"Well, if no one shows up, you could always marry Alex."

Camila nearly jammed the mascara wand into her eye. She winced. A single flaw in her appearance could destroy years worth of preparation for the perfect marriage match. "Serena! Serious suggestions only."

Her friend and lady's maid gently pried the mascara brush away from Camila. "Here. Let me." She tilted Camila's chin up with her index finger, applying the makeup in practiced, efficient movements. "I know this is all very stressful. But it will be worth it."

"I know." Camila looked at her reflection in the mirror—polished, professional, perfect—and looked away. She barely recognized herself.

"Are you nervous? Excited? Scared witless?"

"Scared witless, for sure." Camila sat back in her chair. She drummed her fingers against the wooden desk. "I can't believe I'm supposed to marry some guy in six months."

"You never know." Serena tucked a lock of hair behind a simple silver clip. "Maybe one of the suitors will be your mate."

Camila doubted it. Soulmates were incredibly rare and frankly, with the limited amount of data they had on the phenomenon, it was entirely possible it was werewolves' emotional nature acting up.

"And maybe none of them will be interested and I'll marry Alex and die happy." 

Serena laughed. "Please. Alex is much too serious. I don't think I've ever seen him smile." She brushed a speck of misplaced eyeshadow off Camila's cheek. "I have to go get ready. You'll handle everything from here?"

Their hands clasped briefly. Camila tried to smile reassuringly. "I'll handle everything."

"Good. I'll see you at the ceremony."

The door shut softly behind her.

Serena's words echoed in Camila's head. You could always marry Alex.

But she couldn't. Alex was an orphan, dirt poor, with no political benefit. She couldn't let the economy collapse when it was already on its last legs. She couldn't do that to her parents, who had spent their whole lives trying to make the kingdom a happy place, a prosperous place.

Camila examined her reflection in the mirror. Her black hair gleamed in the light, waterfalling down her back in waves. Her dress was marriage white, tight enough to be sexy, long enough to be elegant. Her eyes, a deep brown, made up by Serena's expert hand, seemed innocent and expressive.

She looked delicate and breakable, something to be protected.

Camila walked to her closet. She shoved aside extravagant dresses she rarely wore, running her fingers along soft silk, crepe and satin. She ran her fingertips along the back wall until she felt an indentation in the wood. With practiced ease, she retrieved a series of daggers.

She wondered, briefly, if her husband would allow her to fight. An image surfaced in her mind: herself, sitting in a room with a collection of children, watching from the window as her husband led the pack.

Camila strapped a knife to each thigh and a delicate blade to her lower back. Two knives, the size of needles, sat ready in a hidden compartment in each heel.

Her hands shook. She paced back and forth, heels clicking against the floor. 

It was impossible to mark a werewolf after age twenty. She had six months left in her own room, in her own palace, six months left in the sweltering heat of the Amazon Rainforest. Her face shrouded in makeup, her feet squashed into ill-fitting heels, Camila felt young. She'd always thought this would be easy, that after years of training, meeting the suitors would be a relief, the beginning of a new journey.

It wasn't that she didn't like being a princess.

But there was something bittersweet about watching romantic comedy's these days: after all, there was no prom night drama in her future, no climactic airport chase scene or boys playing music outside her window. She'd never get to try a pixie cut—too unorthodox—never get to debate the pros and cons of different tattoos—too wild—and her bodyweight stayed under the close watch of the family nutritionist—Goddess forbit the princess gained a single pound. 

"Camila?" Serena called through the door. "You almost ready?"

Camila frowned at her reflection, adjusting the skirts of her dress. "What'd do you think will happen if I just don't show up?" 

"The kingdom will starve, the vampires will eat our bones, and the Vindicators will dance on our graves." 

"That's oddly specific."

"And strangely accurate." Serena's sigh was audible, even through the heavy oak door. In a softer tone, she said, "C'mon. It won't be as bad as you think." 

Camila adjusted her hair one last time, picking at a few escaped strands at the back of her neck. It would have to do.

"It could always be worse," she muttered under her breath.

"I heard that!" Serena banged on the door. "Your parents are getting antsy."

"It's called fashionably late." Camila pushed at the door. It was a massive, heavy thing, built in an age where werewolves embraced their natural strength and killer instincts. She always needed more force than she expected to get in open. 

Serena rolled her eyes, even as she let out a sigh of relief that Camila was ready. "It's called late. There's nothing fashionable about it."

Despite herself, a smile tugged at the edge of Camila's mouth. "Keep telling yourself that."

"You're being ridiculous." Serena rolled her eyes. "I'll leave you with Alex. Don't do anything too stupid."

And with that bit of wisdom, Serena walked away, hair swaying and skirts swishing, leaving Camila to face the suitors on her own.

Thank you for making it through the first chapter!! You're the best. Of the best. Dare I say, the bestest.

Question: Would you ever sign up for something like the bachelor or bachelorette? I'm going to pretend this relates to the chapter because that's kind of what Camila's doing (except with werewolves and violence and soulmates!) but also I'm genuinely curious!

-Harley