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Zivon dragged into the room a muzzled beast. It snarled with each yank he gave, resilient to being tugged along any further. The beast of Laventown was presented to Mirabel, it's claws tied behind itself. Despite how low it sat on it's knees, it glared straight upwards, eyeing the queen with disrespect that one of her status did not deserve. It's irises were colored deep blue, oceans so desolate and cold they could have drowned Mirabel on the spot. Zivon continued to stand, retaining a taut grip on the leash, the only true restraint the feral monster had. Zivon spoke with an eerie calm. "It has been less than a day, and already she has maimed two of her caretakers, and slain one."

Mirabel pet the beast once, to which it responded with a fierce thrash and a growl, though inflicting no harm. "My, she has been on a vicious streak as of late."

Zivon shrugged. "She is stubborn, simply put. I can hope that, in time, we could convince her."

Adela thrashed again, seeking release. She tried a bit of tug of war with the leash, but Zivon won each time. Unattentive, Mirabel held once more the tome she had been reading from earlier. Licking her finger, she flipped through several pages, near the beginning. "Do you know of this book? It is 'Times Archaic', a chronicle of our continent's history, stretching back farther than officially recorded history. However, this record contains information that cannot be reliably verified, as it is not attributed to any known author."

Then, Mirabel began to flip through several dozen pages. "It is quite lengthy, however, as I am well-versed in it, I can give you a condensation. The first sections are a compendium of different fables and folklore from many different books; fairy tales, if you will. You may be familiar with many of these tales. I recall reading to you several of these 'stories', when you were much younger. You enjoyed them, as did I when I was a child."

The older woman scrolled through even more pages, over a hundred. "These next sections are much more interesting. Here, the author tries to verify the accuracy of these tall tales, citing other, even more ancient works. The effect is similar to attempting to prove the Bible with the Tanakh. He even describes to us an age of antiquity, hundreds of years ago. Giants... dragons... gods... werewolves. How amusing, wouldn't you agree?"

Mirabel flicked across many, many more pages. "Now, the author proposes to us his theory of the end of the lost era. See, those were times of chaos, hundreds of small kingdoms each vying for power, all located right on this continent. Along came a 'man', Zivon the First. He was the epitome of heroism, superior to all of his mortal adversaries. Except, he had one weakness, one exploit. Like his kin, he became a lupine when the light of the moon was at it's peak. This, however, did not prevent him from rallying many unknowing mortals, humans, under the banner of a single nation... His own. He used the immortal and the mystical as a scapegoat, to direct the combined hatred of the long oppressed humans. He exterminated each of the creatures of myth, one by one."

Mirabel flicked over, towards the end of the massive tome. "There are a few pages missing from this section. His last great conquest was over the god of moonlight himself, Luna Luminarium. Though he was a minor god, he saw all that the light of the moon gazed over. So, of course he was witness to every time that Zivon transformed. Zivon slaughtered each of Luna Luminarium's servants, and fought the demigod himself. As Zivon readied to deliver the final blow, Luna told him that he knew of his secret, and that instead of revealing it to Zivon's entire kingdom, he could help Zivon. He offered to make it so that Zivon would never again transform into a wolf under the light of the moon. The man accepted. More than power, Zivon craved to be ordinary. Luna Luminarium granted him his request using the last of his strength, and disappeared from mortal sight, content. Zivon never again transformed into a wolf, for now he was at all times an abomination, a mixture of lupine and human. The man was shocked, and in this time of weakness, only now did he approach the gods."

The elder turned to the last few pages. "They took no pity on him. He had murdered their creations, and sided those creations that remained, humans, against the gods, shunning their worship. Without worshippers, the gods had no power. Naturally, Zivon requested the aid of his most trusted conjurer. He worked his literal magic, and so the issue was solved. Zivon and all of his descendents would be granted guises, with which they could appear human, and thus rule over the mortals. And they did. For hundreds of years, the royal families have retained their control over the oblivious people of Halenzia and Castrillia."

Mirabel closed the giant book. Adela just stared, entranced. Now she knew the truth. Mirabel began to speak again. "You see, Adela, you were born as one of us, the Lycaluna. A first transformation can be triggered at any time during or after puberty, but must be caused by an eruption of emotion. And afterwards you may shapeshift at will. Now, as for why you are here. A decade ago, your parents committed a terrible atrocity. They made attempts on the lives of my husband and I. He was slain. Your kin denied this, and it sparked a conflict. Their goal was to destroy Castrillia, and since subtlety failed, they settled for war. When it became apparent that even that wouldn't succeed, they feigned illness, then shed their human shells, providing two cadavers that bore quite a liking to them, and promptly fled the country." Though Mirabel spoke with great conviction, to Adela this became increasingly similar to a maddened rant, her head giving a slight shake of 'no', trying to refuse the ideas that the woman spoon fed to her mind, though something strange began to happen. They started to make... sense?

Mirabel took another breath. "Both of our nations are now in a state of extreme disrepair and strife, far greater than the working class will ever know. Still, each day it seems another rebellion stirs among the impoverished farmers and workers, threatening to upset the peace and order that Zivon and his descendants had established. But I have a plan, one that will rescue all of our fates. Wed my son, Prince Zivon II, and we can help you hold your rightful place upon the throne. Halenzia and Castrillia will not fall into disorder and chaos. Or, you can opt for us to become enemies. In that case, being the beast of Laventown wouldn't be such a terrible fate, by comparison."

The sickly woman extended a hand, offering it to Adela. The young femme had not the slightest idea how to react. She had issued her an ultimatum: subject, or you and everything you love will be destroyed. The little lady couldn't help but notice a hint of a cocky smile upon the dying woman's face, having checked the girl all along, but now with a true checkmate. The queen-to-be had little choice. She could assume the throne and surrender to Mirabel, resist Mirabel and thus be all the same defeated by the older woman's greater experience and presumably greater military might. Or she could run, forever. Adela thought this over, as Mirabel spoke softly. "I apologize for all of the trouble I have caused you. I should have told you the whole truth earlier, but you may not have understood or believed. I also hope you'd forgive the incident during the negotiations. I was hoping to tell the truth then, became rather... Carried away. I am aware that you may not trust me. But I am willing to turn over a new leaf. I can teach you how to control not only your empire, but your condition..."

Adela thought deeply. She resented Mirabel. Mirabel bit her. She violated her. She sent a madman to hunt her down. But perhaps it matters not now. Adela had made a sworn oath to protect the people, to serve them. If subjecting herself to this, a meaningless marriage, meant upholding her duty, so be it. Still, Adela felt this wrongness, that she was again lied to. The young lady sighed and just slunk. She will never know the truth. Besides, she was tired of fleeing, tired of being deceived. Being a pawn, however miserable, was also preferable to eternal flight. Mirabel reached behind Adela's head, and unlatched the muzzle. The lupine could now breathe somewhat more easily. Zivon undid her paws' restraints. Adela glanced upwards at Mirabel. "When will be the ceremony?"

Mirabel responded. "The exact date means little. We can hold it as soon as you can revert."

Adela huffed in relief and exhaustion. Finally, the journey had come to an end. Then, she squinted. She concentrated, as deeply as she possibly could. Her fists clenched, as did her teeth. Her thoughts focused on something along the lines of transforming back into a human. Then she tried the approach of remaining calm, sitting herself comfortably and emptying her mind of thoughts while her eyes remained closed. Neither worked. As soon as she looked down again, she still was still a lupine. Adela inquired. "Errr... How exactly do I... You know?"

"Concentration fails to succeed? You may need to wait a few more days, then."

And they did just that. The wait took three days.

Adela stood calmly at the altar. It wasn't the beast of Laventown that stood there, just Adela. She wore a thick, luxurious gown, definitely the most clothing she had worn in weeks. The dress had several layers, adding more shape to her normally lean figure. The cotton was swelteringly hot, barely allowing her or her skin to breathe. Not to mention, it severely restricted her movement. She was starting to feel claustrophobic. But, at least she looked gorgeous for the crowd. And it was a huge crowd. Everyone was there, Castrillian and Halenzian, commoner and noble. The swarm could have filled two castles, yet was miraculously cramped into a single courtyard. And all were silent, as if not a single one of them were there. They simply stared in awe as two nations, once in a vicious, decade-long conflict, were now united. They also enjoyed the sight of the awe-inspiring Adela, in that lovely dress that gave her an hourglass figure. Zivon was clothed rather finely as well, a lavender suit that reflected his flamboyance as well as his high status, it's silky interior partially visible.

There was excitement, however repressed, in the air as the priest continued to rant on. Adela mostly faced towards him, but sometimes dared to glance at Zivon. Zivon II sometimes caught her in the act, each time giving her a content smile. Adela sighed quietly. All of this felt so false, so phony. The wedding that she never wished for. The bastard whom she was about to wed. Her mother-in-law, who sat quietly in the front row. The vibrant flowers and grasses that decorated the courtyard, despite the fact that it was the season of bleakness, autumn. But then Adela shrugged it off. What did it matter? Her whole life was a fib, born and raised as a human but not one. The whole world as she knew it was supposedly founded on Zivon I's deceit. Another white lie to save it doesn't matter, does it?

Adela was perhaps too absorbed in her cyclical thought train, as now was the time to make vows. The crowd became even more silent than silent, now. Rich or poor (the latter unlikely), sickness and in health (the former more likely), until death does part (impossible for the undying), Zivon did accept Adela as a bride. There was neither remorse nor fear. He simply had that pleasant smile, one that she hadn't seen until recent, ordinarily a blank or upset face. He was content with the life altering decision. The priest's words echoed several times in Adela's head, as he read her vows. She felt lightheaded, and uncertain. Could she really do this? Adela had been practicing several responses. She could simply say no. She could metamorphasize without warning, and ravage Zivon just as she did not too long ago in Vesut. Adela had become better at her shapeshifting, so this was quite possible. But instead, she spoke. "I do."

She swallowed her pride, or whatever was left, to be correct. "If anyone would like to object to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Adela faintly wished someone bravely stood up, and objected to this atrocity. But no one did.

As soon as the priest finished, everyone knew what was to happen next. Everyone stood at the edge of their seats, except those who couldn't afford the seats, who simply leaned forward. Zivon faced Adela and Adela turned to Zivon. Zivon grasped her hands with his. He locked his fingers with hers. Zivon arched forward his lips. Adela did similar. The young woman shut her eyes. There was the impact of his lips to hers. They kissed. It lasted half a minute, but Adela felt each second. She wanted to withdraw, but refrained. The embrace lasted just as long as it should have. When it finished, Adela opened her eyes. He saw Zivon with a gentle smile. He won. It didn't matter to Adela, now. He could keep his pathetic victory.

That instant, the crowd exploded in booming cheer. Adela jumped a bit, caught offguard. The ceremony was finally over. The now betrothed left the altar, Zivon holding Adela by the hand as they walked away from the celebration. Adela heard cheering in the distance as they entered the confines of the castle. Quietly, they made their way to the exclusive feast that awaited them. Mirabel was there, of course, as were a select few lords and nobles of high rank. Adela knew none of them. The chatty, arrogant nobles discussed not only the wedding, but everything else that concerned people of their status, including how many hundreds of pounds of Falworths they had, as well as the latest in medieval fashions. For the first time in weeks, Adela was not hungry. She simply watched as everyone bantered on. There was little discussion among her, Zivon, and Mirabel. Bad blood still coursed through the royals' veins.

It took hours, but not only was the feast complete, but all of the festivities. Adela sighed in relief. She looked at herself in a nice little mirror. Time to remove the ridiculous dress. She did so, layer by layer, becoming gradually more relieved. Though she had worn bulkier dresses before, she could no longer bear them. Too... Restraining. Staring at her nude reflection, she tried a few poses. One was sultry, one was innocent, and one was elegant. She tried to smile for each, but couldn't. Adela felt... Fake, a clay doll with blonde hair and blue eyes, staring at the mirror. Adela laid on her bed. She couldn't describe the emotion, she wanted to weep, but couldn't either. There was just this dull feeling of something gone. Nostalgia. She remained there, maybe for a minute, an hour, it was impossible to tell. Zivon creaked open the door, peeking in before allowing his voice to pour in. He was unaffected by her nudity. "My dear, the actual ceremony will commence soon. Let us go."

Adela ransacked the drawers for something to wear. Zivon insisted she needn't wear a thing, save for her fur. She followed Zivon down the stairs. His steps were precise, claws behind himself as he walked. His colors were similar to his mother's, a mixture of tan and gray, with something of a paler abdomen. He retained his barely masculine, runner's build, and looked just as spry as he did as a human. Their descent down stairs continued. They arrived at a door, towards the lowest extents of the castle. Zivon carelessly opened the door, and with equal abandon did Adela follow. It was another spiral of stairs, lit by a few torches. The expanse at the end of the stairs was a huge room, desolate and extremely dim of light, dim even for a lycan's keen sight. There was not a sound, except the faint rattle of distant chains. They were greeted by Mirabel, already in her more feral form, bathing her hands in a wooden bucket atop a table. It's contents were difficult to discern.

Zivon stood before the table, patient, glancing towards Adela. Meanwhile, Adela found herself much more tense than she expected herself to be. Until now, Zivon and his mother hadn't given her a clue about the true ceremony, other than it's existence. She tried to inspect the room, but the only thing she could barely see was the table, bucket, and the other two lupines. With her hands drenched, Mirabel snatched the torch near the exit stairway, then used it to light the table's two braziers. The lighting was now much better, unfortunately. The wooden bowl was filled to the brim with deep scarlet. Mirabel's hands were stained with red. At the other side of the dungeon were several chained prisoners. There were three women and two men, all of them gaunt, clothesless, and bloodied. They had barely moved, dead or very close to. Mirabel began to pray, with her gentle voice. Adela just stood, tentatively.

Soon, there was a slight howling of the wind, the glow of the torches and braziers flickering on and off. There was a small of delay, but next were the weak moans of the people imprisoned. Nodding, Mirabel resumed her speech, before closing her eyes and quietly whispering those indecipherable incantations once more. Zivon was silent, and so was Adela. Disturbed was an understatement of how she felt right now. Desperately, she tried to mentally block the environment. Throught the entire time that Mirabel spoke, which seemed to be an hour, her eyes were shut. Only when the older woman grew quiet did she open her senses once more. Zivon had a dagger in hand, and used the serrated edge to easily slice the flesh of his palm. He winced as his blood trickled into the container. He squeezed his bloody palm tightly, before passing the blade to his mother, who then gave it to Adela, with a warning. "Take care as you cut. The blade is of silver."

Adela's eyes widened. Was she really expected to slice herself open? Adela took the blade. She was nervous. Never had she been cut before, except by that mob in Vesut. But in all fairness, she didn't remember receiving the wound itself. The young Halenzian expected this to hurt, and it did. Adela felt the initial pain as she flicked the blade across her supple flesh, and saw the blood pour. She never knew she was squeamish, until now. It was far too late, however; there was a terrible stinging as more scarlet trickled down. Instead of crying, however, she managed to only whimper. For a few more moments her blood poured, before Zivon took her bloodied right hand in his red left. His hand felt even hotter than hers, which amplified as he tightened his grip. Adela screamed in her mind, tearing slightly. He let go, which caused her relief. It was over. Then, the light dimmed substantially, and he twitched. He had extinguished one of the braziers with his hand. The young female gasped as she realized what she was to do next. Mirabel stared impatiently. "Extinguish the flame with your hand. It will seal the wound, and the ritual will be complete."

The female hesitated. This was truly the moment of defining. She could forever bind herself to a man she hated, and a cause she didn't fully agree with. Or, she could not. For several minutes she stood there, reluctant to move. There was no way she could do this. Instead, everyone remained stiff, Adela's hand raised over the flame, but not touching. She could feel the heat rising and crashing onto her bloodied palm, the bleeding slowing it's trickle. The fire flickered as each blood drop tried to extinguish it. There was suddenly the sound of foot steps, slowly approaching. Everyone's attention was diverted to the source of noise. Finally, the dungeon's light illuminated a face. Geoffrey's.