quite a smile. "Perceptive."

I straighten, my pulse picking up. "Then... you must be..."

"Kael," he finishes for me.

Kael. The name rolls through my mind, settling there like a whisper of something inevitable.

Alpha Zareth's son.

And for some reason, he was watching me like he already knew something I didn't.