CHAPTER 4: THE MIDNIGHT WARNING

The clock in the bell tower chimed two in the morning, the sound vibrating through the hollow ache in my chest. My hands were raw, the skin puckered and bleeding from hours of scrubbing the kitchen floors with caustic lye. Seraphina had made sure I had no mop—only a hand brush and a bucket of freezing water.

"Still working, little breeder?"

I didn't turn around. I knew that voice. It was one of Seraphina’s personal guards, a man named Silas who seemed to take a sickening pleasure in watching my fall from grace.

"The floors don't scrub themselves, Silas," I muttered, moving my bucket an inch.

"Alpha says you’re to have the entire east wing finished by dawn. If there’s a speck of grease left, you’ll be lashed. Luna’s orders." He kicked my bucket, splashing the gray, soapy water over my tattered skirt. "Oops. My foot slipped."

"Get out," I hissed, my eyes burning.

"Or what? Will you cry? You’re a servant now, Elara. Get used to the dirt. It’s where you belong." He laughed, the sound echoing off the copper pots before he finally strolled out, the heavy boots thumping against the stone.

I was alone again, the only sound being the drip of a leaky faucet and my own ragged breathing. The kitchen was thick with the scent of stale grease and the metallic tang of the black coin Seraphina had left earlier. Then, the air changed.

The temperature dropped, and the scent of cedar and rain—the real Caleb, not the cold stranger on the throne—cut through the grime.

"I told you to be in the quarters by midnight," a voice rasped from the darkness of the pantry.

I froze, my brush hovering over the stone. "The Alpha’s orders were for me to work until dawn. Or did you forget your own decree, Caleb?"

He stepped out from the shadows. He had shed his regal cloak, wearing only a black tunic that stretched tight across his shoulders. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and his jaw shadowed with stubble.

"Look at me when I’m speaking to you," he commanded, though the authority in his voice wavered.

I stood up slowly, wiping my wet hands on my apron. I stared him down, refusing to show the weakness that was threatening to buckle my knees. "I’m looking. Is there a problem? Is the floor not shiny enough for your new queen’s feet?"

"Stop it, Elara."

"Stop what? Acknowledging the reality you created? You dragged me from a hell-pack to throw me into a new one. At least the Iron-Claw pack didn't pretend to love me first."

Caleb moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between us in two strides. He reached out, his fingers hovering near the purple bruises on my throat—the marks he had made.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered.

"You’re the one who put them there," I snapped, flinching away from his touch. "Don't play the concerned savior now. It doesn't suit the 'King' you’re trying to become."

He didn't pull back. Instead, he grabbed my hand, his grip firm but not painful. I felt it then—a distinct, violent tremor in his palm. His hand was shaking.

"Caleb? Your hand..."

He yanked his hand away as if burned, tucking it behind his back. "It’s nothing. The stress of the merger. Seraphina’s father is... demanding."

"Is that why you’re here at 2:00 AM? To tell me you’re stressed? Go back to your fated mate, Caleb. I have floors to scrub

He grabbed my shoulders, pinning me against the heavy wooden prep table. "You think I want to be here? You think I enjoy seeing you like this?"

"Then let me go!" I yelled, shoving at his chest. "If I’m so useless, if I’m just a 'tool from the dirt,' then banish me! Let me leave the Silver-Moon and never look back!"

"I can't!" he roared, his Alpha aura flared, but it felt thin, like a flickering candle. "You don't understand the stakes. You don't know what they’re capable of."

"Who? The Obsidian Crest? Your 'Fated Mate'?" I laughed bitterly. "You’re the Alpha, Caleb! Or are you just a puppet now? Did you trade your balls for a seat at the big table?"

He winced as if I’d struck him. "Watch your mouth, Elara. I am still your Alpha."

"Not mine," I spat. "You lost that right the second you told me you never loved me. Now, either help me scrub or get out of my way."

I picked up the brush and went back to my knees, ignoring him entirely. It was the ultimate insult to a wolf of his rank. I heard him growl, a low, frustrated sound that vibrated in his chest.

"You were always so stubborn," he murmured, and for a second, the ice in his voice cracked.

"And you were always a better liar than I gave you credit for," I countered without looking up.

He knelt beside me, his knee splashing into the dirty water. He didn't seem to care about his expensive trousers. He reached out again, and this time, his fingers actually brushed the hair away from my face. His touch was electric, a ghost of the three years we had spent together.

"Elara, listen to me," he said, his voice urgent and barely a whisper. "The world isn't what it was forty-eight hours ago. The things Seraphina told you... the ritual... she wasn't joking."

"I know she wasn't. I can feel it. My blood feels like it’s boiling every time she’s near." I looked at him, searching his eyes. "Why are you doing this, Caleb? If you’re a prisoner too, tell me. We can fight them."

His eyes darkened, the gold shifting to a terrified black. "We can't fight fate. And we can't fight her father. Not yet."

"So you’re just going to let them 'harvest' me? Is that the plan?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't. He looked toward the kitchen doors, his ears twitching as if he heard something I couldn't. The trembling in his hands grew worse, his whole frame vibrating with an internal struggle.

The Midnight Warning

"I have to go," he said, standing up abruptly. The mask of the cold, distant Alpha was back in place, but it was cracked.

"Coward," I whispered.

He stopped at the edge of the shadows, turning back to look at me one last time. The moonlight from the high window caught the tears I hadn't realized were tracking through the soot on my cheeks.

"Elara," he said, his voice a haunting rasp.

"What?"

He stepped back into the light for a fraction of a second, his face twisted in a look of pure, unadulterated agony. He looked like a man watching his own soul burn.

"Tomorrow morning, Seraphina will bring you a gift," he whispered, his eyes darting toward the door. "She’ll say it’s an olive branch. A peace offering for the 'misunderstanding' in the kitchen."

"I don't want anything from her."

Caleb stepped closer, his shadow falling over me like a shroud. He leaned down, his lips almost touching my ear, his breath shaky.

"Listen to me very carefully," he breathed. "No matter how hungry you are, no matter how much she smiles, and no matter what she threatens you with... don't eat anything Seraphina gives you."

"Caleb, what is in the food?" I grabbed his tunic, desperate for an answer. "Is it poison?"

He didn't answer. He pulled back, his eyes full of a terrifying secret.

"Just don't eat it," he repeated. "And if you value your life, don't let her see you talking to me."

Before I could say another word, he vanished into the darkness of the service corridor, leaving behind only the fading scent of rain and the sound of my own heart thundering against the silence.

I looked down at the floor, at the spot where he had knelt in the dirty water. There, lying in the gray suds, was a small, silver vial he must have dropped. I reached for it, but as my fingers touched the glass, the liquid inside began to glow a deep, poisonous violet.

The kitchen doors creaked open.

"Still awake, Elara?" Seraphina’s voice purred from the entrance. She was standing there in her nightgown, holding a tray with a single, steaming bowl of porridge. "I felt bad about our spat. I brought you some breakfast. You'll need your strength for the mines."

I looked at the glowing vial in my hand, then at her wide, predatory smile.

"Eat up," she said, stepping into the room. "I made it myself."