My eyes opened, slow.
First thing I noticed wasn’t the bed, or the light. It was the quiet.
Not total silence. Just… quiet. Like a place that had always been loud decided to just stop. No yelling. No boots slamming the floor. No Mira screaming my name from across the hall, or that awful sound of the whip cracking through the air.
Just the soft flap of curtains moving with the breeze… and the gentle, steady crackle of a fire.
Safe.
It felt safe.
Which honestly made me more nervous than anything.
I sat up too fast and instantly regretted it. My whole body shouted back at me—joints tight, ribs sore, like I’d been run over and barely stitched back together. For a second, panic rushed in. Like maybe I’d wake up back in the packhouse and none of this was real. But the memories came fast and heavy.
This wasn’t the packhouse.
The bed was soft. Too soft. Layers of feathers, not the usual lump of old blankets and straw. The sheets felt smooth, kind of cold against my skin. Silk, maybe? My hand moved over them slowly. I was still in the same clothes, but someone had cleaned me up. No more dried blood. My wrist was wrapped up. My hair didn’t feel like a mess for once.
I was… clean.
I blinked at that. Hadn’t realized how much I’d gotten used to being dirty until I wasn’t.
No idea who cleaned me up. But whoever it was—they were gentle.
I swung my legs off the side of the bed. Moved slow. The air smelled like firewood and maybe flowers? Something soft, familiar but not quite. Lavender?
Tall windows curved at the top, letting in just enough light to make everything glow. The stone walls were half-covered with velvet curtains. Fancy ones. There was a carved wooden chest near the fire, and a little vanity under a mirror with a silver frame. Nothing in here made sense. Nothing felt like mine.
Why would Xaden put me in a room like this?
Why give me anything at all?
The door creaked and I froze. Instinct.
But it wasn’t Mira. Not even a guard.
It was a girl. Probably my age. Light brown hair braided tight. She was holding a tray with both hands, stacked with bread and fruit. She stopped cold when she saw me awake. Her eyes got big.
Then she dipped into a curtsy. “Good morning, my Lady,” she said, voice small and a little shaky.
My… what?
My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
“I—I mean Violet,” she said quickly. “Alpha said you didn’t want to be called—”
“It’s fine,” I said, cutting her off without meaning to. “It’s… fine.”
She walked in carefully, like I might snap or bite her, and put the tray down on a small table near the window. Gave me a weird little smile—nervous, like she wasn’t sure I was real—and then slipped out of the room as fast as she came.
Gone.
I just stood there.
My Lady.
I’ve been called a lot of things. None of them nice. “Worthless.” “Rat.” “Mongrel.” “Baggage.”
But never “Lady.” Not once.
I pushed up from the bed, legs shaky but working, and walked to the window. Outside, I could see a courtyard, long shadows stretching across stone and grass. I didn’t know what time it was. Didn’t really care.
This was Xaden’s world.
Not mine.
I didn’t belong here.
A knock made me jump a little. I turned toward the door, but before I said anything—it opened.
He walked in like he always does. No hesitation. His hair was damp, curling just a little at the edges. He had on a black tunic that fit too well, and his eyes—those strange, gold eyes—met mine the second he stepped in.
“You’re awake,” he said.
I nodded.
He didn’t come closer. Not at first. Just stood there, like he was trying to read me from across the room. “You slept through dinner,” he said. “Probably for the best. I would've just stared at you awkwardly the whole time and made it weird.”
That got a tiny breath out of me. Not quite a laugh. But close. “You’d do that anyway.”
He smiled. Not the fake kind. “Fair.”
Then he walked toward me—slow, like I was made of glass. Maybe I was. Felt like it.
“You alright?” he asked, nodding toward my wrist.
“I’ve felt worse.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not a high bar.”
Silence settled in again. The uncomfortable kind. The kind full of stuff we weren’t saying.
I wanted to ask him so many things. Why he brought me here. Why he looked at me like I was something worth saving? Why he still saw the girl I used to be when I didn’t even know who that was anymore?
But none of it came out.
So I just said, “This isn’t your room.”
“Nope.”
“And it’s not the servant quarters.”
“Nope.”
I looked around again. “So… why?”
He looked down for a second. When he spoke, his voice was lower. “Because you deserve to be here. And because I wanted you to have a space that’s yours.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Didn’t know how to feel either. Grateful? Suspicious? Angry?
Something in my chest squeezed.
“If you feel up to it,” he said, eyes flicking back to mine, “I thought maybe I could show you the rest of the castle. No pressure.”
I wasn’t up for anything.
But I didn’t want to stay here alone either.
And part of me—some dumb part I couldn’t shut up—wanted to see what kind of place he’d made while I was stuck scrubbing blood from tile.
“Okay,” I said, voice low.
He turned to go, then stopped at the door. Looked back.
“And Violet?”
“Yeah?”
His voice was soft now. The kind of soft that made you stop breathing. “You don’t owe me anything. Not trust. Not forgiveness. Just… be here. That’s enough.”
And then he left.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
And I just stood there, staring at where he’d been.
How could someone who grew up with everything—power, respect, freedom—look at someone like me and make me feel like I wasn’t just broken pieces?
I didn’t get it.
I didn’t know if I really felt something for him. Or if I was just clinging to the first person who ever looked at me like I mattered.
I sat down at the little table. The bread was still warm. The fruit was soft and sweet. I didn’t even realize I was starving until I took the first bite.
Then I didn’t stop.
And no—I didn’t cry.
But something cracked open in me.
Not all the way. Just enough.
