Chapter 5 – Morning Orders and Small Savings

I was awake long before the sun even considered rising.

Maris required the kitchen to be completely lit and the morning tea service set out before the rest of the household stirred from their beds.

The stone floors held the night's chill, biting right through the thin soles of my boots as I stood at the deep iron sink.

I buried my hands in scalding water and scrubbed the heavy breakfast pans until my knuckles ached and the skin peeled back tight against the bone.

《You missed a spot right on the edge.》

Nyra sat her tail wrapping neatly around her paws.

She watched me work with a highly critical eye, her golden gaze tracking the movement of my sponge.

"I didn't miss it," I told her silently, scrubbing harder at the baked-on grease. "It is permanently stained. I can't scrub iron away."

《If you happen to permanently stain one of Selene's new gowns later today, I will not complain.》

Nyra tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

《We could just misplace her most expensive silk right into the hearth fire. It would be a tragic accident. I would even help you fan the flames.》

"You know exactly what Maris would do to us if a single thread went missing."

《I know what I would do to Maris if she tried to touch us again,》 my wolf countered, her voice dropping into a low, vicious register.

I pulled the last pan from the soapy water and reached for a coarse drying cloth.

Despite the agonizing hour and the burning in my lower back, every single task felt strangely lighter today.

The acceptance email I had read last night sat in my memory like a second heartbeat, drumming a steady, relentless rhythm under my ribs.

Every time Maris barked another order from the hallway, every time I had to bend and lift and carry, I just repeated the same phrase in my head.

Not much longer.

I moved to the laundry room, pressing the heavy iron over thick formal napkins until the steam clouded the small room.

I hauled two massive baskets of fresh linens up the narrow rear stairs to the guest wing.

My shoulders burned with the effort, but I kept my pace steady.

When the hallway was finally clear of the other servants, I slipped into the small storage alcove tucked away beneath the back stairs.

The space smelled of dust and old wax.

I dropped to my knees, wedged my fingernails into the gap of a specific floorboard hidden in the far corner, and pried it up.

I reached into the dark cavity and pulled out a worn paper envelope.

This was my entire life.

This was years of taking on odd jobs for the lower pack members, hiding small festival commissions, and hoarding the tiny bits of pay Rowan sometimes left scattered on his desk where Maris would not notice.

I opened the flap and pulled the bills out.

I counted them twice, my lips moving soundlessly over the numbers.

I exhaled a hard, shaky breath when the final count confirmed the sum remained exactly what I needed to survive the city.

《It is all there,》 Nyra said softly, standing guard near the alcove entrance. 《Every last coin. We earned it. We are keeping it.》

"We are going to use it," I corrected her, sliding the money back into the envelope and tucking it securely beneath the floorboard. "one day. Just one more day."

I stood up and brushed the dust from my skirt.

I had barely stepped out of the alcove when Maris turned the corner, her face pulled tight with irritation.

"Get upstairs," Maris ordered, pointing a sharp finger toward the main staircase. "The seamstresses are here for Selene's ritual-week gown fitting. They need assistance, and you are going to make yourself useful."

"Yes, Maris," I said quietly.

I kept my head down and walked up the wide carpeted stairs to Selene's bedroom.

I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.

The space looked far more like a private court than a place to sleep.

Heavy bolts of expensive fabric were draped carelessly across the velvet chairs.

Open jewel cases littered the vanity, catching the morning light and throwing fractured prisms across the walls.

Selene stood right in the center of the chaos.

She wore a slip of pale material, complaining loudly to the two nervous seamstresses who were kneeling on the floor, frantically trying to adjust her hemline.

"It is just so difficult to find white silk that actually looks expensive enough without seeming bridal too soon," Selene sighed, looking down at the women with bored entitlement. "I am the future Luna. I cannot look like I am wearing cheap district scraps. The elders will talk."

"The silk is imported, Miss Selene," the older seamstress said gently, her voice trembling slightly. "It is the finest quality available in the region."

"It feels stiff," Selene countered.

She caught sight of me standing in the doorway and her eyes narrowed.

"Lyra. Get over here and pin this extra fabric on the side. They are moving far too slowly, and I have a luncheon to attend."

I walked over and knelt on the thick rug.

I picked up a small cushion of silver pins and positioned myself near the heavy folds of the silk.

"Once Kael completes the Alpha ritual, things are going to change around here," Selene announced to the room.

She spoke right over my head, projecting her future authority as if I were a piece of inanimate furniture.

"When our marriage contracts move forward, I will be restructuring this entire household."

"You will be a wonderful Luna," the younger seamstress offered, trying to appease her.

"I will be an effective one," Selene corrected her smoothly. "There will be very little room in our lives for servants who forget their place. We simply won't tolerate incompetence. Kael requires absolute order, and I intend to provide it."

I placed a pin into the heavy silk, keeping my hands steady.

I was careful not to let the sharp point brush against her skin.

"Redo the side clasp," Selene commanded, looking down at my hands.

I reached up, unfastened the small, intricate metal hook at her waist, and secured it again.

"No, it is crooked," Selene said, her tone dripping with artificial patience. "Do it again."

I unfastened the hook a second time.

My fingers were starting to ache from the morning's intense labor, the joints stiff from the hot water and the heavy ironing.

A faint, involuntary tremor moved through my hands as I tried to force the tiny metal pieces together.

"Are you entirely incapable of basic instruction?" Selene asked.

She shifted her weight, making the fabric pull away from my grip just as I tried to close the clasp.

"Third time, Lyra. Try to actually manage it."

She made me redo the exact same clasp three times.

She didn't care about the fit of the dress. She just wanted to look down and enjoy the physical evidence of my exhaustion.

She wanted to watch my hands shake.

The heavy, sleek disdain of her wolf, Sable, pulsed faintly through the room, clinging to Selene's scent and suffocating the air.

Nyra bared her teeth in a silent, vicious snarl, the fur along her spine standing straight up.

She flooded my mind with pure acid, cursing Selene and her pathetic vanity.

《I want to tear her throat out,》 Nyra promised. 《I want to see her bleed on this expensive white silk.》

"Do not react," I told Nyra, locking my jaw. "Let her talk. Her words mean absolutely nothing."

I kept my face completely empty.

I focused entirely on the small metal hook, forcing my trembling fingers to obey, and finished the fitting without making another sound or offering her a single micro-expression of pain.

An hour later, the seamstresses packed their bags and practically fled the room.

Maris walked in, inspected the mess left behind, and ordered me to clear out the trash.

I gathered the discarded fabric boxes, balancing the tall, unsteady stack against my chest, and headed back downstairs.

The cardboard blocked most of my vision, forcing me to take the steps slowly.

I reached the bottom and turned down the dim rear hall.

Rowan was standing near the study doors.

He was holding an open household ledger, pretending to inspect the numbers, but his eyes were not moving across the pages.

He looked up when he heard my footsteps approach.

"Lyra," he said softly.

He stepped deliberately into my path to stop my progress.

I halted, adjusting the heavy weight of the boxes against my chest. "Yes, sir."

He closed the ledger and held it against his side.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a hesitant, soft demeanor that projected concern but lacked any actual courage.

His eyes flicked to my face, dropping to the floor, and then rising to linger on my cheek.

"Did Maris strike your face the other night?" he asked.

He finally acknowledged the faint, fading bruise she had left on my skin two nights prior.

I stared at him over the top of the boxes.

He knew exactly what had happened.

The entire house had heard the slap.

He had probably been standing right in the next room.

"I tripped and fell, Rowan," I said.

I offered him the lie he clearly wanted to hear so he wouldn't have to confront his wife.

He looked down at his boots.

A heavy, intensely guilty pause settled between us.

He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet my eyes again.

"Right. Well. I hope you are staying out of Selene's way this week," he advised softly.

"I am doing my chores."

"Emotions are running very high right now," he continued, as if explaining the weather to a stranger. "Everyone is under a great deal of stress with the ritual approaching. Just keep your head down, Lyra. Try not to provoke anyone."

He spoke as if the burden of being mistreated belonged equally to the person enduring it.

He wanted me to take responsibility for the abuse so he didn't have to step in and stop it.

Nyra stood up.

Her golden eyes fixed on his face.

She just stared up at Rowan with absolute, unblinking disgust.

《Look at him,》 Nyra said, her voice dropping into a cold, flat register that carried finality. 《A father who watches his child bleed and does not act is only a slightly quieter kind of coward.》

"I understand," I told Rowan politely.

Years of living in this house had taught me that getting angry changed absolutely nothing with him.

Anger required someone willing to listen to it, and Rowan only listened to fear.

"Good," he muttered, stepping back slightly. "Just... be careful."

I shifted my weight, stepped carefully around him, and kept walking down the corridor with my heavy boxes.

He did not call me back.

He never did.