Replaced

Dawn broke over the Vaelen territory in shades of bruised plum and silver.

I didn't need an alarm. Two years of warden boots kicking down iron doors at five in the morning had carved an unyielding clock into my bones. By six, I was already walking down the carpeted hallway toward Mother’s quarters on the second floor.

In the old days, this hour belonged to me. I knew every nuance of her illness: the way her lungs whistled when the morning dampness set in, the exact ratio of crushed sun-root to warm honey needed to ease her heart tremors, and how she took her tea with two drops of mint to mask the bitterness of her tonic. Taking care of her wasn't just a duty back then; it was the quiet anchor of my entire life.

I reached the threshold of her bedchamber, the door standing slightly ajar. I held my breath, pushing it open with a light touch.

"Careful, Mama, take it slowly," a sweet, soothing voice coaxed from inside.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Zephyra was sitting on the edge of the plush canopy bed, wearing a soft wool cardigan, holding a silver spoon to Mother's lips. Standing by the window was Dr. Harrison—the pack physician who had known me since I was a child—along with Mother’s head nurse.

"Her pulse is remarkably stable this morning, Lady Zephyra," Dr. Harrison said, jotting notes down on a leather ledger, his voice filled with warm admiration. "Your insistence on switching to the imported northern heart tonic has done wonders. If we had stayed on the old herb garden remedies, I doubt she would have made it through the winter."

Mother swallowed the liquid, leaning back against the embroidered pillows with a faint, grateful smile. "Zephyra reads the medical journals for me every night, Doctor. I don't know what I would do without her."

"You have a devoted daughter, my Lady," the nurse agreed, handing Zephyra a pristine white napkin. "She handles every dose, every meal plan, every schedule. We don't even need to double-check the ledger anymore."

I stood in the doorway, my hand resting flat against the cold doorframe.

None of them looked toward the door. They didn't have to. The air in the room was seamless, complete, and perfectly functional without me. The role that had been my sole justification for surviving two years in a frozen, silver-lined hell—the belief that Mother needed me to keep her alive—was entirely gone.

I was not needed. I was a ghost watching living people go about their lives in a world where I had already died.

Slowly, without making a sound, I pulled my hand back and stepped away from the door. I didn't knock. I didn't assert my authority as the former primary caregiver. I simply turned and walked down the back corridor.

The main estate was in a state of absolute chaos. With Sovereign Valerius of the Northern Frostmark Dynasty arriving by noon, dozens of temporary workers, florists, and external caterers were bustling through the lower corridors. Baskets of heavy velvet drapes, silver polish, and mountain glass were stacked high along the walls.

As I walked through the service wing, a sharp, stressed voice barked from behind me.

"Hey! You! Why are you just wandering around?"

A stern-faced housekeeper rushed up to me, thrusting a heavy wooden crate filled with tarnished silver candle-holders into my arms. The sudden weight rattled my thin wrists, sending a sharp ache through my raw, scarred hands, but I caught it instantly.

"The banquet hall needs these polished and set before eleven," the woman snapped, wiping sweat from her forehead, clearly mistaking my plain, threadbare gray tunic for a temporary hire's uniform. "Don't just stand there staring! Move!"

I looked down at the dull, tarnished silver in the box.

"Yes, ma'am," I said softly.

I didn't correct her. I didn't tell her I was once the cherished adopted daughter of this house, or the sister of the Alpha Heir. Being a nameless servant carrying heavy boxes was far easier than standing in drawing rooms being looked at like a pathetic, inconvenient corpse.

I carried the heavy crate down the wide corridor leading to the ballroom. My body was weak, stripped of muscle from two years of starvation rations, and every step sent a dull pulse of exhaustion through my knees. But I kept my head down, staring at the floorboards, matching my breathing to the rhythm of my steps.

"Hold on a second."

A harsh, commanding voice cut through the noise of the corridor. Heavy, disciplined footsteps marched toward me, stopping right in my path.

I halted, my eyes resting on a pair of polished black leather combat boots and the dark blue cloak of the Vaelen Pack Guard.

Theron.

The Lead Enforcer. The man who had grown up alongside Kaelen, the fierce warrior who had pledged his absolute loyalty to Zephyra the moment she returned. Before I was sent to prison, Theron had been the most vocal in his disgust toward me, convinced that every breath I drew was a jealous insult to Zephyra's existence.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, my hands gripping the rough wood of the crate until my knuckles turned white.

"Look at me," Theron commanded, his voice cold, heavy with deep disgust.

Slowly, I raised my chin.

Theron stared down at my hollow cheeks, my dull hair, and the coarse, oversized servant tunic hanging off my skeletal frame. His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flashing with an intense, burning anger. He didn't see a victim. He didn't see someone who had suffered.

He saw a calculating, manipulative snake.

"I heard you were back," Theron sneered, taking a step closer, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over me. "Kaelen told me you were playing the quiet, broken martyr in the carriage yesterday. And now look at you."

He reached out, violently kicking the bottom of the heavy crate in my arms. The metal candlesticks clattered loudly, the impact jarring my shoulders and forcing a sharp gasp from my throat.

"Carrying servant boxes in front of the whole estate?" Theron leaned down, his eyes glaring into mine with pure venom. "You really have no shame, do you, Vesper? You think if you walk around looking like a starving peasant, everyone will forget what you did to Zephyra? You think pulling a pathetic stunt like this will make Kaelen and Lady Eleanor feel sorry for you?"