Chapter 3

Irina’s POV

After I finished polishing that perfectly clean vase for the second time, I was dismissed. My shift was technically over, though "over" is a loose term when you're a maid. There's always more work. Always. But tonight, I was too tired to find more. My feet ached, my back throbbed, and the hollow place in my chest where my mate bond used to live was pulsing with a dull, familiar ache.

I made my way to the servants' quarters, a narrow, drafty wing of the castle that the royals pretended didn't exist. My room was small, barely large enough for a cot, a rickety wardrobe, and a tiny window that let in more cold than light. But it was my sanctuary.

When I pushed open the door, I wasn't alone.

"Heyyyy, bundles!"

Anikta. My best friend. The only person in this entire castle, in this entire pack, who actually managed to get me talking. People said that about her all the time, "How does she do it? Irina's like a stone, but Anikta gets her to chat like a normal person." They weren't wrong.

Anikta was sprawled on my cot like she owned it, her wild curls spilling everywhere, her grin taking up half her face. She was one hell of a crazy girl, the kind who laughed too loud and moved too fast and somehow made the gray servants' quarters feel brighter just by existing in them.

"What's up, Ani?" I asked, too exhausted to even question why she was in my room instead of hers.

She bounced up, grabbed my hand, and dragged me next door to her room before I could protest. Hers was slightly larger than mine. Her mom used to work here and had earned a few small privileges. On her tiny table sat a plate of food. Real food. Roasted meat, fresh bread, even a small pastry.

I stared at it. Then at her. "How did you—"

"I smuggled it." She giggled, the sound bright and mischievous. "From the kitchen. The cook was in a good mood today, so I snagged extra. Figured you probably forgot to eat again."

My throat tightened. She wasn't wrong. I’ve been so focused on surviving Lindsey’s inspection that food hadn't even crossed my mind. And here was Anikta, thinking of me, feeding me, being the one bright spot in my miserable existence.

"Jeez," I whispered, my voice thick with emotions I usually kept locked away. "What would I do without you?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically, flopping onto her own cot. "A lot. You would do a lot. You would probably actually get some sleep instead of staying up worrying about everything. You would—"

"Ani."

She stopped, seeing my face, and her teasing expression softened. "Eat," she said gently. "Then tell me about your day."

So I ate. And I talked. I told her about Lindsey and the imaginary dust, the vase I polished twice, about the way her eyes had dug into me like she was hoping I would just drop down dead. Anikta listened, her face shifting through a range of expressions—annoyance, anger, disgust.

She had never been a fan of Lindsey. Not even back when we were all younger, when Lindsey was just my bubblyt best friend and Anikta was the new girl who saw through the act immediately. Maybe that was what got us to be friends at first, our shared suspicion of Lindsey’s perfect smile. Over the years, Anikta had become the only person who knew the truth about me. The only one who knew about Stefan.

"Sometimes I wish I could just... transfer her to a different castle," Anikta muttered, pulling a face. "Ship her off to some distant pack where she can terrorize strangers."

"If only." I smiled weakly, pushing my empty plate aside. "At least today's over."

Anikta sat up suddenly, her eyes going wide and sparkly in a way that immediately made me nervous. "Oh! Oh, speaking of today, guess what? You have to see Ian looking so dashing today. I served him lunch, and gosh, bundles, that man is damn handsome. Like, unfairly handsome. It should be illegal to be that handsome and also a prince. It's too much power in one person."

My blood turned icy.

The warmth from the food, from Anikta’s  company, from the brief respite, it all drained away, replaced by that familiar cold. Ian. I didn't want to hear about him. I didn't want to think about him. I spent five years perfecting the art of avoiding him, of making myself invisible when he passed, of never, ever being in his line of sight.

The last time I had actually seen him was six months ago, a brief glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around a corner. Even that had been enough to make my wolf whimper and my heart ache.

Before I could respond, before I could ask Anikta to please, please change the subject, a sharp knock rattled her door.

We both froze.

"Anikta!" The housekeeper’s voice cut through the wood like a blade. "You're needed to serve the royal family their evening meal. And Irina—" My heart dropped. "—tag along. They're short-handed in the kitchen. Move quickly."

The footsteps retreated.

Anikta and I looked at each other. Her expression shifted from surprise to concern. She knew what serving the royal family meant for me.

"It's been so long since they called me for that," I whispered, my voice strange and distant in my own ears. "Ever since Lindsey became Luna, I was demoted. Cleaning halls. Scrubbing stalls. She made sure I never have to be near them. Near him."

Anikta squeezed my hand. "I'll handle it. You just... stay behind me. Do the serving on the opposite side. I'll take care of Ian and Lindsey."

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to curl up on my cot and pretend I hadn't heard the order. But that wasn't an option. Refusing meant questions. Questions meant attention. Attention meant Lindsey finding another excuse to hurt me.

So I ate the last bite of pastry in a hurry, washed it down with water, and followed Anikta out the door.

The kitchen was chaos, as always. Cooks shouted, pots clanged, and the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat and fresh herbs. Anikta grabbed the heavy trolley loaded with covered dishes, and I took the other side, helping her steer it through the narrow corridors toward the formal dining room.

The castle was so massive. Even after all these years, walking these halls made my legs ache. Every step was a reminder of how small I was, how insignificant. The ceilings soared above us, decorated with frescoes of proud wolves and ancient battles. The floors gleamed under our feet, polished by hands like mine. And somewhere ahead, behind those massive oak doors, sat the people who owned all of it. Who owned us.

We pushed the trolley together, our shoulders almost touching. I focused on breathing. On putting one foot in front of the other. On not thinking about who was waiting in that room.

The doors loomed. Anikta nodded at me, a small, reassuring gesture. Then she pushed them open.

I kept my eyes down as we entered, focusing on the trolley, on the dishes, on the floor. But even without looking, I felt them. The weight of their presence especially Ian’s. The former Alpha, Ian’s father, a broad, silent man who has never once acknowledged my existence. His wife, Ophelia, the former Luna, warm and gracious to everyone—everyone except invisible maids. And Lindsey. I felt her gaze like a tickle on the back of my neck, watching my every movement.

And Ian.

I didn't want to look. I told myself not to look. But my eyes betrayed me, flickering up for just a fraction of a second.

He was there, seated at the head of the table like a king in a painting. And gosh, Anikta hadn't been exaggerating. How could someone be this handsome? It wasn't fair. His dark hair fell in slightly messy waves, the kind of effortless style that probably took an hour to achieve. His eyes—those red eyes that marked his royal blood—were magnificent, deep and compelling even when they held nothing but cold indifference. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, strong and kissable and everything I had once dreamed about.

I looked away quickly, my heart hammering. Stupid. Stupid heart. Stupid eyes. Stupid ten-year-old feelings that refused to fully die.

"I can't believe I'm having a grandchild!" Ophelia's voice rang out, bright and excited, cutting through my miserable thoughts.

I froze. My hand, reaching for a covered dish, stopped mid-motion.

A grandchild. They were having a grandchild. Lindsey was pregnant.

Of course she was. Of course they were. They were mates, married, happy. This was normal. This was bound to happen even before now, really. Five years was plenty of time to start a family.

So why did it feel like someone had just punched the air out of my lungs?

I forced myself to keep moving. To help Anikta arrange the plates on the sideboard. To move silently, efficiently, like the machine everyone expected me to be. But inside, I was crumbling. What would it feel like to be carrying the child of the man you loved? To have that future, that family, that warmth?

I glanced at Ophelia, the former Luna, as I picked up her plate. She was beaming, her hand resting on Lindsey's  arm. Would she have been happy for me if things were different? If Ian had acknowledged me, if I had been the one sitting there with a glowing belly and a mate's arm around my shoulders? Or would she have seen me the same way he did—as nothing, as less than nothing?

I would never know. And that thought hurt almost as much as the rejection itself.

I moved carefully around the table, serving the former Alpha first, then Ophelia. I avoided the end where Lindsey and Ian sat, and Anikta, bless her, smoothly stepped into that role. She took their plates, their dishes, their requests, shielding me from having to get too close.

I thought I might make it through. I thought maybe, just maybe, I would escape without incident.

Then I heard his voice.

"Pass me the water jar."

That voice. Deep. Commanding. Unmistakable.

Why would he do this? Why would he want to make this more awkward? My hands trembled as I reached for the jar. Maybe it wasn't intentional. Maybe he genuinely needed water and I was simply the closest servant. To him, I was just another maid. Just another nameless face in an endless line of workers. He probably didn't even register who I was again.

I told myself that as I turned, as I stepped forward, as I extended the jar toward his waiting hand.

And then......pain.

Sharp, sudden, blinding. Something slammed into my leg from under the table. A heel. Someone's heels, driven hard into my ankle with deliberate force.

"Ouch!" The cry tore from my throat before I could stop it. My body jerked, my hands flew up, and the water jar tipped. Water spilled everywhere—over the table, over the plates, over the pristine white shirt of the Alpha Ian.

Silence.

Absolute, ringing silence.

I stared at the dark stain spreading across Ian’s chest, at the droplets clinging to his perfect jawline, at the shock flickering across his handsome face before it changed to something else.

I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. It was an accident. I didn't mean to—"

This was also one of those days—rare, but they happened—when I wished I would be fired for doing something wrong. Fired and released. Free to leave, finally free, even if it meant starving on the streets.

I waited for him to say it. To roar at me to get out, to never come back, to pack my things and disappear.

He didn't.

He just sat there, his red eyes blazing with what I could not understand. His shirt was ruined, water dripping from the expensive fabric. His family stared. Lindsey’s lips were curved in a tiny, satisfied smile I saw from the corner of my eye. Ophelia looked horrified. The former Alpha looked annoyed.

And Ian just glared.

I didn't feel too intimidated. Maybe I should have. Maybe a normal servant would have been trembling, apologizing, begging for mercy. But I had faced his rejection. I had faced five years of Lindsey’s petty cruelty. And a glare from from him was nothing. Who was I kidding? It was oppressing.

I pushed my glasses up my nose—a nervous habit, and I met his gaze for just a fraction of a second.

The air crackled between us.

Then Lindsey’s voice cut through the tension, sweet as poisoned honey. "Oh, Ian, darling, don't be too harsh. It was an accident. Weren't you going to tell your parents about the nursery plans?"

The moment shattered. Ian’s attention shifted away from me, back to his wife, to his family, to his perfect life. Anita appeared at my side, her hand on my arm, gently pulling me back.

"Come on," she murmured. "Let's get out of here. I'll handle the cleanup."

I let her guide me away, my ankle throbbing where Lindsey’s heel had connected. As we reached the door, I risked one last glance back.

Ian was seated again, his ruined shirt forgotten as he talked with his parents. Lindsey’s hand rested on her still-flat stomach, her smile radiant, her eyes meeting mine for just a second.

Victory. That's what I saw in her eyes. Pure, absolute victory.

I looked away and walked through the door, back into the servant's corridor, back into the shadows where I belonged.