I should have been. In both my previous lives, that was exactly what I'd done.
The script never changed.
I congratulated him on his victory.
He declared his courtship claim in front of the entire territory.
We mated, we grew old together, we never parted.
It took a third life to see the truth: I'd given my heart to the wrong wolf.
I tightened my grip on Briar's hand. "We're going home."
The crowd pressed in from every side, the air thick with dust and the mingled scents of too many wolves. Dozens of scent signatures tangled together until they became one choking wall of musk and adrenaline and excitement. Each breath felt like swallowing stones.
Briar pointed at my hair. "But you got up before dawn to do your hair. Wasn't that for him?"
"Did he make you angry? Is that why you won't let him see your pretty hairdo?"
I had no answer for that.
I reached up and pulled the moonblossom from my hair.
Placed it in my palm and crushed it, slowly, between my fingers. The petals bruised silver, then went dark.
Once, a bright-eyed boy had tucked a twin-stemmed moonblossom behind my ear.
He made me promise to wear one when I came to welcome him home from war.