Natasha’s POV

An older woman in severe black—clearly the head servant—was circling my sister like a merchant inspecting livestock. “The water’s too hot,” she snapped at someone. “Add cold. We can’t scald her skin before presentation.”

I forced myself to move, to walk forward on numb legs, to pour the buckets into the bath as ordered. My eyes stayed down, but I was close enough now to see the tremors running through Davelina’s body, the way her hands clenched at her sides.

“You. Yes, fisher boy.” The older woman’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Come here.”

I approached slowly, keeping my cap low, praying she wouldn’t look too close.

She grabbed my chin with surprising strength and jerked my face up, her pale eyes boring into mine. They were sharp, calculating, missing nothing. Her gaze traveled over my features.

“For a fisherman’s son, your hands are remarkably uncalloused,” she said softly. “And your face is… very clean. Very pretty. Too pretty for a boy who’s supposedly hauled nets his whole life.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. Behind her, I saw Davelina’s eyes widen in terror.

“I—I mend nets, ma’am,” I managed, forcing my voice lower, rougher. “Don’t go to sea much. Stay on shore, mostly.”

The woman—Madam Victoria, I’d heard another servant call her—studied me a moment longer. Then, inexplicably, she released me and turned away.

“Pity you’re assigned to the male quarters,” she said, almost to herself. “A face like that could be useful as a pet. But I suppose the fortress needs strong backs more than pretty faces right now.” She waved dismissively. “Get the rest of that water in the tub, then get out. You’re cluttering my workspace.”

I poured the remaining bucket with shaking hands, stealing one last glance at Davelina. She stood frozen, eyes locked on mine.

Three male Lycans entered the chamber then—guards by their weapons and swagger. They began examining Davelina with hands that lingered, comments that made my stomach turn. One grabbed her breast, weighing it like fruit.

“This’ll do,” he grunted. “Firm enough. Good hips for breeding, if she survives the first night.”

Victoria’s voice cut through sharply: “Enough pawing. You’ll damage the goods.” She pointed at me with one sharp finger. “You—boy. Out. Go scrub the hallway floors. The east corridor’s filthy.”

A guard seized my shoulder and hauled me toward the door. In the moment before it closed, I heard Davelina’s first sob—small, quickly muffled, but unmistakable.

The door shut. The lock clicked.

And I stood alone in a torch-lit corridor, holding an empty bucket, my sister’s muffled crying echoing in my ears.

The guard who’d dragged me out had already disappeared, probably back to whatever post he’d abandoned. No one was watching me.

East corridor, Victoria had said. But there were passages everywhere in this cursed fortress, branching like veins.

I chose the darkest one.

The servants’ passages were a maze of narrow halls and tight corners, built for efficiency rather than comfort. Perfect for a small person to slip through unnoticed. I moved quickly but carefully, bucket still in hand as camouflage, ears straining for voices.

Then I heard them—two male voices, speaking in low tones behind a half-open door.

“…how long do you think the new girl will last, Fergus? The King’s been worse lately. More erratic.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The second voice was colder. “She’ll last the night or she won’t. When she dies, we’ll toss her body into the sea and fetch another.”

“If the girl dies quickly, and the King’s still in need…” The russet one shrugged. “He’s young, soft-looking. Might serve in a pinch. Any warm hole will do when the beast’s desperate. Better than risking another breakout.”

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