Aeris stood still, eyes sweeping over the chamber they had brought her to. The walls were alive with story, paintings carved in bold strokes, full of beasts, battles, and longing. The room itself was not large, no greater than the one she had back in Duskari, but it bore little likeness. Here, the bed was strung with bead curtains that clicked gently when the wind stirred. The bedding was thick with fur, coarse brown and pale cream, laid heavy to hold off the cold that crept in with the desert night.
The wooden furniture shone with a dark gleam, polished so smooth it caught the firelight. Strange markings coiled along the legs of the table, the chest, the chair. Runes, perhaps, or some other tongue she did not know.
She opened the cupboard and stared. The garments inside were unlike anything she owned. Skaldur dressings, bare at the stomach, cut deep at the chest, sleeveless and bold. Not a thread wasted on modesty. Perhaps it was the way of the sun here, its weight too strong to bear more.
Her heart sank. The clothes she had come with had all been sent back to Duskari. These were all that remained. She would have to wear them. She ran her fingers along the fabric, measuring it. Would it even fit her? She was no seamstress like Karlene. Maybe she could stitch some cloth here, pull it there and hide what she could. If only she had listened more during her dressmaking lessons. Her embroidery had been so poor the mistress had let her off entirely. Now she wished she'd tried harder.
Aeris opened the drawers and stopped. Gold. So much of it. Bangles, chains, rings heavy with stones. Sapphires like bits of frozen sky, diamonds sharp as ice, gold twisted into the shapes of beasts and fire. She had never cared for such things. Jewelry was loud, bothersome, useless in work or war. And yet, her hand hovered over them, her fingers brushing their edges like they might vanish if touched too hard.
How did the Skaldur come by such wealth? A tribe so wild, so savage. Did they raid southern caravans? Plunder villages? Rip it from the throats of weaker clans? The thought curled in her chest, uneasy, but likely true.
When no word came from the guards posted at her door, Aeris let her shoulders ease. A little. The weight of the journey still clung to her bones, dry wind still in her throat. She lay down, furs rising up like a tide to meet her, and sleep took her before she could steel herself against it.
She woke only once, dragged from dreams by the scent of roasted meat and something spiced. A Skaldur girl, no older than she, stood by her bed holding a carved wooden tray. Pale hair, soft features, a quietness to her movements. On the tray: thick cuts of meat, steamed roots, roasted greens glistening with oil. Aeris ate fast, barely tasting it through her hunger. Then she fell back onto the bed, heavy with sleep and didn't wake again till morning.
Hands. Voices.
Aeris stirred, but the world did not wait for her to wake.
"Look at her, sleeping so soft, so unguarded," a woman murmured above her.
"So pale, like old bone. Are Duskari wolves all so sickly?" Another voice, laced with mockery.
Her eyes snapped open, Soren's training surged through her, instinct before thought, but too late. Rough hands seized her, yanked her forward. The floor bit her skin as she slid, dragged unceremoniously toward the door. Then, the world tilted, an unkind drop to her knees outside.
Cold.
The earth beneath her was damp, slick. It must have rained in the night, for she landed in a shallow pool, water seeping into her clothes, clinging to her skin.
Laughter rang out. A chorus of voices, rising with the dawn. The sky, still heavy with early morning blue, stretched wide overhead. The air carried the bite of the night's lingering chill, and Aeris shivered as she lifted her gaze.
They stood around her--women, their bodies bare where Duskari women would have covered. Chests, thighs, arms, bellies, all exposed to the cold as if it did not touch them. Their clothes were clean, woven with care, the colors deep but not bright. No gaudy reds and golds, no excess, the hues spoke of status, of standing.
And Aeris knelt there, wet and shivering before them. She turned, counting them—thirteen. "Which one of you threw me?" Her voice was edged with fury. Shock had been her first instinct, but it burned away, leaving only anger.
A woman stepped forward, clothed in blue, her garb just as revealing as the rest. She was striking. Black-eyed, black-haired, silver-threaded with feathers woven into her braids in the Skaldur fashion. "It was by my command," she said, her tone smooth, unrepentant. "Our welcome to you, Duskari Princess."
"Welcome?" Aeris braced herself, shifting to rise, but the moment her muscles tensed, a sharp kick drove into her back. She hit the ground hard, sprawling, the cold mud swallowing her limbs. She had not bathed, exhaustion had weighed her down, dragging her into sleep before she could so much as rinse away the grime of her journey. And now, the only clothes she owned lay ruined in the dirt.
She twisted, voice thick with rage. "What do you think you are doing!"
Another figure approached, towering. A woman, broad-shouldered, muscle-bound. Aeris envied the strength in her frame. Her hair was pale, sun-bleached blonde, and the smirk she wore was wicked.
"Were you trying to stand?" Her voice coiled thick, twisted in an accent Aeris did not recognize. Not Skaldur. Yet she carried herself with certainty, looming over Aeris as if she ruled the ground she stood on.
"When facing the women of the Whitebone Court, you must be lower than all of us," the woman said, her voice steady with quiet authority.
"That is because you are low," another chimed in. A slight figure, holding a feathered fan, waving it lazily over herself. "A lowly Duskari wolf speaks only when given leave."
Aeris stared, disbelief tightening in her throat. "I am not just a wolf of Duskari, do you understand that?" She sat up, her hands pressing into the cold earth, dust clinging to her skin. "I am Princess Aeris of Duskari. The one who will marry your so-called Alpha Prince—the future Luna of this clan. You cannot treat me like this."
Laughter. It burst forth like a pack howling to the moon. Some covered their mouths, their amusement restrained, controlled. Others laughed freely, unbothered, their joy unashamed.
Aeris sat in the dirt, baffled. What had she said that was so funny?
"Princess," the first woman laughed, clutching her sides as if the word itself was a joke.
"Luna," the tall one echoed, her smirk cruel, black eyes gleaming like obsidian.
"What a foolish little girl," another said, voice full with mockery. "Did you learn nothing on your way here?"
Aeris exhaled, swallowing her frustration. Their taunts dug under her skin, but she held herself still. If she tried to rise again, they would only knock her back down. She remained on the ground, dust clinging to her skin, her hands stiff with dried mud.
"Tell me," she said, calm despite the fire in her chest. "What is so funny about what I just said?"
"Look at us," the first woman gestured, sweeping her arm over the gathered figures. "Do you think none among us were first princesses?"
Aeris studied them, taking them in. They were dressed finely, every detail elaborate. Some stood strong, shoulders broad, battle-marked. Others delicate, poised, their beauty enchanting. Fierce and soft, mixed in-between, woven into something greater. She could not say they were lying.
"So?" she asked.
The woman smiled, "Now, we are the Whitebone wives. The wives of Prince Zerek."
Aeris stared, mouth parted, certain she had misheard. "Wives of Zerek?" Her voice barely carried. "All of you?"
The tall woman scoffed, shaking her head. "And you—" she said, tone thick with amusement, "are the newest among us."