Chapter 2

I try to kill him. The man in my dreams. Every night, I raise my weapon, ready to strike, but I can never reach him. It's as if he exists just beyond a thin veil, like a reflection in a mirror that I can never quite touch. He's there, yet he's not. A phantom, a hallucination that clings to the corners of my mind, no matter how desperately I wish to shake him off.

The moon is shining brilliantly tonight, casting a silver glow over the world outside my window. It's a full moon, round and luminous, hanging in the sky like an omen. Perhaps tonight he will come out. Perhaps tonight I will hunt him, and he will be the prey this time. I am only human, but what is he? This question gnaws at me, filling the silence of my room with its unspoken weight.

Time slips through my fingers like sand when I find myself lost in these thoughts, and before I know it, the night has deepened. My eyes drift, heavy with fatigue, yet my mind remains alert, caught in the web of my own pondering. In my dreams, I am sailing to foreign lands, far from the war that ravages our borders. The Circinias Empire and the Dunid Kingdom have been at war for five years now, and there is no end in sight. The reasons for the conflict have become as murky as the blood-stained battlefields, lost in the mire of politics and pride.

Father has been working relentlessly during these years, the weight of his duties pressing down on him like a mountain. Meanwhile, Sister has grown ill, her once vibrant spirit dimmed by the constant fear of losing her lover, Count Ernest. They are engaged, but the shadow of war looms over their future, threatening to snatch him away before they can begin their life together. He loves her dearly—so much so that he would give his life to see her well again. And soon, he will be off to war, where death is a constant companion, hand in hand with fate.

Unable to settle my thoughts, I begin to rearrange the furniture in my room. It's a small act of rebellion, perhaps, but it brings me a sense of control. Usually, this is a task left to the servants, but I find comfort in doing things myself. Watching the servants fumble about, unsure of where to place each piece, frustrates me. It's easier, and far more satisfying, to take matters into my own hands. But when Iris discovers me, she shoos me away and calls for the servants, chastising me gently.

"Manual labour is not for a lady, My Lady," she says with a frown.

I smile faintly at her concern. It's not that I don't consider myself a lady, but I am perfectly capable of performing a simple task like moving furniture. Being raised by Father and Brother, I learned to be self-reliant, to not depend on others for things I could do myself. Yet, Iris and the others seem determined to keep me in this gilded cage, insisting on adhering to the conventions of what a lady should and should not do.

My room is now as it was last winter. I've moved my bed away from the window, no longer willing to endure the biting cold that seeps through the glass. Outside, the wind howls, carrying with it the promise of snow—a reminder that the northern region is not for the faint of heart. Father was granted the title of Duke after risking his life for the empire, and in return, we were gifted this land, this dukedom in the far north. It is a place of bleak days and black clouds, where the sun rarely shows its face and the cold is a constant companion. Few dare to step into this land of predators, where survival is a daily battle against the elements.

The greatest predator of all, though, is not the wolves that roam the northern valleys, but the man who commands them—Eiran de Clerisseau, the Grand Duke of Clerisseau. He is the Emperor's nephew, a man whispered to be as ruthless as the beasts that serve him. Engaged to the 8th Princess of The Rhodan Kingdom, he resides even further north, in a fortress surrounded by the infamous northern valley wolves. These creatures, with their Stygian fur frosted over and their blood-thirsty eyes gleaming in the fog, are said to tear apart anything that crosses their path. They are his pets, or so the rumours say.

In many ways, the Grand Duke is one of them. A wolf in human skin, the Emperor's dog, trained to kill without hesitation, to serve without question. He is known to be a monster, a man with blood on his hands and ice in his veins. The Goddess knows what fate awaits the princess who is to marry him.

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the thought of such a man. And yet, I can't help but wonder—what drives someone to become such a creature? Is he as ruthless as they say, or is there something more behind those cold, predatory eyes? My dreams offer no answers, only more questions. Questions that burrow deep into my mind, refusing to let go.

The night grows late, and despite my best efforts, the thoughts of him, of the black wolf in my dreams, refuse to leave me. I feel a strange connection to this man I've never met, this figure who haunts me like a shadow. And I can't shake the feeling that our fates are somehow intertwined, that the nightmares are not just dreams, but warnings. Warnings of what, I do not know.

With a heavy heart, I finally lie down in bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The moonlight filters through the window, casting long shadows across the room. I close my eyes, hoping for sleep, but knowing that when it comes, it will bring him with it.

And the hunt will begin anew.