Scarlett’s POV

The woman led me into a small, cramped room, finally freeing me from the silver shackles. The relief was immediate, though I still felt the burn of where the metal had pressed against my skin. She explained that I would stay here until the Alphas decided to see me again. Her words left an unsettling feeling in my gut.

These were Valkin Alphas, after all. With no leader in the South, they could easily take the land in my absence—or worse, the other Valkin Alphas from the East or West might seize the opportunity.

“While you wait for them to attend to you, you might want to find work around here to feed yourself. They haven’t thought of provisions for your upkeep yet,” she said, her voice practical, but to me, it was chilling.

I was stranded, with nothing but uncertainty surrounding me. These men behaved as if they held some grudge against me, and their questions had been so strange, almost as though they were piecing together a story I couldn’t see. I didn’t understand. I hadn’t met them before, and yet they acted as if my father had introduced us, even accusing me of unspeakable things I’d never done.

After she left, she handed me a plain, loose kaftan, and I slipped it on, feeling a bit more covered and grounded. But the hunger gnawed at me, too powerful to ignore. I couldn’t sleep like this, so I ventured outside, desperate for something—anything—to keep me going. I licked the edge of an icicle hanging from the roof to quench my thirst, the cold stinging my lips but offering some relief. I knew I wouldn’t last long without real food.

As I wandered the silent, empty grounds, I spotted a bush heavy with tiny, red cranberries. I darted over, glancing around nervously before plucking as many as I could. They were tart and small, but I ate my fill, grateful for every last berry.

My stomach felt marginally better, and I ran back to my room, hoping no one would notice the bush had been raided. By morning, my footprints would vanish beneath the fresh layer of snow, leaving no trace of my late-night forage.

When I opened the door to my room, I noticed a small pile of papers waiting on the single, worn bed. Curiosity overcame me, and I picked them up, scanning the words, the heavy legal language. As I read, my heart sank. Among them was a marriage certificate—my name joined with the Alphas’. The rest of the documents confirmed my worst fears: legal transfers of all my inheritance, every last piece of land, every last asset, handed over to them. They’d taken everything from me, my birthright, my home, all that was mine.

A wave of realisation hit me, and tears slipped down my cheeks. I’d been nothing but a pawn to them, something to be claimed, stripped, and discarded. The weight of betrayal settled heavily on my chest. How could they do this? Why would they strip me of everything, even my identity?

A soft knock at the door startled me from my grief. I hastily wiped my tears, forcing myself to breathe. When I opened the door, I found the old woman standing there. She held a box and a basket, her face gentle yet unreadable. The woman who had shown me a bit of kindness, even if it was only small gestures, was here again, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a flicker of hope.