Chapter 2 THE HONOR AND THE LIE.

Seren’s POV.

Papa sat across from me, the King’s official summons on one side of the table and the Council’s foreclosure notice on the other. One was frightening. The other, a flicker of hope.

“The ‘Bride Training Program’?” I finally managed, the words tasting strange. “It’s a contest for women with connections, Papa. They’re looking for a Queen. I’m a Beta from the Outer Wards. It was a joke.”

Papa finally met my eyes. What I saw wasn't pride or despair. It was the paralyzing relief of a man who had finally put down a heavy burden. His hunched shoulders had eased. He looked terrifyingly fragile.

“It wasn’t a joke to Lord Valerius, Seren,” he said, his voice quiet. “He came here last night. After the messenger. After the foreclosure notice.”

My heart seized. “Valerius? What did he say?”

Papa reached across the table, taking my hand. His skin was rough and cold. “He said the Council has taken notice of your boldness. He said Prince Aiden rarely shows such keen interest.”

I tried to pull my hand away, but he held tighter. “What did he offer?”

Papa’s gaze dropped to the table. “Not an offer, Seren. An honor. A chance. He told me he would cancel every debt in our name. And he would give me a stipend for upkeep and maintenance of the property. They call it a ‘Royal Family Service Grant.’”

The air rushed out of my lungs. Debt cancelled. Our home would be safe. It sounded like a lie.

“What did you have to do?” I demanded, suspicion making me weary.

He flinched. “Nothing. Only sign the agreement stating you would attend the program, without fail, and with full commitment. It’s a temporary program, Seren. A month or two. Even if you don’t win, the debt is wiped clean. You come back, and we are safe.”

His words, intended to soothe, sounded hollow. He was justifying something terrible.

I knew my father. He carried truth like water in his hands; the slight trembling of his voice now was the giveaway. But what could I say? He had saved us.

I felt the suffocating weight of duty settle over me. I loved him even when my entire adult life had been spent fighting for this one small home. If his desperate sacrifice, as he saw it, meant he could breathe again, I would walk through fire.

“The money,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “Is the contract signed?”

“Yes, Seren. It’s done.” Relief washed over his face. “You are going. You are going to the Palace. This is the Honor, my daughter. The path out of the outer ward. You have earned this, not with money, but with your spirit.”

I stood, my resolve hardening. If this was the price of a life without debts, I would pay it.

“I won’t fail, Papa,” I said, kissing his forehead.

The next morning felt like a dream that belonged to a stranger, not me. I packed a single, worn satchel: two changes of clothes, a blanket, and a small, smooth river stone my mother gave me. My only remaining treasure.

The carriage that arrived was not the beautiful polished carriage of royalty. It was a closed, black wagon, pulled by horses.

The guard’ faces were covered from the nose up and they were wearing plain tailored uniforms.

They did not speak to me or my father.

“Are you ready?” my father asked, standing awkwardly in our doorway. He was trying to look proud, but his eyes darted everywhere except mine. He looked smaller, suddenly.

“I am,” I confirmed, not looking at him either.

I got into the black wagon. I did not wave goodbye to my papa. The guilt was a heavy thing.

The guards sat opposite me. They never spoke, never offered water, never moved except for the slight rock of their bodies with the carriage.

I clung to my father’s words—the story of my "special selection," the chance for a better future. I pictured shimmering ballrooms, lessons in etiquette, and perhaps, a few books in a grand library. Anything to justify the silence.

I focused on the river stone in my palm, a reminder of everything I was fighting to save.

But the wagon didn’t take the main roads. They went along overgrown tracks, the wheels churning through mud.

The dread that had been a pinprick, grew, spreading through my mind like a disease.

They are hiding me. The thought was chilling.

When the wagon stopped, it wasn't at the beautiful gates of the Royal Palace I had seen from afar. It stopped by an iron-studded door set into a wall far behind the main structure.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold. I had expected a welcome, or at least an attendant. Instead, one of the silent guards simply yanked the door open and gestured with his chin.

“Out,” he commanded, the only word spoken during the entire journey.

I stepped down.

My satchel was yanked from my hand. “Give that back! That’s everything I have!”

The guard ignored me. He tossed it to another hooded figure standing inside the doorway.

“Processing.”

“What processing?” I demanded, my voice echoing slightly.

I was pushed forward, deep into the door. We moved through a maze of cold, unlit tunnels.

They were not for servants; they were too clean, too silent, and the walls had strange carvings not simple decorations, but swirling ritual symbols.

The passage opened into a room, lit by sterile, white firelight that cast no shadows. Standing at the center were three figures.

They were Council Mages from the robes they had on.

They wore plain grey robes, but their faces were what stopped my heart. They were serious and their eyes held the calculating look of surgeons approaching an operating table.

There was no warmth, no welcome, and certainly no thought of honor.

The lie shattered around me like cheap glass.

The Bride Training Program. Royal Service Grant. All of it gone, replaced by the bitter truth that I had been tricked.

“Seren, daughter of Torvin,” One of Mage called, “Beta. Wolf scent stable. Compatible for forced pairing protocol”

The two guards who had brought me forward retreated. The Mage looked me up and down with utter contempt.

“You will strip,” he commanded. “Your garments taken. You will be given what is necessary.”

My defiance, the fire I had shown the Prince, flared up in a useless rush. “I will do no such thing! I am here for the Bride Program. I demand to see Lord Valerius!”

Rage settled deep within me and I tried calling out to my wolf but she wouldn’t answer to me. What did they do to my wolf?

“What did you do to my wolf?” My voice broke and I hated that.

“Ah. Wolfbane”

In a fit of anger, I tried to attack the mage standing closer to me.

The Mage didn't move. He just lifted a single finger, and a low, painful pressure gripped my temples. It was not a physical blow, but a psychic assault—a direct, suffocating clamp on my mind. My knees buckled.

Black magic. They were practicing black magic.

“You are here because of the price of your father’s debt,” the Mage stated simply, without malice, just crushing fact. “The debt is paid. Now you are our property. You will obey.”

His words ripped the breath from my lungs.

I wasn't being trained for a marriage; I was being prepared for some kind of ritual.

My father hadn’t traded my future; he had sold my life.

I was forced to remove my clothes, my last remnant of identity thrown into a disposal bag. They replaced them with a single, thin, clothes that barely covered me. It reeked of disinfectant and suppressants.

Before I could recover, I was moved down a side passage, away from the sterile light and the Mages. The passage ended abruptly at a heavy, black iron door set deep into the rock. It was massive, secured by three thick bolts.

I was shoved inside with brutal force.

The room was tiny, and dark. I stumbled on the uneven stone floor, my bare hands reaching against wall. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind me with a final, echoing thud that swallowed every sound, every thought, every scrap of hope.

I was being buried alive.

My scream tore itself from my throat—a raw, desperate sound of panic, rage, and the agonizing knowledge of my father’s lie. The sound, however loud, was lost immediately, swallowed by the suffocating walls of this room.