C3 Three Strangers, One Dress

Two hundred heads turned the second she stepped through the doors. Ten of them wore crowns.

She recognized about half. Alphas she had played princess for in the past. Some of their territories were nowhere near Mondwald.

The room did a collective exhale, and conversations picked back up.

“Eisenfang wanted her for his son. Can you blame him?”

“Unique, I’ll give her that. Strange hair.”

“The Beta’s son carried her in this morning. Poor thing.”

She tuned the rest out, scanning for her father. The odds of Dietrich or Konrad not mentioning her wolf were zero. The damage was done. Her plan was to claim that it was her first shift if it came up. Given she’d woken up in her bed and not in chains, and was now playing princess instead of playing prisoner, there was a chance her father considered it a headache not worth addressing.

He stood at the head of the hall with his arm around Greta, and was deep in conversation with an Alpha she didn’t recognize.

Greta caught her eye, and Isolde gave a small smile. An alliance formed over shared trauma. Efficient. Unexpected. She had a feeling she was going to need every favor in the building before the night was over.

Her father turned. Showtime.

“Daughter, you are looking better.”

Every eye turned in their direction. The king approached her, offering a practiced smile and a hug.

She had been performing warmth with this man her entire life. They were both very good at it.

“Father. You’ll embarrass me in front of kings.”

There were some low chuckles.

“Come, let us begin.”

Those words settled like ice in her stomach.

She took her seat next to Dietrich, Konrad on her other side. The seating arrangement of her nightmares. Dinner theater at its finest.

Dietrich sat stiff, eyes forward. Silent. Tragic.

Konrad, on the other hand, was looking at her like a man who had recently discovered she existed and was deeply confused about the timing. He had grown up with her. And he had tied her wrists less than twelve hours ago. So there was that.

His eyes landed on her throat. Then the place where her dress stopped at her breasts. Then her mouth. Her lip was bruised still. Swollen. Probably her best feature in this lighting. Lovely that he noticed.

The double doors of the hall opened, and a man entered whom she didn’t recognize. The night was already off to a rich start.

STRANGER NUMBER ONE:

He was definitely an Alpha, flanked by three. All looked important. Or at least expensive.

“Ah, the guest of honor. King Dunkelmoor.”

The room went very still.

The most powerful man on the entire continent of Himmelmark, ruler of the largest pack and the most territories, was quite young. Attractive.

He froze mid-step, pupils dilating, and stared at Isolde like the rest of the room didn’t exist. Two hundred pairs of eyes darted between them.

Heat rose low in her body. One she had never felt before and had no business feeling here and now. Her wolf stirred, lifting its head for the first time since the forest.

She blinked, momentarily disoriented, then forced her gaze away first.

He shook his head, seeming to also be pulling himself out of that. Whatever that was. Then he glanced at her father, jaw tight.

“Hartwin. Thank you for the invitation. I don’t usually accept them.”

“A man who declines every invitation and then accepts mine. I’m flattered. Or should I be curious?”

Dunkelmoor let the silence sit for three seconds longer than was comfortable.

“The night is young. We’ll find out.”

He and his entourage sat at the second most important table in the room, directly across from the dais. Close enough that avoiding eye contact would take effort.

“Unbelievable,” Dietrich muttered into his goblet.

“You’ll survive,” she shot back under her breath.

Dietrich drained half his glass in one pull, still refusing to look at her. “Shut the fuck up. If it were up to me, you’d be in silver, not silk.”

“Half your wine in one go and a death threat before the first course. Pacing, Dietrich.”

“A bitch who doesn’t know how to address an Alpha. Another reason you deserve silver.”

“I’m sorry, did you just refer to yourself as an Alpha?”

It was at that moment she realized Dunkelmoor had been watching. She could feel his eyes without needing to look.

The same heat from a minute ago slammed into her so violently that the blood rushing to her ears muffled Dietrich’s voice. Alarm bells weren’t ringing, they were full-on clanging in her mind.

The doors cracked open again.

STRANGER NUMBER TWO:

Another Alpha walked in, Beta and Gamma at his side. At least that’s what she assumed.

“Lord Falkenhorn from Drachenheim.” The entire hall turned to stone. Some jaws dropped.

Drachenheim. The dragon continent.

Entirely different world. No wolves. A magic system. Different everything. And yet here Lord Falkenhorn was entering her father’s hall.

The doors had barely shut behind him before he locked onto her, nostrils flaring.

Red eyes with slits for pupils. They glowed in a way a wolf’s would, but he was not shifting.

He inhaled so hard his chest lifted, then he staggered a half-step.

A rough, stunned laugh scraped out of his throat, followed by one wrecked word.

“Fuck.”

Gods, she hoped he was smelling Dietrich and she was just collateral damage, because that man made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Her wolf recoiled so hard it pushed her back against her chair.

He turned away, then gave Mondwald a nod.

“Mondwald. You undersold. No, that’s generous. You omitted. Significantly.”

“If I’d told you what was waiting, you wouldn’t have believed it, Emil.”

Falkenhorn flashed a grin. “Bold of you to assume I believe it now.”

“I think you do, Emil.”

Her father raised his glass, held Falkenhorn’s gaze, and drank. The dragon lord watched him for a long second, then laughed.

“I’ll give you this, Mondwald. You know how to set a hook. Let’s see if you can reel.”

Konrad and Dietrich exchanged a quick glance that she absolutely saw. For once, the three of them were in agreement. That man was trouble.

The solidarity was short-lived. As soon as the hall resumed conversation, Dietrich decided to share his thoughts. This time loud enough for people around them to hear.

“You of all people should not be at a table of kings and dragon lords.”

“And yet.”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you.”

“No. You’re just the right amount of dumb.”

Konrad choked on his wine, coughing. A few snickers followed. She wasn’t sure if they were from her response, Dietrich’s intelligence, or Konrad choking.

She reached for her goblet. A daughter at her father’s table reaching for white wine. Innocent. A small motion. But a devastating one that she realized a second too late.

The dress was tight and cut in a way that it lifted her breasts, the low neckline pulling so the inner curves spilled slightly against the silk.

The room drew in a collective breath.

She took a slow sip, face carefully blank, and set it back down. Again, the silk tightened against the rise of her. Of course it did.

Konrad’s gaze dropped to her chest and lingered. His hand stilled on his glass.

Dunkelmoor’s eyes had been on her father. They were no longer on her father. Lord Falkenhorn from Drachenheim, whoever he was, had not moved. Openly staring at her.

Her father, who had picked the dress, who had ordered her hair half-curled, who had specified the lighting in this hall down to the angle of the candles, took a slow sip of his own wine and said nothing.

The doors opened again, and the entire hall stopped. Three for three.

But at this point the Moon Goddess herself wouldn’t have shocked her.

Famous last words.

STRANGER NUMBER THREE:

The man who entered almost made Isolde drop her goblet.