Chapter 7

Arlys

The witches' lands are strange. The smells aren't as vibrant. The scents of green life are dulled by dusty rocks, and the vegetation is built for survival. It's no desert, but it's not lush the way the shifter lands are. Surprisingly though, I thought it'd smell more like blood. How can such cruel and evil beings not smell like they're bathed in the blood of their enemies at all times?

I can't wait to get out of here.

Glancing at the towers within sight of us, I spot witches watching our party's every move. There are more witches within the castle walls, all standing at attention, ready to attack should we make the wrong move. Most of my men are lounging near the fountain in the center of the courtyard, eating and drinking cautiously, but only because we have another long journey ahead of us tonight. I can tell even from where I stand that they haven't let their guard down. If any witch makes the wrong move, we'll shift, and there will be battle.

Releasing a slow breath, I glance toward Drogo, who paces near me. Drogo is of the Fury Pack, and he has the temper of many of his ancestors before him. Anyone who saw him would be cautious of him. No matter how much I run and fight, his strength could crush me, and I'm a powerful shifter alpha of my own right. What's more, I swear that on a weekly basis he adds more tattoos to the ones that run over his entire body. He's a dangerous-looking shifter in a dangerous mood.

All because he's being forced to marry a fucking witch princess. Him, Rinan, and I, as sons to the alphas of our pack. That was the deal. The only way to make this treaty happen.

I don't want to marry Princess Tara. None of us do. But our fathers had agreed, and we have to obey our alphas.

"I hatethe way this place smells," Drogo tells me as he paces closer to the outside one of the entrances to the witches' caverns, his eyes glowing yellow.

Drogo's right. The smell is strong and heavy in the air, like a thick fog that I can feel in my lungs each time I breathe. It's unpleasant, but he's not really mad about the smell.

"This is a fool's game," he snarls.

I almost tell him to quiet himself, then remember how poorly the witches can hear. "But it's a game we've agreed to play."

"But one that we should have never been forced into. It's fucking moronic. Like agreeing to sleep in a bed with a poisonous snake, or turning your back on a bear shifter."

"Calm yourself," I tell him, trying to soothe my wolf at the same time.

Drogo growls and continues pacing back and forth, a scowl permanently etched on his face. Annoyance bubbles up inside me that I try to stamp down. I understand why he"s so mad, but that"s not going to change our fate. We"re here, and we have to accept what will come of it.

He stops and turns towards me, the fire in his eyes blazing. "How much longer is this going to take?"

I simply look at him and shrug my shoulders. We aren't in control of this, and we have no say. We're just following orders. If the princess takes all night to come, then that's what will happen.

"Do we really have to play along with the witches?" he asks, hands curling into fists.

"I believe we do." I gesture around us, reminding him that we are here in witch territory. "We are our fathers' sons. We agreed to do what was best for our people, no matter the cost to us. We–"

He glares, silencing me. "I know all about our obligations, but why does it have to be on their territory? Couldn't they have just kicked her out of a wagon while rolling by? Why do we even need to even be here?"

It's hard not to roll my eyes. "There needs to be an official marriage ceremony seen by their people and some of ours. When we're called in, we'll go in and marry the woman. The final part of the peace treaty will be done, and war will stop between our people."

"Lucky us."

Because none of us really thinks this will stop the fighting.

I sigh. "It'll be done when it's done."

"Well, the sooner we can get out of witch territory, the better."

"Agreed."

I feel the same as he does about all of this, but we weren't given a choice. Our fathers didn't ask us for our opinions. They didn't ask us anything.

Glancing again at my friend, I inwardly curse. He's so worked up he's going to shift. I can't even imagine what the witches will do to him if he does. I need to calm this fool down.

"We have a plan. Remember the plan," I remind Drogo.

He stiffens, and his gaze meets mine. "The plan. Right?" That seems to calm him.

I force a smile. Our plan may or may not work, but it's the best solution we have to fulfilling our duties to our packs and also not selling our souls to the witches. And it shouldn't be too hard.

The loud echoing of applause comes from the witch's ballroom, and we both turn to face it, expecting someone to finally come out and greet us. Yet, no one comes.

"It's almost time." I'm telling Drogo, but I'm also telling myself as the sinking realization hits that any moment I'll be married to a witch. Our greatest enemy.

Rinan appears from around the corner of the castle, a sly grin on his face. His blond hair is still a little wet from when he'd dunked his head in a water bucket earlier, and his light blue eyes are shining with mischief. Only Rinan could be happy at a time like this.

"What did you do?" I ask him, knowing from the way he swaggers from the side of the castle that he's done something ridiculous.

"I just took a piss," he announces, but his eyes tell me there's more.

"You marked the castle, didn't you?" I ask, a grin teasing its way onto my face.

Rinan smiles, baring his teeth, and nods.

I laugh and slap him on his back. Of course he did. Rinan marks everywhere, like a pup. He's absolutely incorrigible.

"Any word on what our princess looks like?" Rinan asks, raising his eyebrows and grinning as he leans against our carriage

Privately, I've wondered the same thing. Even though it doesn't technically matter. She could be a troll. A goblin. Or… well, a witch, and we'd still have to marry her.

Drogo makes a face, then speaks my words aloud. "It doesn't matter."

Rinan laughs. "Maybe to you. I want a pretty wife, no matter what." He makes an hourglass figure with his hands, then slaps an imaginary ass.

"It. Doesn't. Matter," Drogo insists, crossing his huge arms over his chest.

"It sure as fuck does. She'll be mine…ours. Look at us. She has to be hot to match us." Rinan beats his chest with his fist.

I shake my head and muffle the chuckle building up.

Rinan's laughing outright. "I bet she's pretty in the face and has a fat ass. You know I love a fat ass." He rubs his hands together.

He's full of it. So far, I'd say none of us have a specific type. When a woman catches our eye, we simply have to have her. Fat ass or tiny ass, we don't give a shit.

"We're marrying her to fulfill the peace treaty. That's it. No one says we have to mate her," Drogo says as he stares off into the shadows of the castle walls.

My chest aches a little as I stare at him. He's hiding behind his anger, something he does best. But this is about more than hatred–this is about pain and loss to him. Drogo has lost both of his brothers to the witches and the war. Being forced to marry one makes his skin crawl. It'll likely take Rinan and I both to ensure the man isn't too cruel to the witch we're being tied to. Even though chances are she'll be crueler than he could ever be.

"Lighten up. It can still be fun. We don't have to suck all the life out of this," Rinan drawls.

I cast him a warning glance, but he doesn't see me. He's in a mood. We've been traveling for days, rarely shifting as we followed the witches through their lands. His wolf wants to be playful, even more than usual, and he doesn't seem to be picking up on the cues around him.

Drogo's jaw twitches. "This is exactly why your wolf is a puppy. You act like a child."

Rinan wrinkles his nose. "A puppy is better than the rabid, prickly beast you are in your human form." Then, he grins widely and humps the air.

Drogo lunges toward Rinan, but he stops when a witch comes our way from the cavern, emerging from the steps. "My lords, it's time," she says before turning to head back in.

She doesn't seem to care if we follow her or not. Her back is rigid, and her steps are rushed.

We follow her, but as we approach the top of the stairs, I turn to face them. "This is part of the peace negotiations our fathers made. We have to marry her or else we break the treaty. I don't want that on my hands." I look both of them in the eye as our guards gather behind us.

Drogo releases a slow breath. "I'll do this, but only because it's going to be the shortest marriage in pack history."

He's right about that. I sigh as we follow the witch into the castle.