Felicity POV:
The next morning, I did not wait to be summoned.
I found a simple black dress in the guest wardrobe, the kind one wore for mourning. I pulled my hair back into a severe knot at the nape of my neck. My face in the mirror was pale, my eyes shadowed, but my expression was set.
I walked through the silent halls of the manor, my destination the family council chamber.
When I pushed open the heavy doors, the argument inside ceased abruptly.
All of them were there. Euan, a furious Gwyn, a few of the pack Elders, and in the seat of honor, the ailing Patriarch himself, Alaric Carlisle. Eleonora's husband. Donn's grandfather. Father to Euan and to Ansel, the lost Alpha whose name still hung over this house like a funeral bell. He looked frail, but his eyes still held a spark of command. Beside him sat Eleonora, straight-backed and watchful, as if age had sharpened her rather than softened her.
Gwyn was the first to find her voice. "What is she doing here? Guards!"
I ignored her. I walked to the center of the room, my steps measured and even, until I stood before Alaric and Eleonora.
In my right hand, I held a dagger.
A low murmur went through the room as they recognized it. The hilt was carved from weirwood, the pommel a silver wolf's head with sapphire eyes. It was Ansel Carlisle's ceremonial dagger. I had taken it from his empty rooms in the dead of night.
"What is the meaning of this?" Euan demanded, his voice tight with suspicion.
I held the dagger up, the polished steel glinting in the morning light.
My own voice, when I spoke, was clear and steady. It didn't tremble.
"I, Felicity Tate, was betrayed and abandoned by Donn Carlisle at my own bonding ceremony yesterday."
I let the words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the shame they were so desperate to conceal.
"According to the Old Law," I continued, my eyes meeting Eleonora's, "one who is forsaken by their intended at the altar has the right to petition the Moon Goddess for another bond, to preserve their honor and their place within the pack."
Gwyn let out a derisive snort. "You have no place here."
I paid her no mind. My focus was on the Matriarch.
"I choose," I declared, my voice ringing with conviction, "to pledge my fealty and my spirit to the true hero of the Silver Moon Pack. To the late Alpha, Ansel Carlisle."
A collective intake of breath sucked the air from the room.
"I will take a vow as his widow. I will honor his memory and live out my days bound to him, ensuring the name of Carlisle is linked not to shame, but to loyalty."
The silence that followed was absolute, deafening.
Gwyn broke it with a screech of laughter. "She's mad! Utterly insane! You, a Wolfless nobody, dare to speak his name?"
Euan was frowning, looking to his mother for guidance. "This is highly irregular."
But Eleonora's eyes were gleaming. A flicker of something—understanding, calculation, perhaps even admiration—passed through them. She saw it. She saw my gambit.
I wasn't asking for love. I was proposing a political solution. By marrying a dead man, I would gain the permanent protection of the Carlisle name. Ansel, their heroic Alpha, had ridden to war without ever taking a mate of his own. If I bound myself to him now, the family could turn my ruin into his final love story: the wronged bride who chose loyalty to a fallen hero over disgrace, the lonely Alpha mourned by a woman who would carry his name until death. In return, the family could spin this tale of tragic loyalty, a balm to soothe the festering wound of Donn's scandal. I would be a living monument to their honor.
Patriarch Alaric coughed, a dry, rattling sound. He leaned forward. "Do you understand what you are asking, child? A life of solitude. No children. No mate."
"I understand," I said, my gaze unwavering. "I will be a Carlisle. In life, and in death."
That was what I needed. An identity they could not strip from me.
Eleonora rose slowly from her chair. She walked towards me, her cane tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on the floor. She stopped before me and held out her hand.
I placed Ansel's dagger in her palm.
She examined it for a moment, then looked at me, her eyes searching my face. "A vow of this nature is sealed in blood, so the Goddess may bear witness."
She took my left hand in her cool, dry one. With a swift, precise movement, she drew the tip of the dagger across my palm. A line of red welled up, shockingly bright against my pale skin. The pain was sharp, grounding.
"I, Eleonora Carlisle, in the name of my son, Ansel, accept your vow," she said, her voice like the grinding of stones. "But know this. Should you ever be unfaithful to his memory, the blood you offer today will be the price you pay in full."
She clasped my bleeding hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and turned to face the stunned council.
"From this day forward, Felicity Tate is of this house. She is Ansel Carlisle's woman. She is one of us."
Gwyn looked as if she might choke on her own fury. Euan's jaw worked once, but no command came out. Neither of them could touch me now. Not without defying Eleonora in front of the council.
I curled my bleeding fingers into my palm and felt the cut burn deeper. It was pain. It was proof. A few drops of blood had bought what years of obedience never had.
A name. A place.
And a door the Tates could never drag me back through again.
