Chapter 019

A soft knock roused me from sleep. For a moment I didn’t move, half-hoping it was a dream. But then it came again, steady, polite, tugging me out of the fog I had wrapped myself in.

“Rain?” A girl’s voice. Gentle, deferential. Not Clara. “I was sent to prepare you for breakfast.”

My heart sank. Breakfast. I didn’t escape after all.

I sighed pushing myself upright, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. My hair was a pale tumble around me, knotted from sleep, my skin still warm from the fire that had burned low through the night. The room smelled faintly of smoke and lavender soap, but underneath, the heavy musk of wolves lingered, reminding me where I was.

“Come in,” I said softly, my voice still rough.

The door creaked open and a young maid stepped inside, balancing a folded gown over her arm. She bowed her head before speaking. “Lord Draven has requested your presence. It is customary for the ladies of the house to dine together during the summit.”

Of course it was. Another tradition, another chance to remind me I was a guest here, and not just a guest, but under watch.

Sounds more to me like prisoner rather than guest but who cares.

I nodded, trying not to sigh. “Thank you. You can leave it there.”

She set the gown carefully on the bed and hesitated, waiting as if unsure whether to linger. When I gave no further command, she bowed again and slipped out, the door closing softly behind her.

For a long while I sat still, staring at the fabric she’d left. Pale rose silk, light enough to cling, heavy enough to shimmer in the sun. Jewelry too, waiting on the dresser, gold filigree, subtle but deliberate. They wanted me polished, gleaming, displayed.

I dressed slowly, each movement a battle between resentment and duty. The silk danced over my skin, cool and delicate, the neckline dipping low enough to make me flush. I fastened the pendant at my throat last of all, the one I hadn’t chosen, this one felt lighter than the previous one from last night and I was grateful for it.

By the time Clara arrived to fix my hair, I was steady again, though my pulse betrayed me. She braided silver strands back from my face, letting the rest fall loose over my shoulders. She didn’t say much, only hummed softly, like she could sense the storm brewing in my chest.

When the summons came again, firmer this time, I followed.

The hallways were alive with sound, boots, laughter, voices layered over one another. The packhouse was enormous, sprawling enough to house wolves, allies, servants, and now strangers. Every turn revealed another face, another reminder of how many eyes were here, how little space there was to hide.

At last we came to the breakfast chamber. The doors stood open, the smell of bread and roasted meat already filling the air. I hesitated on the threshold, my stomach knotting, before Clara’s quiet nudge pushed me forward.

The sight that met me made my breath catch.

The long table gleamed with polished wood and silver platters, sunlight pouring through tall windows. Seated along it were women, she-wolves from different packs, each dressed in silks and velvets that marked their rank. Some whispered behind jeweled hands, eyes sharp as knives. Others barely looked at me at all, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if bored.

And there, unmistakable even before her gaze met mine, was Selene.

She sat poised at the far end, her dark hair coiled elegantly, her gown the color of spilled wine. She was every inch the wolf who believed she belonged here, chin lifted, smile small and knowing. Her eyes flicked to me as I entered, slow and deliberate, assessing me the way one might assess an intruder.

Clara slipped discreetly to the side, leaving me alone in the weight of those stares.

I smoothed the silk at my hip, forced my shoulders back, and stepped into the room.

The moment I crossed the threshold, every pair of eyes followed me.

Chairs scraped softly as some women adjusted themselves, others leaned subtly toward their neighbors, whispering with a little too much effort to look casual. My bare shoulders prickled under the weight of it all.

A servant pulled out a chair for me midway down the table, across from a striking she-wolf draped in silver. I sat, smoothing the skirt of my gown, and lifted my chin like it wasn’t trembling on the inside. Clara had melted into the background as quickly as smoke, leaving me alone in the storm.

“Rain, isn’t it?” a blonde she-wolf beside me asked, her smile too wide, too perfect. “What an unusual name.”

I forced a polite smile. “Yes. My mother liked it.”

“She must have,” the woman murmured, tilting her goblet to her lips. “It suits you. Fragile. Fleeting.”

My smile froze, but before I could respond, another voice carried down the table. Smooth, commanding, edged with amusement.

“Unusual, yes, but not unpleasant.”

Selene.

Her eyes lingered on me as she spoke, her mouth curving faintly, though it was not a smile. “Daemon does have a talent for collecting… rare things.”

The remark landed like a pebble in water, rippling outward. A few of the she-wolves glanced at one another, muffling their laughter.

Heat crawled up my neck, but I steadied my tone. “I don’t believe I belong to anyone’s collection.”

Selene’s brows lifted, the faintest glimmer of surprise flickering across her face before she leaned forward, elbows on the table like a queen surveying her court. “Brave words. Do you always speak so boldly, or only when you don’t understand the rules?”

The silence that followed was heavy. Even the clink of cutlery paused.

I held her gaze, refusing to wilt, though my insides twisted like a rope pulled tight. “If there are rules, perhaps someone should bother to tell me.”

The blonde beside me coughed lightly, hiding a smirk. Another shifted uncomfortably.

Selene’s lips curved sharper now, predatory. “Oh, don’t worry, Rain. You’ll learn. One way or another.”

The words slithered between us, but I refused to look away. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me fold.

And yet my heart hammered so loudly I was sure the whole table could hear it.

At last, Selene leaned back, her expression smoothing into cool indifference as she reached for her goblet. “In the meantime, enjoy the meal. I do hope you have an appetite.”

Laughter fluttered weakly from somewhere down the table, though no one dared echo her bite too openly. The tension fractured, the hum of conversation slowly returning, but the damage was done.

I dropped my gaze to my plate, appetite gone, fingers clenched too tightly around the silver fork.

I wanted to slap her across the face. A reminder that even if I may be a guest here she is also a guest and will not speak to me like that.

But instead I keep quite and até my food while the chatter continued around me.

“That was very brave of you.” The girl beside me said, smiling. “Hi, I’m Maris.”

I turned to her, surprised. She had kind eyes, softer than most I’d seen since arriving here. Her voice wasn’t sharp like Selene’s, but calm, almost shy.

“Rain,” I said quietly.

“It suits you,” she replied, and for a moment I didn’t know what to say. Compliments felt strange on my skin, like clothes that didn’t quite fit.

Maris leaned a little closer. “Don’t mind her,” she whispered, tilting her head ever so slightly toward Selene at the far end of the table. “She thinks she has to talk down to people to be noticed. I think it’s exhausting.”

A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re not wrong.”

Maris grinned, pleased she’d gotten a reaction. “Good. Then maybe we’ll get along. I hate sitting through meals in silence, it makes me feel like I’m being tested. If we talk, it won’t feel so bad.”

Her words were easy, not forced, and something about them loosened the knot in my chest.

“Where are you from?” she asked, cutting into her food as though this were nothing more than two girls sharing breakfast.

I hesitated, then shrugged. “Farther than I’d like to be.”

Maris didn’t push. She just nodded, as if she understood that answer better than most. “Well,” she said softly, “wherever that is… I’m glad you ended up here. At least I won’t be the only one trying to survive all this without going mad.”

The corner of my mouth twitched upward. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest I’d come since last night.

Maris’s eyes sparkled then, a playful tilt to her lips. “Tell me, Rain… do you dance?”

I blinked at her, caught off guard. “Dance?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly, stabbing her fork into a berry. “You know, when music plays and you’re expected to move gracefully without tripping over your own feet? There’ll be plenty of that tonight after the summit discussions. The alphas love their traditions. Everyone pretends it’s about politics, but the dancing is where the real games are played.”

I shifted uncomfortably, imagining myself in the middle of that hall, eyes on me again, tripping or worse. “I don’t… not really.”

Maris laughed lightly. “Perfect. Then you’ll fit right in. Half of them will be stumbling, and the other half will be staring at themselves in the reflections of the goblets. Just promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“That if I’m dragged onto the floor, you won’t leave me there alone.” She gave me a mock-serious look, though the humor in her eyes was warm.

For the first time, I felt a small spark of comfort. Someone on my side, however briefly. “We’ll see,” I said, but my voice was softer, less guarded.

“Good enough,” Maris replied, satisfied. “At least you didn’t say no.”