Chapter 2

Lyra's POV

My mind went blank.

His arm was warm and solid around my waist, holding me like I weighed nothing. For a second, all I could hear was my own heartbeat, hammering so loud I was sure everyone in the room could hear it.

Then he set me on my feet. Gently.

I stared at the dark stain spreading across his pants. My hand moved toward it. Instinct, the urge to fix what I'd broken. But I pulled back. I didn't dare touch him.

I'd spilled tea on the northern alpha. On Cassian Draven. Arabella would have me whipped for this. Or worse.

"You clumsy idiot!" Arabella's voice cracked across the room. "You can't even carry a cup of tea? Do you know what you've done?"

She was on her feet, face twisted with fury. Her father sat frozen beside her, his smile still locked in place.

"It's fine," the alpha said. His voice was cool. Flat.

"It is not fine!" Arabella's pitch climbed. "She does this — she's always been useless. Clumsy and stupid and—" Her voice dropped. Sharper. "Lyra."

I knew that tone. It meant punishment. That particular edge in her voice, low and sharp, meant I was supposed to drop. Apologize with my body, since my voice couldn't do it.

My body obeyed before my mind could catch up. My knees aimed for the floor. Straight toward the broken porcelain.

"Enough."

The word cracked through the room. My body left the ground.

He caught me before my knees hit the shards. Lifted me — all of me — and I went rigid in his arms. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Arabella rushed forward. "Alpha Draven, let me help — your clothes—" Her voice was sweet now, all concern, as if she hadn't just tried to make me kneel on broken glass.

"Don't." He shifted me away from her outstretched hand. "I'll handle it myself. Have this maid show me where to clean up."

Arabella's hand hung in the air. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"Continue without me," he said. He didn't look at her.

The drawing room doors closed behind us, and he set me down.

My legs nearly buckled. I pressed my palm flat against the wall. The last thing I'd seen before the doors shut was Arabella's face. White, jaw clenched, eyes burning with the kind of rage that promised pain.

She would make me pay. I'd embarrassed her in front of the northern alpha. That was unforgivable.

My chest ached. I'd been lifted off the ground, carried in a stranger's arms, set down gently. All in front of the girl who'd made my life a prison. I didn't know what to do with any of it.

"Does your foot hurt?"

I blinked. He was watching me. No warmth, no anger. Just a steady, measuring look.

I shook my head. Then nodded. Then shook it again. I didn't know how to answer. The pain was sharp and constant, but admitting it felt dangerous. Everything felt dangerous around people with power.

I pointed down the corridor toward the bathroom and started walking. Carefully. Evenly. Hiding the limp, even though my leg wanted to buckle with every step. Alphas didn't like weakness. It bored them, or it angered them. I couldn't risk either.

He followed. His footsteps were quiet for someone his size.

The corridor was dim, afternoon light barely reaching this deep into the estate. The tiles were cold under my feet. One of my shoes had come off in the drawing room. I hadn't noticed until now. My bare foot left damp prints on the marble.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what he wanted from me, whether the question was curiosity or a test. Anything I said could be used against me later. I'd been here since I could remember. Fifteen years, maybe more. Time stopped meaning much when every day looked the same.

"Does she treat all her maids that way?"

No. Just me. Because my mother had been a criminal, and I was born carrying her sentence. I'd done nothing. It didn't matter. It never had.

The despair came back, thick and heavy. I just wanted to disappear.

"Why don't you speak?" His voice was quieter now.

I kept walking.

"She would have let you kneel on the broken glass," he said.

I stopped. Turned.

He stood in the dim hallway, hands at his sides, expression unchanged — calm, unreadable. His eyes were dark. Steady. They didn't move from my face.

I wanted to say something. Thank you, for catching me. For stopping me before my knees hit the glass. For telling Arabella to stop. I wanted to ask why. Why any of it. No one had ever stopped her before. No one had ever lifted me off a floor.

My mouth opened. Nothing came out. My throat had sealed shut the way it always did. The words pressed against my tongue, my body refusing to release them.

I bowed. Quick and deep. And ran.

Every step jarred through me, but I didn't slow down. I couldn't let him see me cry. The corridor blurred. I needed to be somewhere he couldn't see me. Somewhere I could sit down and press my face against my knees and stop pretending I was fine.

Cassian's POV

I watched her go.

She moved down the corridor quick and light. Barely a sound, like she was used to not being noticed. Like a bird. Small. Underfed. The bones of her wrist had pressed against my palm when I'd held her.

My wolf stirred. Low. Restless.

Chase her. You haven't heard her voice yet.

Neither had I, and that bothered me more than it should have.

My wolf paced. Agitated. Wanting.

I almost moved. My foot was already shifting forward when I caught the click of heels from the other direction.

Arabella came around the corner, breathless, her smile pasted back on. "Oh, there you are. She brought you to the servants' bathroom — I'm so sorry, she doesn't know any better—"

"I changed my mind," I said.

She blinked.

"Tell your father I need to speak with him." I looked past her, down the empty corridor where the girl had vanished. "About the girl."