chapter 3: death?

She took a step back.

“Take her,” Sylvia snapped.

The guards lunged.

Ayla struggled, kicking and thrashing as they dragged her out into the courtyard behind the maids' quarters.

“No! Let me go! Please!”

Her screams echoed through the stone walls, but no one came.

Other maids watched from the shadows.

No one moved.

No one dared.

“Pin her down,” Sylvia ordered.

Ayla was forced to her knees, her arms pulled behind her.

Tears streamed down her face.

“Please, please don’t do this—”

“You think you can touch what’s mine and walk away with pity?” Sylvia hissed. “You should have been killed.”

One of the maids, trembling, came forward, holding a whip made from horsehide.

Sylvia snatched it.

“This,” she said, raising it, “is mercy.”

The first lash tore through Ayla’s back, and she screamed.

Pain exploded through her body.

Another lash. Then another.

By the fourth, she couldn’t scream anymore — her voice was hoarse from begging.

By the fifth, her body sagged, barely able to hold itself up.

Six.

Seven.

Blood soaked the back of her dress.

Sylvia dropped the whip.

“Next time,” she said coldly, “I won’t stop at seven.”

She turned and walked away, her heels clicking with pride.

The guards released Ayla, and she collapsed on the cold ground.

The other maids stood still, silent.

None helped her.

Not one.

Ayla lay there, sobbing softly.

She didn’t know what hurt more — the lashes or the fact that no one came.

No one ever did.

And in the fading sunlight, her wolf whimpered inside her — not from anger or rage, but from quiet, hopeless grief.

*

*

The next day Ayla woke up with her wounds aching like fire licking over raw skin. Every movement sent a wave of pain down her spine. Gritting her teeth, she slowly washed herself with cold water, her hands trembling as she tried to avoid touching the raised welts Sylvia had given her the previous day.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. She had learned a long time ago that crying didn’t change anything. Instead, she scrubbed herself in silence, biting her lip until it bled.

When she finally emerged from the small bath area in the maids’ quarters, she could feel the curious eyes of the other maids on her. No one said anything. No one dared. Once someone was in Sylvia’s bad book, they were invisible—or worse, a target.

Dragging her feet, she made her way to the kitchens to start her chores, the pain in her back making her stiff and slow. She was wiping down a wooden bench when a familiar, cold voice echoed behind her.

"Take her."

Before Ayla could turn, two guards grabbed her arms and yanked her away from the bench.

"W-What—? Again?, Please!" she screamed, struggling, but they held her firm.

Sylvia walked in front of her, arms crossed, a cruel smile on her face. "Oh, little mouse. yes again, I don't think I did enough yesterday to you, as you could still walk and work today."

"I..I.. please," Ayla sobbed, trying to twist free.

"Strip her."

A gasp rippled through the gathered maids, but no one dared move. Two guards obeyed immediately, yanking her dress down to her waist.

Ayla screamed, trying to cover her chest with her arms. "No, please, don’t do this!"

"This time," Sylvia hissed, pulling on a black glove, she was going to use a wolfsbane on Ayla, "I’ll make sure it leaves a scar. The horse whip was too kind."

She held up a vial of liquid. The stench of wolfsbane hit Ayla like a punch.

"Please don’t!" Ayla cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Just as Sylvia stepped forward, a deep, thunderous voice rang through the courtyard.

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Everyone froze. Sylvia straightened immediately, hiding the vial behind her back.

"Alpha Caius! I—You weren’t supposed to be back yet," she said with a forced smile.

Caius’s eyes scanned the scene, landing on Ayla’s torn clothes, her sobbing form, the guards holding her down, and the wolfsbane in Sylvia’s gloved hand.

"Let her go," he ordered.

"NOW."

They released Ayla, and she collapsed to her knees, still trying to cover herself.

"She—she’s dangerous!" Sylvia stammered, moving toward him. "She wants to kill me. She needs to be punished!"

He stepped away from her touch like she was poison. Gasps echoed.

Then he walked toward Ayla, took off his coat, and wrapped it gently around her shaking form.

"Come with me," he said softly to her.

Ayla blinked up at him, confusion written all over her face.

Caius turned to face the stunned crowd. His voice cut like ice. "If anyone touches Ayla again, I’ll make your life a living hell."

His gaze narrowed on Sylvia. "Touch her one more time, and I’ll have you whipped with wolfsbane. That’s a promise."

With that, he turned and walked away, Ayla in his arms, the silence behind them louder than any scream.

Inside the Alpha’s chamber, Ayla sat stiffly on the edge of a soft chair. The room was warm, filled with scented herbs and polished wood, but she still felt cold.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly. "Do you finally feel sorry for what you did to me?"

He paused, looking at her. "You're my mate."

Just then, a maid entered. Caius didn’t look away from Ayla. "Prepare the bath."

The maid bowed and left after setting things up.

"Go get in. I need to treat your wounds."

Ayla's eyes widened. "No. I-I can’t. I’ll be naked."

Without a word, Caius strode toward her, lifted her effortlessly, and carried her into the bathroom.

"Please..put me down!"

He did—on her feet beside the steaming tub. "Take off your clothes."

"No. Not while you’re here."

"You’re already naked under my coat," he said, his voice low. "You’re just pretending you’re not."

"But I... I didn’t ask for this," she whispered.

He removed the coat slowly. Ayla covered herself with trembling arms.

"Remove your clothes," he repeated.

"When you leave."

He stared at her for a second, then nodded, turned, and walked out.

Ayla exhaled, her whole body shaking. She carefully peeled off what was left of her dress, every motion sending spikes of pain across her back. Slowly, she stepped into the bath.

The water stung.

Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and froze.

"Relax," Caius said softly. "I just want to apply some ointment."

His fingers were surprisingly gentle, spreading a thick, cooling salve across her torn back. The pain dulled, replaced by a numbing heat.

"Herbal salts were added to the water," he murmured. "They’ll help you heal."

He placed a clean towel beside her and left.

Ayla sat in silence, staring at the ripples in the water. Could he really be sorry? Was he going to accept her? No. She shook her head. An alpha would never accept someone like her.

When she finished, she dried off and stepped into the soft cotton dress left for her. She stepped out to find Caius seated at a small table, reading.

His eyes drifted up, locking with hers.

"Sit. Eat."

The aroma from the food made her stomach grumble, but fear clung to her.

"Is it poisoned?" she whispered.

He looked up again. "What?"

"The food. Are you planning to kill me?"

His expression darkened. "If I wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground."

She stared at the food. Her belly grumbled again. Slowly, she sat and began to eat.

Caius went back to his book, but his eyes kept flicking toward her.

Halfway through the meal, Ayla clutched her stomach. Her throat burned.

"A-Alpha..."

She stood up abruptly, rushing toward the bathroom.

Her head spun. Her vision blurred.

Was she going to die after all?