The silver burns deeper with each passing hour.
I've been in this tower room for three days now, watching the sun rise and set through windows I cannot reach. The chains allow me to pace the circular space, but the constant friction of metal against poisoned flesh has turned my wrists into raw, weeping wounds.
Still, the pain keeps me alert. Keeps me focused on something other than the growing certainty that I'm going to die in this place.
*****
"Eat," commands the guard who brings my meager meals - a surly man named Barrett whose eyes never quite meet mine. He sets the tray on the floor just within reach of my chains and backs away quickly, as if proximity to me might be contagious.
"Not hungry," I lie, though my stomach clenches with emptiness. The silver poisoning has stolen my appetite along with my strength, leaving me hollow and shaking.
"King's orders. You eat, or we force it down your throat."
The threat is real enough. I've learned not to test the limits of King Aldric's patience. I manage a few bites of stale bread and thin soup before my body rebels, the silver in my system making even simple food taste like ash.
"Strange dreams you've been having," Barrett comments as he retrieves the barely touched tray. "Guards on the lower levels can hear you... making sounds."
"What kind of sounds?"
His smile is unpleasant. "The kind that prove you're more beast than girl, no matter how human you look."
*****
After he leaves, I try to remember my dreams. But they slip away like smoke, leaving only impressions - running through dark forests, the taste of wild wind, the sensation of muscles and bones reshaping themselves in ways that should be impossible.
And always, always, the sound of howling carried on the night air.
The pendant against my chest grows warm during these dream fragments, as if responding to something I can't consciously grasp. Sometimes I catch myself reaching for it, fingers tracing its crescent shape through the thin fabric of my dress.
Whatever magic or memory it holds, it's trying to wake something in me. Something the silver chains are desperately trying to suppress.
*****
"Your Highness."
I look up to find Princess Lyra in the doorway, flanked by two guards who look distinctly uncomfortable about letting her visit me. Her violet eyes are bright with unshed tears, and she carries a small basket that smells of fresh bread and honey.
"I've brought food," she says, moving as close as the guards will allow. "And... other things."
The guards step forward, but she waves them back with royal authority. "I'll speak with the prisoner privately. You may wait outside."
"Your Highness, the King specifically said-"
"The King is my father, and I am a princess of this realm. Step outside. Now."
They retreat reluctantly, but I catch the meaningful glance they exchange. Word of this visit will reach King Aldric within the hour.
"You shouldn't be here," I tell her once we're alone. "It's dangerous for you to be seen as sympathetic to me."
"Everything is dangerous now." She moves closer, setting the basket within reach of my chains. "Including the things my family is planning."
"What things?"
"Word has been sent throughout the realm. Every vampire lord, every territorial governor, every military commander. They know Princess Lunaria Valenheart lives. They know she's being held in the capital."
The news hits me like ice water. "How many know?"
"By now? Hundreds. Maybe thousands." Lyra's hands shake as she pours wine from a flask in her basket. "Father's not just using you as bait for wolves. He's making you into a symbol - proof that vampire power can capture and contain even royal werewolf blood."
"Political theater."
"The bloodiest kind. Some lords are already traveling here to witness your... execution. They want to see the last wolf princess die with their own eyes.
"There's more," Lyra continues, her voice dropping to barely more than breath. "Scouts have reported movement in the forests. Wolves, traveling in packs, all heading toward the capital."
"They're coming for me." The realization should terrify me. Instead, I feel a strange flutter of... hope? Something wild stirring in my chest despite the silver's burn.
"Seven packs confirmed so far. Maybe more hiding in the deep woods. Father is beside himself with glee - his trap is working better than he ever dreamed."
"And when they arrive?"
"Slaughter." The word falls between us like a stone. "Every wolf who answers your call will die. Their blood will water the throne room stones, and their deaths will break any remaining werewolf resistance forever."
I close my eyes, trying to process this. Somewhere out there, wolves I don't remember are racing toward their deaths because of me. Because my blood calls to theirs across impossible distances.
"How long do I have?"
"Three days. Maybe four before the first packs reach the capital." Lyra reaches into her basket again, pulling out something wrapped in silk. "That's why I brought you this."
She unfolds the silk to reveal a small vial filled with clear liquid. "Wolfsbane extract. Concentrated. One sip and... it'll be quick. Peaceful."
"Poison."
"Mercy." Her voice breaks on the word. "Better than what Father has planned. Better than watching innocent wolves die because they tried to save you."
I stare at the vial, understanding what she's offering. A clean death. An end to the silver's burn and the weight of responsibility for others' lives. No more being used as bait. No more blood on my hands.
"There's something else," Lyra whispers, glancing toward the door. "Kael is coming home."
My heart stops. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Maybe tonight if he's pushed his horses hard enough." She moves closer, urgency crackling in her voice. "He doesn't know, about what's been planned.
"What will happen when he finds out?"
"I don't know. But I've never seen him as... attached to anything as he is to you. When he discovers you're locked in this tower, when he learns Father means to use you as bait..."
"He'll try to protect me."
"He'll destroy himself trying to protect you. And Father will let him, because it'll prove once and for all that Kael puts personal desire above royal duty."
The political implications crash over me like a wave. If Kael defies the King to save me, he'll lose his crown. His birthright. His future. Everything he's been raised to value above life itself.
"The poison," I say, looking at the vial again. "It would solve everything, wouldn't it? No more bait. No more trap. No reason for Kael to choose between love and duty."
"Yes," Lyra breathes. "It would end all of this."
*****
After she leaves, I sit with the vial in my lap, feeling its weight like a physical thing. Such a small container to hold such enormous consequences.
Outside my windows, the sun sets in shades of blood and gold. Somewhere in those forests, wolves are running toward certain death because they can't resist the call of their lost princess. Somewhere else, a vampire prince races home to find his world turned upside down.
And here I sit, the nexus of it all, holding the power to end everything with a single swallow.
The pendant grows warm against my chest, and I press my palm over it. "Lunaria," I whisper, testing the name that still feels like coming home to a place I've never been.
The warmth spreads through my chest, and for just a moment, the silver's burn seems to lessen. As if saying my true name has power even chains can't completely suppress.
*****
Night falls, and with it comes the dreams again. But this time, they're clearer. Sharper. I see glimpses of faces - wolves with silver eyes like mine, running through moonlit forests. I feel the sensation of paws against earth, muscles bunching and releasing in perfect rhythm.
And I hear voices, carried on wind that tastes of pine and freedom:
"Princess... we come... hold on..."
I wake with tears on my cheeks and the taste of wild things on my tongue. The pendant is almost hot now, pulsing against my heart like a second heartbeat.
The poison vial sits on the windowsill where I left it, catching moonlight like captured starlight.
One choice ends everything.
*****
A sound from the courtyard below makes me move to the window despite the chains' protest. Torches blaze in the darkness, and I can see riders arriving - not the steady stream of messengers and supplies that have been constant for days, but something different.
Something urgent.
A single rider on a lathered horse, flanked by guards in travel-stained armor. As they dismount, torchlight catches a familiar profile, a face I know better than my own reflection.
Kael.
He's home.
I press my face to the cold glass, watching the man I love disappear into the castle that's become my prison. Part of me wants to scream his name, to warn him, to beg him to turn around and ride away.
Instead, I sink back onto my narrow bed and pick up the poison vial.
Because the kindest thing I can do - for him, for the wolves racing toward death, for everyone caught in this web of blood and politics - might be to drink it before he finds out and comes for me.