I bought the chained wolf to save him – unaware that I was freeing the king.

The stench hit me first. A mixture of sweat, blood, rotting straw, and something else. Something I couldn’t name. Despair, perhaps fear, hanging so thick in the air that you could taste it. I never should have come here. The Market of the Damned lay on the southern edge of the city, where the cobbled streets turned to mud and the King’s laws faded into mere whispers.

Here, everything was traded that people didn’t want to call by name. Stolen goods, forbidden artifacts, and living creatures. I was only here because my usual way home was blocked by a landslide. A detour, the guards said. Just a small detour. But this detour led me right past the market.

And even though I kept my eyes fixed on the ground and pulled my worn cloak tighter around me, I couldn’t ignore the sounds. The crying, the pleading, the laughter of the buyers. I walked faster. My thin boots splashed through puddles whose contents I preferred not to identify.

Just a few hundred steps more, and I would be through. Then I could return to my tiny chamber above the tailor’s shop, lock the door, and pretend this place didn’t exist. But then I heard it—a roar, deep, guttural, full of rage and pain all at once. It cut through the noise of the market like a blade and froze me mid-step.

That was no human sound. That was something wild, something ancient, a sound that made my bones vibrate and my heart stumble. My feet moved on their own. Against all reason, I turned around and followed the noise. I pushed my way through the crowd of merchants loudly touting their wares.

Buyers haggling over the value of human lives with indifferent faces. No one paid any attention to me. I was just another poor seamstress in a frayed dress, invisible in this world of wealth and depravity. But then I saw him. The crowd parted in front of a large, rusty cage resting on a wooden cart. The cage was small, much too small for the creature inside. And the creature—good heavens. It was a wolf, but no ordinary wolf. He was massive, larger than any animal I had ever seen. His shoulders reached the height of a man, even huddled up as he was. His fur was night-black, matted in places with dried blood and dirt.

Gaping wounds covered his body—fresh whip welts, deep cuts, burn marks that had been seared into his flesh like cruel runes. But it was his eyes that held me captive. They glowed an impossible gold, even in the dim light of the cloudy afternoon. And they were not the eyes of an animal.

There was intelligence in them, anger, pride, and a sadness so deep and profound that it took my breath away. Around his neck was a heavy iron chain, as thick as my wrist. The chain was fastened to the floor of the cage, barely giving him enough slack to lift his head.

His snout was enclosed in an iron muzzle, fitted so tightly that I could see the metal cutting into his skin. Blood dripped slowly from his jaw, pooling in a dark puddle beneath him. My stomach cramped.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The auctioneer’s voice jolted me out of my trance.

He was a fat man with an oily smile and eyes as lifeless as a corpse’s. He stood next to the cage and clapped his hands to get the crowd’s attention. “We now come to our main attraction of the day, a true magnificent specimen.” He struck the iron bars with his cane.

The wolf didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring straight ahead, as if the man didn’t exist. “This killer,” the auctioneer continued, his voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm, “was caught in the Shadow Forest. It took seven men to subdue him. Three of them didn’t survive.” The crowd murmured excitedly.

Some laughed. “Perfect for the arena, perfect for the fighting pits. Imagine this beast tearing your enemies to shreds.” The auctioneer grinned. “The starting bid is 100 gold coins.”

One hundred gold coins. That was more than I earned in five years.

“110!” someone called from the crowd. A rich merchant, judging by his robes. “150!” another shouted.

I should leave. This was not my world. I had no gold. I barely had enough to pay my rent and feed myself. And yet, the wolf shifted slightly. His head turned, and suddenly his eyes met mine. The world around me blurred.

In that moment, I saw everything. I saw the pride of a king, broken and humiliated. I saw the loneliness of a soul that had lost all hope. I saw myself—trapped, alone, waiting for someone, anyone, to see me as more than just a tool, an object, a commodity. My hand reached into my pocket.

The small leather pouch felt heavy. It was everything I owned, my entire life savings. For years I had set aside every copper penny, hidden every silver piece. It was supposed to buy my freedom. A small cottage in the country, far away from the city, from the dirty streets and greedy eyes—a place where I would finally belong to myself.

“200!” roared the merchant. “250!” countered his rival.

The wolf didn’t look away from me. It was as if he were looking into my soul, as if he were asking me: Will you look away like all the others? My fingers gripped the pouch tighter.

“280!” “300.” My voice was quiet, but in the sudden silence that followed, everyone heard it.

All heads turned toward me. The auctioneer blinked in surprise. The merchant laughed out loud. “Did the little mouse just place a bid?” he mocked. “Show your gold, girl, or get out.” Heat rose to my face, but I forced myself to stand tall. With trembling hands, I held up my pouch and emptied the contents into my palm.

Gold coins. Not many, but enough. Enough to represent the last ten years of my life. The auctioneer stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. He grabbed a coin, bit into it to test it. Then he nodded slowly.

“300 gold coins from the young lady,” he announced with a surprised grin. “Are there any other bids?”

The merchant eyed me with narrowed eyes. Then he shrugged. “Not for a mangled mutt. Let her have him.” The other bidders murmured in agreement. They were already losing interest. Then the auctioneer struck the cage with his cane. “Sold to the lady in gray.”

I stood there, my empty pouch still in my hand, unable to believe what I had just done. What had I done?

The auctioneer waved me over. “Come, come, little one, your beast is waiting.” On unsteady legs, I stepped closer to the cage. The wolf hadn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time. Now, up close, he was even more impressive and terrifying. His teeth, visible even behind the muzzle, were as long as daggers.

His claws scraped across the metal floor as he shifted slightly. “Here.” The auctioneer pressed a heavy key into my hand. “This is for the lock on the cage. And here is a second, smaller key for the chain. I’d leave the muzzle on if I were you, otherwise he’ll tear your head off.”

He laughed as if it were a joke. “Do you want help with the transport?” he asked. “For ten silver pieces, I’ll send a man with you.” I shook my head. I had no silver left. I had nothing left at all. “Your choice.” He shrugged and was already turning to the next cage.

I stood alone in front of the wolf. The crowd had already dispersed, searching for the next cruel entertainment. Slowly, very slowly, I knelt in front of the cage. The wolf growled, a deep, warning rumble that made my ribs vibrate.

“I know,” I whispered. “I know you’re afraid. Me too.” I reached out my hand, not to touch him, but to show him that it was empty. No weapon, no whip. “I promise you,” my voice broke. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to help you. Please trust me.”

He stared at me. For a long time, so long that I thought he was going to ignore me. Then, almost imperceptibly, he bowed his head. Only an inch, but it was enough. With trembling hands, I slid the key into the cage’s lock.

I will never forget the journey home. It was already dusk as I dragged the heavy cart with the cage through the streets. My arms burned, my shoulders ached, and several times I had to stop to catch my breath.

The wolf was heavy, not just in weight, but also in the burden of his mere presence. Everywhere we passed, people stopped. Children hid behind their mothers. Men reached for their knives. An old woman spat on the ground in front of me and muttered something about demons and witchcraft.

“That is a monster,” a merchant yelled, slamming his shop window shut. “Why are you bringing such a thing into our city?”

I ignored them all. I focused only on putting one foot in front of the other. The wheels of the cart squeaked over the cobblestones, and I felt the wolf’s gaze on my back—watching, waiting, judging.

My chamber was on the top floor of a narrow, dilapidated building on the edge of the artisan district. There was no elevator, just a steep, narrow staircase. Impossible to bring the cart up. I stared at the cage. The wolf stared back.

“I have to let you out,” I said. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “But if you run away, if you kill me, then it was all for nothing.”

He made no sound. His golden eyes gave nothing away. My hands were shaking so much that I dropped the key twice before I got it into the lock. The metal clicked, the door swung open. The wolf didn’t stir.

“Come,” I whispered, slowly backing away. I pointed to the building’s door, just a few feet away. “Please.”

For an endless moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, almost cautiously, he moved. He was so large that he had to duck to crawl out of the cage. When he was completely outside, it took my breath away. He was gigantic. His shoulder reached my chest. Every muscle beneath his ragged fur was defined, powerful, deadly. The chain around his neck rattled as he straightened up, and I saw him sway under its weight. How long had he been wearing it?

He looked toward the street. He could have fled. With his long legs, he would have vanished in seconds, and no one could have stopped him. But he didn’t run. Instead, he turned to me, and our eyes met again. In his eyes was a question, a challenge.

“And now up the stairs,” I said, pointing to the entrance. “My apartment… it’s not much, but it’s safe.”

He started moving. Not fast, not aggressive. He limped, dragging his left hind leg, and I saw fresh blood seeping through his fur. Every step seemed to cause him pain, but he made no sound. Pride, I thought. Even broken, he refused to show how much he was suffering.

The staircase was narrow, and he almost had to lie on his belly to climb it. I walked ahead of him, lighting a candle to illuminate the way. With every creak of the old wooden steps, I held my breath, expecting him to turn on me. But he just followed me, step by step, until we finally reached my door.

My chamber was tiny—a narrow bed, a wobbly table, a fireplace that produced more smoke than heat, a window through which the cold night air whistled. It was barely big enough for me, and now I was sharing it with a creature half the size of a horse.

“Welcome,” I muttered, wishing I had something better to offer.

He stepped inside. His eyes roamed the room, checking every corner, every potential threat. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sank to the floor. The chain clattered loudly against the wooden floorboards. I closed the door behind us and leaned against it. My whole body was trembling. Adrenaline, exhaustion, pure terror.

What had I done? I had spent my entire life savings on a wolf that could kill me with one bite. I had brought him into my home. Into the only place where I felt safe. The wolf watched me, waiting.

“The muzzle,” I said quietly. “I need to take it off. You… you can’t breathe. Not properly.”

He growled, louder and more threatening this time.

“I know.” I raised my hands. “I know you hate it when humans get too close, but please let me help you.”

I approached him slowly, inch by inch. My heart was racing, my palms sweaty. He could have snapped at any moment. Muzzle or no muzzle, his claws were more than enough to tear me apart. But he didn’t. When I knelt in front of him, I could hear his breathing. Fast, shallow, painful. The metal of the muzzle had dug deep grooves into his snout. Pus and blood were crusted in the wounds.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, fighting back the tears burning in my eyes. I reached for the buckle at the back of his head. My fingers touched his fur. It was rough and matted, but underneath, I felt warmth. Life.

He froze. Every muscle in his body tensed. “I won’t hurt you,” I repeated softly, over and over like a prayer. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

The buckle was old and rusty. I had to pull, scratch, struggle with it. The wolf trembled under my hands, and I didn’t know if it was from pain or suppressed rage. Then, suddenly, the buckle gave way. The muzzle fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The wolf just sat there. His snout finally free, his teeth bared.

He could have killed me. He could have ripped my throat out before I could even scream. Instead, he lowered his head. His tongue darted out, licking the sore spots on his snout. Then he let out a sound. Not a growl, but something else. A whimper, quiet, brief, but it was there. Relief, gratitude.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Water!” I croaked. “You need water.”

I stood up, my legs weak, and fetched the only pitcher I owned. I filled it from the bucket next to the window. The water was stale and tasted metallic, but it was all I had. I placed the pitcher in front of him. He hesitated. His eyes fixed on me suspiciously, as if expecting a trap. But then he lowered his head and drank, and drank, and drank. The pitcher was empty in seconds. I refilled it twice more before he finally stopped.

When he was finished, he lifted his head and looked at me. And this time, for the first time, there was no hate in his eyes, only confusion. As if he couldn’t understand why I was doing this. I could barely understand it myself.

“The chain,” I said softly. “I’ll take the chain off you too, but not tonight. Tonight I am too tired, and you are too injured. Tomorrow. Okay? Tomorrow we’ll do it.”

He didn’t answer. Of course not. But he nodded. I swear, he nodded. I dragged myself to my bed and collapsed onto it, still fully clothed. Every bone in my body ached. My mind screamed at me that I was crazy, that I was sleeping next to a monster. But as I closed my eyes, I heard him move. The rattle of the chain, heavy paws on the floor. I didn’t dare look.

And then I felt it: weight, warmth. He had lain down next to my bed. Not on the bed, but directly beside it, as if… as if he were protecting me. I opened my eyes a crack and saw him in the faint moonlight filtering through the window. His massive body was curled up, his snout on his paws, and his eyes—those impossible golden eyes—were fixed on the door. Watchful, ready. I fell asleep with a smile on my lips.

The first few days were strange. I woke up the next morning with stiff limbs and a dull headache. For a confused moment, I wondered why my chamber was so cold. Then I saw him—the wolf, still curled up next to my bed, his flank rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing.

So it hadn’t been a dream. I really had spent all my gold on a monster. Cautiously, I swung my legs out of bed. The wolf instantly lifted his head. His eyes locked onto me sharply. I froze, my hand still on the mattress.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Of course not. But he grumbled softly, a sound that lay somewhere between a warning and an acknowledgment. I stood up and stretched, every muscle protesting. Then I went to the fireplace and knelt before it. Last night’s ashes were long cold. I had no more wood. I also had no money to buy more. I had no money left at all. The reality hit me like a physical blow. What was I supposed to do?

I couldn’t go back to the tailor’s shop. Mrs. Hohgrad would never believe that I had spent my savings on a wolf. She would call me crazy and throw me out on the street. And the wolf—he needed food, medicine, care. I looked over at him. He was still watching me, his head slightly tilted as if he were reading my thoughts.

“I’ll find a way,” I said, more to myself than to him. “I always find a way.”

First, I had to tend to his wounds. I gathered the little I owned—an old rag, some water, a small bottle of cheap herbal schnapps that I had actually saved to drink.

“I have to clean your wounds,” I explained to him as I slowly approached. “It will hurt. But if I don’t, they will get infected.”

He growled. Naturally he did. But he didn’t bite as I knelt beside him. He didn’t flinch as I carefully pressed the rag against one of the deep gashes on his flank. His entire body stiffened, and a soft whimper escaped his throat, but he remained still.

“Brave,” I murmured. “You are so brave.”

I worked slowly, methodically. Every wound was cleaned as best I could. The water in the pitcher turned pink, then red. When I got to the burn mark on his shoulder—a cruel rune I couldn’t identify—his body tensed so much I thought he would shatter.

“Almost done,” I whispered. “Just a little bit more.”

And then, just as I was about to pull the rag away, it happened. His snout moved. Slowly, carefully. He touched my hand with his nose. Just a fleeting touch, barely more than a breath. My heart skipped a beat. I looked into his eyes, and what I saw there brought tears to my eyes. Not anger, not suspicion. Trust. He trusted me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, even though I didn’t know if he understood. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

From that moment on, something changed between us. He followed me everywhere. When I went down to the well in the courtyard, he waited at the top of the stairs. When I tried to leave the chamber to look for work, he blocked the door until I gave up and returned. It was as if he had decided that I belonged to him. And honestly, I didn’t mind.

But reality couldn’t be ignored. On the third day, I had nothing left to eat. My stomach growled loudly, and I had to sit down because I felt dizzy. The wolf noticed. Of course he did. He stood up, limped to the door, and scratched at it.

“No,” I said weakly. “You can’t go out. The people… they would kill you.”

He kept scratching, more urgently this time.

“Please.” I tried to make my voice sound firm, but it broke. “Stay here. It’s safer.”

He turned to me, and the expression in his eyes was reproachful, as if to say: You are sacrificing yourself for me, and you think I don’t notice? I swallowed hard. “I’ll find food tomorrow. I promise.”

But that was a lie, and we both knew it. Night fell. I wrapped myself in my thin blanket and tried to sleep, but the hunger gnawed at me. My thoughts went in circles. Maybe I could ask Mrs. Hohgrad for an advance. Maybe I could sell something. But what? I owned nothing of value.

Suddenly, I felt something warm against my back. The wolf. He had climbed onto the bed—for the first time—and pressed his massive body against mine. His warmth penetrated the thin blanket, penetrated my bones. I heard a deep rumbling in his chest. Not a growl, but a purr, deep and soothing.

I carefully rolled over. His head lay on my pillow. His golden eyes were half-closed. As he looked at me, he licked my hand once, and I understood. He was keeping me warm. He was trying to comfort me. The tears came before I could stop them. I buried my face in his fur, and for the first time in days, I cried—not out of despair, but out of relief, out of gratitude. I was not alone.

The next morning, I found a dead rat in front of my door. I stared at it, confused, until I understood. The wolf. He had gone out during the night—how, I didn’t know—and had hunted for me. My stomach rebelled at the thought, but then I looked at him. He sat there, proud, expectant, like a dog bringing its master a gift.

“Thank you,” I whispered, forcing myself to smile. “But I think I’ll find something else.”

I sold my blanket to an old merchant for a few copper pieces. With that, I bought bread and some meat. Not much, but enough for both of us. When I got home, I divided it fairly. He devoured his portion in seconds, then pushed his plate toward me.

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s yours.”

He pushed it back. We argued like this for five minutes until I finally gave up and took a small bite. Only then did he start eating again. It was absurd. It was wonderful. I had lost my gold, but gained something much more valuable. He let me touch his wounds, and I felt the wild heart beating beneath his fur.

(Subscribe to the channel if you want to know who this wolf really is.)

A week passed, then two. The days blended into a routine. Every morning I cleaned his wounds, which were healing slowly but steadily. Every evening we shared our meager meal. At night he slept on my bed, his body like a warm wall between me and the cold world outside. I gave him a name: Night. Because his fur was as black as the darkness, and because he had come from a darkness I couldn’t even imagine. He seemed to like the name.

Whenever I called him, he lifted his head and his eyes shone. I talked to him about everything—about my childhood in an orphanage, about the years of drudgery at the tailor’s, about my dreams of a small garden where I could grow herbs. He always listened. Sometimes he rested his head on my knees, and I stroked his fur until my fingers went numb.

One evening, when the moon shone full and bright through my window, I finally took off the chain.

“It’s time,” I said softly. “You are free, Night. You can go if you want.”

I unlocked the padlock. The heavy chain fell to the floor with a loud clatter that echoed in the silence of the night. The wolf stood up. He shook himself. And I saw the relief wash through his body. His neck was raw where the chain had rubbed, but it would heal. He walked to the door.

My heart sank. Of course. Why would he stay? He was wild. He didn’t belong here, locked in a tiny chamber with a penniless girl. But then he turned around. He came back, and he lay down in front of the door, not behind it. He blocked the exit. Not to flee, but to protect me.

“You fool,” I whispered, wiping away my tears. “You wonderful, crazy fool.”

It happened in the third week. I had just returned from an unsuccessful day at the market. No one wanted to hire a seamstress who kept a wolf in her home. The rumor had spread quickly, and I could feel the tension. Night was nervous. He paced up and down the chamber, his ears pinned flat against his skull. He growled softly, repeatedly glancing at the door.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, placing my hand on his head. “What do you smell?”

He made no sound, but his eyes said it all. Danger. I locked the door, shoved the table in front of it. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Night fell. I didn’t light a candle. We sat in the dark, the wolf and I, waiting.

And then I heard them. Footsteps. Heavy boots on the wooden steps of the staircase. Several men, judging by their stride. My heartbeat roared in my ears. A harsh knock on the door made me flinch.

“Open the door, girl.” A rough voice. I recognized it—the auctioneer from the market. “We know you’re in there.”

I pressed myself against the wall. Night stepped in front of me, his lips curling back to bare his teeth.

“We just want the wolf,” the voice continued. “We made a mistake when we sold him to you. Our client is offering 1,000 gold coins for him. Hand him over and we’ll pay you… let’s say 100 as compensation.”

A hundred gold coins. That was more than I would see in my entire life. But I looked at Night. At his proud posture, at the scars that were slowly healing, at the eyes that looked at me with something I could only describe as hope.

“No!” I yelled back. “He belongs to me. Go away!”

A moment of silence, then a deep laugh. “So that’s how it’s going to be.”

The crash as they kicked the door in was deafening. The table splintered. Wood flew through the air. Three men stormed in. The auctioneer, a massive thug with a scarred face, and a gaunt man with cold eyes and a net in his hand.

“There’s the beast!” roared the thug. “Catch it!”

Night threw himself at them. I had never seen him fight. I had never known what he was capable of. Now I knew. He was a whirlwind of teeth and claws. His growls filled the chamber, so loud my ears hurt. The thug tried to hit him with a club, but Night was faster. His jaws clamped down on the man’s arm, and the scream that followed would haunt me forever.

But there were too many of them. The gaunt man threw the net, and it tangled around Night’s hind legs. He stumbled. Fell.

“No!” I screamed and lunged forward. Without thinking, I threw myself at the auctioneer. My fingernails scratched across his face. He hit me hard. My head slammed against the wall, and stars exploded before my eyes. I tasted blood.

“Stupid bitch,” he hissed, grabbing me by the hair. “You should have taken the offer.” He raised his hand again. I saw the fist coming, too slow to dodge.

And then something happened. Night roared, but it was no longer an animalistic sound. It was something else—deeper, full of power, full of ancient fury. The net ripped just like that, as if it were made of paper. And then Night began to change.

His body glowed. A golden light, so bright that I had to squeeze my eyes shut. The air crackled with energy, and a pressure built up that made my ears pop. The men screamed. The auctioneer dropped me and stumbled backward. The light exploded. When it faded, the wolf was gone. In his place stood a man.

He was breathtaking. Tall, almost two meters, with broad shoulders and a body that seemed to vibrate with power. His hair was night-black and fell wildly to his shoulders. His face was angular, masculine, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But it was his eyes that captivated me—the same impossible golden eyes that I knew so well. Night. Or no, not Night. Something much grander.

He was naked, but he didn’t seem to care. His body was covered in the same scars I had nursed. The whip marks, the burns, the cuts. But now, in human form, I saw something else as well. Runes. Complex magical symbols etched into his skin, glowing faintly in the darkness. A curse, I realized. This had been a curse.

“You…” the auctioneer stammered, his face ashen. “You are… no, that can’t be. The King is dead. They said he was dead.”

“King,” I whispered.

The man—the King—did not turn to me. His gaze was fixed on the intruders, and what I saw in it made the blood freeze in my veins. Murderous rage.

“You dare,” his voice was deep, resonant, full of authority, “to break into my sanctuary. To touch her.”

“My King, we didn’t know!” The gaunt man dropped to his knees.

“Silence.” A single word, but it echoed like a thunderclap. The runes on his body flared, and the very air seemed to tremble. “She,” he pointed at me without looking, “is under my protection. She freed me when everyone else abandoned me. She fed me, healed me, gave me back my dignity.”

He took a step toward the men. His muscles tensed like those of a big cat ready to pounce. “And you come in here. You strike her. You make her bleed.”

His hand shot out, faster than my eyes could follow. He grabbed the auctioneer by the throat and lifted him off the floor with one hand.

“No one.” His grip tightened, and I heard bones crunch. “Touches her.”

“Please,” the man wheezed. “Mercy.”

For an endless moment, I thought he was going to kill him. The fury in his eyes was absolute. Total. These men had hunted him, tortured him, sold him. They had struck me. They deserved it. But then I heard my own voice, weak and trembling: “Please. Not here. Not in my home.”

His hand froze. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward me. Our eyes met, and I saw everything. The anger, the pain, the gratitude, the love. He dropped the man. The auctioneer collapsed, coughing. Spittle and blood dripped from his lips.

“Leave,” the King said softly. Too softly. “Leave before I change my mind. And tell everyone in this city: whoever harms a hair on her head will feel the wrath of a King.”

The men stumbled over each other in their haste to flee. Their footsteps echoed down the stairs, and then they were gone. Silence. I stood there, trembling, my hand on the wall to keep from falling. My head throbbed where I had been hit. My lip was still bleeding.

The King turned to me. The rage had vanished from his eyes, replaced by something much softer.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly.

“I… I’m alright.”

He stepped closer, every movement slow, cautious, as if he were afraid of startling me. When he stood in front of me, he raised his hand. His fingers, which had just nearly killed a man, touched my cheek with infinite tenderness.

“You saved me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You, a poor little girl with no name and no gold. You gave up everything for me. I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you there.” A sad smile touched his lips. “Do you know who I am?”

I shook my head.

“My name is Valerius, King of the North Realm. Or at least, I was.” His hand dropped. “I was betrayed by my own council. They used forbidden magic to force me into that form. The proud King reduced to an animal. They wanted to see me die in the arena.”

The scars. Every single one, I realized, was a memento of their cruelty.

“But you are free now. The curse is broken. By you.” His eyes met mine again. “Only true affection could break the spell. Not necessarily romantic,” he hesitated, “though that could develop too. But something more genuine. You saw me. Not the monster, not the King. Just me.”

Tears burned in my eyes. “What… what happens now?”

“Now,” his smile grew harder, “I take back my kingdom. And the traitors will pay.” But first… he sank to one knee in front of me. The King, on his knees, before me. “First, I thank you, Mira.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You told me. In your stories. I was always listening.” My heart tightened. “I only did what was right.”

“And exactly because of that,” he took my hand, “you are the only truth in a kingdom full of lies.”

The next few hours were a blur. Valerius didn’t leave my side. He found clothes somewhere—I didn’t ask where. And then he led me out of my ruined chamber. The city was dark and silent, but I felt eyes on us, windows opening and closing again. We walked to the city gates. Men were already waiting there—soldiers in royal colors who had appeared as if out of nowhere.

“My King.” They fell to their knees. “You live.”

“I live.” Valerius’s voice was firm. “Thanks to this woman. She will be treated with respect. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my King.”

A horse was brought. Valerius lifted me onto it as if I weighed nothing, then mounted behind me. His arms wrapped around me, strong and warm. “Hold on tight,” he murmured into my ear.

And then we rode through the night, through forests and across fields. The moon illuminated our path, and behind us followed the soldiers—a dark wave of steel and loyalty. As dawn broke, we reached the castle. It was gigantic. Towers that pierced the sky. Walls thick enough to withstand armies. Massive gates that opened before us as if they had only been waiting for him.

We rode through. Everywhere, servants jumped up. Their faces a mixture of shock and joy. “The King! The King has returned!”

Valerius dismounted and lifted me down. My knees were weak, and I swayed, but he held me steady. “Welcome,” he said softly, “to your new home.”

“Mine? You didn’t think I would let you go, did you?” His smile was crooked. “You gave your copper coins for me. I will give you a kingdom in return.”

“But I am just a seamstress.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You are the woman who saved a King. You are my protector, my savior. And if you wish it…” He hesitated. For the first time, I saw uncertainty in his eyes. “…my Queen.”

The world seemed to stand still.

“I know it’s too soon,” he continued quickly. “I expect no answer. I expect nothing at all. But I want you to stay here. Safe, protected. And in time… maybe we can see what becomes of us.”

I looked at him. This man who had been a wolf. This King who had slept on my floor. This proud warrior who offered me his heart with trembling hands.

“I’ll stay,” I whispered, “but not because of the castle. Not because of the crown.”

“Then why?”

I smiled, a real smile for the first time in days. “Because you are still the same. Wolf or King, you are still my Night.”

His eyes shone, and then, gently, carefully, as if I might break, he bowed his head and touched his forehead to mine. “Then I am yours,” he whispered. “Today and forever.”

The traitors were found. Their heads soon adorned the city walls—a cruel reminder of what happens when you challenge a King. But Valerius was not only cruel; he was also just. The innocent were spared, the corrupt were punished. And I… I became his constant companion, his advisor, his friend.

It took months before our affection grew from friendship into something deeper. But when it happened, it was naturally inevitable. Right.

A year later, on the anniversary of the day I bought him at the market, he knelt before me again. This time he held a ring in his hand, a simple gold band with a black stone.

“To the woman,” he said, “who gave me everything. Will you be my Queen?”

I said yes. The wedding was small, intimate, exactly how we wanted it. No grand speeches, no pompous feasts. Just him and me under the open sky, surrounded by a few loyal friends. When he kissed me, I swore I heard a wolf howl in the moonlight for just a moment.

Sometimes, on cold nights, he still transforms. The curse is not completely broken, only weakened. But I don’t mind. Because when he is a wolf, he still sleeps by my bed. He still guards me. He still loves me, and I love him in every form. Because I have learned that true love does not lie in royal titles or glittering crowns. It lies in the little moments, in trust, in sacrifice, in seeing what others overlook.

I bought a chained wolf to save him, but in the end, he saved me.