CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Lyra arrived at the estate before the sun fully rose.

The two guards nodded at the worn bag she still held and pointed a finger to the ground.

“Leave it. Heir’s orders. Nothing comes inside with you.”

She set the bag down without a word and she was let in.

The estate looked the same as it had three years ago, when she used to wait here for a boy who was always too busy with “pack matters” to come be with her. She should have seen the truth then.

The head housekeeper was already waiting. She looked Lyra over once and turned to lead.

“This way.”

Lyra followed.

She was given a gray uniform to match with the other servants.

The other maids watched in silence as she changed. These were ladies who used to step aside for her in the corridors, who used to lower their eyes with respect when she walked past as the heir’s mate.

Now they looked through her. Conversations died when she entered a room. No one offered to speak to her.

The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, suddenly pointed toward a bucket and cloth.

“Main corridor. Scrub the floors. And if I see you moving any slower than the rest of them, you’ll regret it before breakfast.”

Lyra took the bucket and walked.

The main corridor was long and freezing. The thin uniform did nothing against the cold that still lingered in her from the night before

She had just begun scrubbing the first stretch of the hall when the sound of footsteps approached.

Evelyn’s voice came first.. smooth, pleased, and deliberately loud.

“Careful, Keon. The floors look cleaner than usual. Someone must be trying very hard.”

Lyra kept her head down, but she felt the moment Evelyn stopped directly in front of her. A splash followed.

Dark wine spread across the floor she had just scrubbed, right under Lyra’s hands.

Evelyn’s silk hem brushed the edge of the spill.

“Oh dear sister,” she said, disdainfully. “You missed a spot.”

Keon stood beside her, his arms crossed over his chest, watching in silence as the wine pooled around her rag.

Lyra stared at the red stain on the tile, her chest going entirely numb.

Slowly, she wrung out her rag, dipped it back into the cleaning bucket, and leaned forward to wipe the wine off the toes of Evelyn’s boots.

Keon cleared his throat, taking a step closer. He dropped a leather binder onto the floor, beside her bucket.

“When you’re done here, take these to my private study,” Keon said flatly, keeping his voice low so the passing guards wouldn't hear. “They’re the military supply ledgers and council files for tomorrow’s assembly. Organize the grain rations and fix the sector margins.”

Lyra looked at the folder, then up at his face.

He was trying to sound dominant, trying to make it look like just another demeaning task. But she caught the faint, desperate tightness in his jaw.

For three years in the borderlands, she was the one who had put together his supply lines, written his reports, and balanced his budgets while he took all the credit. Without her, he didn't even know how to read the sector margins.

He was panicking.

“Have them finished by midnight,” Keon added, stepping back. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lyra stated.

She picked up the binder, staring at it for a longer moment.

He was a fraud, relying on her to make himself worthwhile and he was handing her the exact key to his power.

By late afternoon, Lyra was sitting at the desk in Keon’s dim study, surrounded by messy stacks of unread reports.

She kept correcting his basic math and rewriting his military rations. She knew it… every down side to his leadership he pretended to own.

Lyra had no idea how long she spent in his study, handling the ledger.

Suddenly, a loud commotion broke out in the courtyard.

Bells began ringing across the estate towers.

Running footsteps and noises filled the hallways outside the study.

“He’s back!” someone shouted from the lower yard.

“The war party crossed the outer river. The Senior Alpha is at the gates!”

Lyra rose from the desk.

The border threat was over. Alpha Killian had returned.

She stepped out into the study’s corridor that overlooked the yard. Night had already fallen and lanterns burned along the walls.

Below, elders and guards rushed into formation.

Keon stood near the front in his finest attire, trying to hold himself straight, but the stiffness in his shoulders gave him away. He was nervous.

A war party in dark armors entered the courtyard and at the front, rode Alpha Killian.

He was tall, broad and unmistakably in command.

The entire courtyard fell silent at his presence. The elders bowed, the guards dropped to a knee, Keon’s head dipped low.

Killian sat motionless for a long moment, surveying the estate he had left behind, while the night seemed to grow still.

From the upper corridor, Lyra watched.