Chapter 4

                                    

                                          
It occurs to me that as we approach my husband's home, I still don't know his name.
The carriage is my father's. My husband and I sit in silence during the long ride, seemingly his first time traveling in one. After all, he already has a four-legged form faster than the horses that pull us.
We roll over another divot in the road, our knees bumping awkwardly as the caravan rocks. His lip curls as he glances skeptically around the small space. It's the fifth time he's given it a dirty look. Under different circumstances, I think I would laugh.
He's so large that he takes up the entire bench in front of me. With a fleeting, rebellious thought, I wonder what he would do if I leaned forward and kicked his shin.
The heat buzzing in my limbs certainly entertains the idea. My tears dried shortly after leaving my father's castle, leaving me with something far more dangerous in its place.
He senses the leer I pin upon him and raises an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitches down as he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
Try it, his gaze says.
I huff an agitated breath through my nose before looking away. The noise is just soft enough that it wouldn't be noticed by human ears, but the slight cock in his head and steely gaze on the side of my face tell me that the sound didn't escape him.
To my surprise, his castle...isn't a castle at all. More of a huge house, spanning out in the middle of the forest and nearly hidden in the trees. 
I've never seen a home so wide. It's pleasant to look at, no doubt made from the same dark wood that surrounds the structure. Ivy crawls up the walls, bushes of well-kept flowers lining the outside.
It's not my little cabin, but it's not as horrible as I thought. Not like the artificiality of my father's home, which juts out of the ground like a jagged bleached stone.
The carriage jolts to a stop. No one moves to open it so I unlatch the door and step outside. My husband grabs the suitcase teeming with dresses and falls into step behind me, carrying the large bag with ease.
I squint at his back, trying desperately to remember when I would eavesdrop on conversations about Lycan territory when I lived with Father. The comments the servants made about the brutality of their leader. The memories are hazy with age. It started with an R, I think. 
The name was always strange to me. A blunt syllable harsh on the tongue.
Ah. 
I remember now. Raith, isn't it?
I wonder if my husband knows mine. I would imagine he does, but then again, the marriage treaty seems hastily made, not to mention my five other sisters. I wouldn't put it past him to have accidentally picked the wrong one.
As we enter, I notice the inside isn't much different than the exterior. Smooth, polished wood. Carpet with tones of green like the long grass that grows around the building. Long hallways filled with art painted to reflect breathtaking scenes in nature.
It's still elegant in its own right. High ceilings, well-made furniture, and intricate art decorate the space. A perfect blend of regal yet lacking the typical cold decorum of a palace.
I don't miss how each of his servants still when we walk past. How their eyes follow me, sizing me up, lips curling with disgust as they murmur to each other in Nyxian to cloak their insults from my ears.
To be expected, I guess. The negative attention makes me stiffen all the same.
I follow him up a long, winding staircase, and then after another long hallway of doors, he stops. He pulls a key from his pocket, clicks it open, and then it swings to reveal...