To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 215

ATASHA’S POV

1?

“My lady… it is getting late. Do you- ”

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“I know,” I said, cutting her off gently before I placed the book that I was reading down.

Grace studied me for a moment, then nodded once. “We will be arriving in the territory of the Nightfall pack tomorrow morning,” she said. “I have already informed Rio and the others to stay alert. We are near Demon Fang territory. If they hear that you are here…”

“I know,” I repeated, this time more quietly.

The words settled between us, but they did nothing to lift the heaviness sitting in my chest. I had been carrying it for days now. It was not just the lingering memory of the ambush or the exhaustion of constant travel. It was Cassian.

He had sent letters. Each one written in clean, steady script, each one telling me how much he missed me, how the fortress felt different without me, how he wished he could ride south and join me. On the surface, they were exactly what any wife should want to read.

But they did not sound like him.

There was nothing about council tempers, nothing about border reports, nothing about the witches or the Demon Fangs that had forced our hand. No irritation, no sharp comments about the crown dragging its feet. It read like he was strolling through peaceful halls, not standing in the

middle of a war he himself warned me about.

The letters felt polished and smoothed. As if someone had gone over them and stripped out anything that night worry me.

The more I read them, the less comfort they gave.

Grace watched me closely. “You have been quiet all day,” she said. “Quieter

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than usual.”

“I am fine,” I answered, then sighed. “Mostly.”

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She did not push, which somehow made the knot in my throat worse.

Instead, she cleared her throat. “There is something else,” she said. “About Lady Celeste.”

I waited.

“She has been crying,” Grace continued. “A lot. The servants say she refuses to eat properly. She sends her meals back half–touched. She claims she is not hungry, then asks for wine instead. She keeps asking if you requested to ride with her again.”

་

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. “Of course she does,” I muttered. “She threw a tantrum when you moved me in the first place. Now she is making sure everyone knows she is suffering.”

Grace’s mouth twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but refused to let it show. “I thought you would want to know,” she said simply.

“I know exactly what she is doing,” I replied. “She is making a scene because it is the only thing she knows how to do. She wants pity. She wants attention. She wants me to feel guilty enough to undo what we arranged.” I shook my head. “It is not going to work.”

Grace inclined her head. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

I set the bowl of apples aside and leaned back against the carriage wall. “You can go,” I said. “I want to rest before tomorrow. I need to be prepared. The South will not be the same as when I left it.”

Grace’s eyes softened just a fraction. “You are right about that,” she said. “I will be outside if you need anything.”

She stood, adjusted her cloak, and stepped out of the carriage, closing the door behind her with a controlled thu.

Once she was gone, the silence inside the carriage thickened.

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I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. Right now, my thoughts kept circling back to Cassian.

I pressed my palm flat against my chest, over the steady beat of my heart. It was ridiculous, really. We had not been married for years. We barely had time to settle into whatever this bond between us was becoming. And yet here I was, sitting in a southern–bound carriage, thinking and acting like someone who had been widowed.

I swallowed hard.

We were only a few kilometers away from Nightfall territory now. Our escort had chosen a place to camp that Grace and Rio both considered safe. The ground here was different. When I opened the small window, the breath of the outside world no longer carried snow.

Night had settled around us, but it was not the harsh, icy night of the North. There was no glitter of frost on every surface, no thin sheet of ice on the branches. Instead, the air smelled of damp soil and green leaves. Crickets chirped somewhere in the undergrowth. The trees were thicker, their branches heavy with foliage rather than snow.

The world had changed color without me noticing. White had given way

to green.

I had told myself that I missed the South. I thought I would feel relief the moment the snow thinned and the air warmed. Now that I was here, wrapped in the scent of earth and leaves, I realized I did not miss it as much as I thought.

I missed him more.

Another sigh escaped me.

I reached for the door handle and pushed it open.

Cool night air poured in. Grace sat on the carriage ladder, one boot on the ground, one on the last step, eyes scanning the camp. She turned immediately when the door moved and rose to her feet in one smooth

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motion.

All

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“Your Highness,” she said, already reaching up. She caught my hand and steadied me as I climbed down.

Once my boots touched the ground, she asked, “Where would you like to

go?”

I glanced around the camp. Torches burned at the perimeter. Men moved through the trees, checking lines and setting watches. The sound of the nearby stream reached my ears, faint but clear.

“I want to bathe,” I said. “Not in a basin in another carriage. I want a real

wash.”

Grace nodded once. “We can prepare a bath in the supply carriage,” she offered. “There is hot water and enough space to-”

I shook my head. “There is a waterfall nearby,” I said, surprising even myself with how certain I sounded. “I can hear the water from here. I want to go there.”

Grace’s gaze flicked in the direction of the stream. Her shoulders tightened slightly. “It is too risky to move you farther from camp at this hour,” she said. “Even if the scouts reported no threats, the Demon Fangs are not the only danger in these woods”

I gave her a small smile. “Is it really that dangerous?” I asked.

We both knew the answer.

Rio and his men had swept this area three times already. The scouts had circled wide. The guards had laid down scent markers and traps. If there was any place on this road that could be called secure, it was this one.

Grace studied my face for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “Very well,” she said at last. “I will accompany you.”

We moved away from the camp, following the sound of running water. The ground sloped gently downward, the trees opening up just enough to

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let starlight filter through the leaves. The farther we walked, the clearer the sound of the steady rush of falling water and the soft splash of a pool

below,

After a short walk, the trees parted completely.

There it was.

The waterfall spilled over a dark rock ledge into a wide, clear basin. The water caught the faint light from the moon and the scattered stars, breaking it into shifting shards that moved across the surface. Moss clung to the rocks near the pool, and smooth stones ringed the edge where the water met land. The air here was cooler, damp from the constant spray, and it carried the clean scent of fresh water and wild plants.

For a moment, I just stood there.

It was simple and quiet, but there was something steadying about the sight. The water kept falling, the pool kept filling, the stream kept moving on. None of it cared about packs, crowns, witch covens, or the

Demonfangs.

My gaze followed the ripple of water across the surface, and suddenly I thought of Cassian.

The way he stood in the snow. I missed the way his eyes darkened when I pushed myself too far. The way he said he would protect me even if it cost him everything.

My chest tightened. My eyes began to sting.

I bit down on my lower lip, annoyed at myself for being this close to tears over a man who was not even here. It felt foolish and yet very real. I had chosen this path. I had asked for this separation. I had made him help me build this lie.

And still, standing in front of a waterfall in the South, with the cold mist on my face and no snow under my boots, all I wanted in that moment was the weight of his hand on the back of my neck.

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ས དྭེ, 47%

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I drew a slow breath and reached up to unfasten my cloak, fingers clumsy.

Before I could loosen the clasp, a voice came from behind me, close enough that it brushed the back of my neck. “Do you need help with that?”

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