Amelie
The packhouse is a hive kicked by a boot.
Every omega, every servant, every person of low rank is scrubbing, polishing, and running on frantic errands. The air smells of lemon oil and beeswax, a desperate attempt to cover the usual scents of old wood and wolf.
Anya forces a piece of bread into my hand. “You have to eat something, child. You’ve been on your feet since before dawn.”
I shake my head, the motion pulling at the welts on my back. I wince. “I’m not hungry. There’s too much to do.”
“And it will get done,” she insists, her voice low and firm. “But you are no good to anyone if you collapse. He will be here in hours.”
He. The Alpha King. The name hangs in the air, a weight of gold and steel.
I take a small bite of the bread. It tastes like sawdust in my mouth. My body is a single, throbbing ache from Lyra’s punishment yesterday, a constant, sharp reminder of my place. A place I’m meant to stay in, especially today.
“I saw Luna Serilda earlier,” Lena whispers as she rushes by with an armful of fresh linens. “She was screaming at the head groundskeeper because one of the rose bushes by the entrance is drooping.”
“She wants everything perfect for Lyra,” Sara adds, polishing a silver tray with a ferocity that could rub the plating off. “They think the King is going to take one look at her and forget all about his fated mate prophecy.”
I almost choke on my bread. The idea is absurd. Lyra is beautiful, I know that. But she is rotten from the inside out. Even a King must be able to see that.
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Anya says, taking the half-eaten bread from my hand. “Royalty does what it wants. And our job is to be invisible while they do it. Amelie, you especially.”
Her eyes are full of warning. I know what she means. My very existence is an inconvenience to Alpha Valerius, and on a day like today, an inconvenience can become a catastrophe.
“I will stay in the kitchens,” I promise her. “I won’t go anywhere near the main hall.”
The promise turns to ash in my mouth less than an hour later.
Alpha Valerius storms into the kitchen. He is a mountain of an Alpha, broad and powerful, but today he seems smaller, constricted by a fine velvet tunic that looks too tight in the shoulders. His face is flushed, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for fault. They land on me.
His lip curls. “You.”
The kitchen falls silent. The clatter of pots and the hiss of the fire die away. All I can hear is the frantic thumping of my own heart against my ribs.
“What are you still doing here?” he demands, stalking toward me.
I press myself back against a wooden countertop, my hands finding the rough edge. “I am working, Alpha Valerius.”
“Working?” He laughs, a harsh, grating sound. “Your work is an embarrassment. Your presence is an embarrassment. I want every corner of this house to reflect the strength and prestige of the Blackwood Pack. You reflect nothing but weakness.”
His words are for everyone, a performance of power. But his eyes are fixed on me. He is afraid. The scent of his anxiety is sharp, cutting through the polish and cooking smells. He is afraid of what the King will think of his pack, of him. And I am a stain he needs to wipe away.
Lyra appears at his elbow, a vision in deep blue silk. She smiles, a slow, predatory curving of her lips. “Father, you’re upsetting yourself. It’s just the orphan.”
“She should not be seen,” Valerius growls. “The King’s retinue will be here any moment. I will not have her scurrying around like a rat.”
“Then we should put her where the rats belong,” Lyra suggests, her voice light and musical. She glances toward the small, heavy oak door at the far end of the kitchen. The door to the cellar. “She’ll be out of the way down there. No one will see her. No one will even know she exists.”
My blood runs cold. The cellar is a place of nightmares. It’s damp, lightless, and used for storing root vegetables and punishment. I haven’t been down there since I was a child, after my parents died, when my crying annoyed the Luna.
“No,” I whisper, the word escaping without my permission. “Please.”
Valerius’s eyes narrow. He hates defiance, no matter how small. “Did you say something, omega?”
“Please, Alpha,” I try again, my voice trembling. “I’ll stay hidden. I’ll work in the back scullery. You won’t see me. I swear it.”
“I don’t want to take the chance,” he snaps. He gestures to two of the pack warriors standing guard by the kitchen entrance. “Take her. Lock her in.”
Anya steps forward slightly. “Alpha, she’s just a girl. She means no harm…”
Valerius’s head whips around, his glare silencing her instantly. Anya flinches back, her face pale. No one else moves. No one else speaks. This is the way of things. The Alpha commands.
The guards grab my arms. Their grips are like iron bands. I don’t struggle. It would be pointless, and only earn me another beating. They drag me across the stone floor, my worn shoes scuffing against the flagstones. Lyra watches me go, her eyes glittering with triumph. She won. She always wins.
The cellar door groans open, releasing a wave of cold air that smells of damp earth and rot. They shove me forward, and I stumble down three stone steps, landing hard on the packed dirt floor. The impact sends a jolt of agony through my bruised body.
The heavy door slams shut.
Darkness swallows me whole.
A key turns in the lock, a loud, final sound. Then, silence. I am alone.
I crawl on my hands and knees until my fingers touch a rough stone wall. I follow it to a corner and huddle there, pulling my knees to my chest. The cold seeps through my thin tunic, a relentless chill that settles deep in my bones. Every breath hurts. The welts on my back sting and burn against the coarse fabric.
Time loses meaning. There is only the dark, the cold, and the dull throb of my injuries. The hope I felt yesterday seems like a cruel joke. The King could be a god, but his light will never reach this place. I am forgotten. Buried alive.
Then I hear it.
A distant sound at first. The drumming of horses’ hooves on the dirt road leading to the packhouse. It grows louder, a rhythmic thunder that seems to shake the very ground. Then, the sound of the great horn from the watchtower, a single, deep blast announcing the arrival of an honored guest.
The King is here.
From my tomb, I can hear the muffled sounds from the courtyard above. Shouted orders from a voice I don’t recognize, deep and resonant with command. The shuffling of many feet. The sudden, expectant hush that falls over our entire pack.
I press my ear against the stone wall, straining to hear.
“King Aric,” Alpha Valerius’s voice is loud, strained with a desperate attempt at bonhomie. “On behalf of the Blackwood Pack, I welcome you. It is a profound honor to host you.”
There is a pause. I hold my breath. Then, another voice. It is low, calm, and carries an authority that makes Valerius sound like a yapping dog.
“Alpha Valerius. The journey was uneventful. Your lands are well tended.”
The voice is like nothing I have ever heard. It’s not just powerful; it feels ancient, like the rumble of stones deep within the earth. It makes the air in my lungs feel thin.
“My King, may I present my mate, Luna Serilda, and our daughter, Lyra,” Valerius says, his voice thick with pride.
I can picture it perfectly. Luna Serilda with her stiff, regal posture. Lyra, beautiful and demure, a mask she wears better than anyone.
“Your Majesty,” Lyra’s voice drifts down, sweet as honeyed poison. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the Alpha King we have heard so much about.”
Another pause. Longer this time. The silence is heavy, charged.
“Your welcome is appreciated,” the King’s voice says finally. It is utterly flat. Devoid of interest. It’s the sound of a man swatting away an annoying fly.
The dismissal is so total, so effortless, that even I can feel the humiliation of it from down here. A tiny, bitter smile touches my lips in the darkness.
“We have prepared the finest guest suite for you, Your Majesty,” Luna Serilda says, her voice a little too bright. “And a feast in your honor this evening.”
“My men will see to my accommodations,” the King replies, his tone unchanged. “And I do not feast until business is concluded. We are here to finalize the border treaty, Alpha Valerius. Let us proceed to your study and dispense with these pleasantries.”
The footsteps move away. Valerius sputters something about refreshments, but the King’s retinue is already moving, their heavy boots echoing on the flagstones. Their sounds fade, leaving me once again in the suffocating silence of the cellar.
He is nothing like them.
He is not impressed by their titles or their daughter. He is not interested in their games. He is here for one reason: business. There is a control in his voice, a single minded focus that is more intimidating than any Alpha’s roar.
I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
The sounds of the packhouse eventually return to a low hum, the sounds of servants preparing a feast that the guest of honor has no interest in. No one comes for me. The darkness remains absolute.
I lay my head back against the cold stone wall, the last of my energy seeping away. My body aches. My spirit feels… hollowed out. I close my eyes, trying to summon my dream of the open field, of freedom. But tonight, all I can see is the impenetrable dark of this cellar.
This is my place. Lyra was right. Down here with the rot and the forgotten things. The Lion is at the gate, but he is a world away. And I am just a mouse in the walls, unheard, unseen, and utterly alone.
