Chapter 8

Lucy.

For two days, I hadn’t seen the sky. The windows in my room were tall and wide, but always locked. Guards stood outside the door, and no one came in except Elizabeth—who brought me food I rarely touched and looked at me with eyes that pitied more than served. My soul itched with the need to move, to speak, to be—but I was caged, like some prized doll being conditioned before sale.

On the morning of the third day, the lock clicked and the heavy door creaked open. I didn't rise from the edge of the bed right away. My heart stuttered. I waited for shouting, for punishment. Instead, it was a tall guard in silver-trimmed armor who stepped inside.

“You are to come with me,” he said, his voice like stone. “The Alpha King has permitted you to join the palace.”

Permitted. Like a favor, not a right. Honestly I wonder what people in power think of themselves sometimes. Like this man literally gave me a contract to be his breeder, made love to me like I was the best thing that has happened to him after being Alpha king, only for him to treat me like a slave afterwards just because he has the power. I hated this people!

Still, I followed.

The palace was still the very same beautiful building full of sadness. At least every single human being that lived here was already used to the patterns, but not me, I was lost in all of this.

And now I was his breeder.

The words still tasted bitter, even though I tried to swallow them every morning.

In the days that followed, I was coached. Moulded. Elizabeth brought in tutors to teach me how to walk in heels without stumbling, how to dip into a curtsy at the perfect angle, how to speak with elegance but not arrogance. My gowns changed from cotton to silk, the colors from dull grays to royal blues and blood reds.

“You belong to him now,” one of the older maids told me while tying the back of my dress. “And he’ll want his possession to reflect his status.”

A possession. Not a mate. Not even a mistress.

A breeder. Oh goodness, what exactly have I gotten myself into?

That evening, Elizabeth came into my room with a dress folded carefully in her arms. Her hands trembled slightly, and I saw the deep green of the fabric before she even spoke.

“It’s from the Alpha,” she said quietly, laying it across the bed. “He said you must wear this to dinner tonight.”

Dinner. With Alpha Ellison. And the ministers.

A cold flutter stirred in my stomach. This wasn’t just about food—it was about display.

I bathed, the water warm and scented with lavender oils. When I stepped out, Elizabeth was already waiting with the dress and a pair of black velvet heels.

As she brushed out my hair, I watched her in the mirror. Her hands were steady now, focused.

“Elizabeth,” I said, keeping my voice light, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course, miss.”

“The woman from the courtyard—the one who called me a whore. Ivy.” I hesitated. “Who is she… really?”

Elizabeth’s hands paused in my hair for the briefest second. Then she resumed, a bit slower.

“She was supposed to be you,” she said finally.

I turned around to face her.

“She was…?”

“She took the test. The one every potential breeder must take. She failed.”

“Failed?” I echoed.

Elizabeth nodded. “Something about her bloodline. Not pure enough. But by then, the entire court already knew she’d been… considered. So she couldn’t leave. Too much shame. Too much pride. And the fear of being killed by her own father who couldn't bare the shame of her not passing the test."

“So now she stays here as the mistress?” I asked.

“She stays because she doesn’t know how to be anything else,” Elizabeth whispered.

I wanted to ask more, but then there was a knock at the door. Sharp. Insistent.

And without waiting for a reply, it swung open.

Ivy stood in the doorway.

I recognized her immediately—red lips, black curls, the smug arch of her brow. She held a delicate teacup in her hand, the liquid inside still steaming.

“What are you doing here?” I stood up, voice hard before I could stop myself.

She raised the cup slightly, offering a ghost of a smile. “I came to apologize. For last time. I was out of line.”

I blinked, surprised. Elizabeth froze at the dresser, unsure whether to stay or go.

“It’s fine,” I said cautiously. “You made your point.”

“I did,” Ivy agreed, stepping further into the room. “But that doesn’t mean I was right.”

She moved closer, her heels silent against the carpet. Then, just as she was beside me, she stumbled—gracefully, like a dancer pretending to fall. Her hand jerked, the teacup tipping.

Scalding liquid spilled across my dress.

I gasped and stepped back, feeling the heat soak through the fabric.

“Oh no,” Ivy said, wide-eyed. “I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry—”

“What did you do?” I snapped, looking down at the spreading stain. The emerald silk was ruined, dark and wet.

Elizabeth rushed forward with a cloth, trying to blot it.

Ivy stepped back, hands up. “It was an accident.”

I didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

Without another word, I stormed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I yanked the dress over my head, the wet silk clinging to my skin. The tea smelled strange. Not herbal. Too sweet.

I held the fabric under the tap, scrubbing furiously. The color lightened, but it wasn’t just tea. There was dye in it. Colorant.

She did this on purpose.

She didn’t want me at the dinner. She wanted me humiliated.

My hands clenched around the ruined fabric. No. now I was sure that almost everybody in this palace was a psycho.

I stepped back into the room, clutching the soaked dress. Ivy was still there, talking quietly to Elizabeth.

“You witch,” I snapped.

Both of them turned. Ivy’s mask slipped just enough for me to see the satisfaction hiding in her eyes.

“You think you can come in here and pretend apology?” I strode toward her. “You think if I don’t show up tonight, he’ll take you instead?”

Ivy laughed softly. “Oh, darling. I don’t need to do anything. I just didn't that dress a favour by saving it from a trash like you, you simply don't deserve it.”

“And you do?” I challenged. “Even though you failed the only thing that mattered to him?”

Her expression darkened. “You don’t understand the rules here.”

“No. But I’m learning,” I said. “And the first thing I’ve learned? Never turn your back on a snake.”

She slapped me. Hard. My head snapped to the side.

The sound echoed in the room.

I blinked, stunned. Then—I hit her back.

Chaos exploded. Elizabeth shrieked. Ivy stumbled into the dresser, knocking over a vase. I lunged again, but she grabbed my arm and shoved me back.

“You pathetic little mutt!” she screamed. “You’ll never be more than a womb to him!”

“And you’ll never be anything but a discarded toy!” I yelled.