Chapter 2: The Cage and the Crown

Lyra POV 

The silver burned.

Not just my wrists where the cuffs bit into my skin, but everywhere. They'd wrapped silver chains around my ankles, my waist, even my throat, a collar like I was some animal to be leashed. Every breath was agony. Every heartbeat sent fresh waves of fire through my veins.

But I wouldn't scream. I couldn't give them the satisfaction.

The wagon lurched over another rut in the road, and I bit down hard on my lip, tasting copper. Around me in the darkness, I could hear others breathing. Survivors, maybe. Or prisoners like me. The heavy canvas covering the wagon blocked out everything, sight, sound, even scent. All I could feel was pain and the rhythmic creak of wheels on dirt.

How long had we been traveling? Hours? Days? Time had lost all meaning somewhere between watching my brother die and feeling my father's life force wink out like a candle in the wind. The pack bonds, those invisible threads that connected every Silvermoon wolf to our alpha and to each other, had snapped one by one until there was nothing left but a gaping void in my chest where my family used to be.

I was alone.

The wagon jerked to a stop. I heard voices outside, rough and low, before the canvas was ripped away. Moonlight flooded in, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden brightness. When I could finally see again, my blood turned to ice.

We weren't at some remote holding facility. We were at Blackthorne Keep.

I'd heard stories about this place my entire life. The ancestral home of the Shadowfang Pack, carved into the side of a mountain. It's a black stone towers reaching toward the sky like claws. Stories said it could never be breached, a fortress undefeated by time or enemy. Looking at it now, I believed every word.

"Move." A rough hand grabbed my arm, and I was hauled out of the wagon along with five other prisoners. I recognized one of them, Thomas, one of our junior warriors. He couldn't have been more than nineteen. His face was bruised and swollen, but when his eyes met mine, he straightened slightly. I could see the hope in his eyes, his princess was still alive. That meant something.

They marched us through gates that looked like they were made to keep out extraordinary forces. We passed guards who watched us with dead eyes. They were all rogues, all of them, still under whatever spell or compulsion Dante Blackthorne had used to control them during the attack. The courtyard was massive, filled with warriors training even at this late hour. They stopped to watch us pass, their expressions ranging from curious to contemptuous.

We were spoils of a war. Nothing more.

The main hall was exactly what I had expected, all dark wood and darker stone, with weapons mounted on every wall like trophies. Banners bearing the Shadowfang crest, a wolf's head surrounded by thorns, hung from the rafters. And seated on a throne that looked carved from a single piece of obsidian was Dante Blackthorne himself.

He had changed the clothes he wore during the massacre. Now he wore black leather and dark cloth that made him look like a shadow given form. But those blue eyes were the same, cold fire that tracked my every movement as the guards forced us to our knees before him.

"The Silvermoon survivors," one of the guards announced. "As you commanded, Alpha."

"Five." Dante's voice was soft, but it carried through the hall like a whip crack. "Out of a pack of three hundred, only five survived?"

"The rest fought to the death, my lord. These were found hiding in the escape tunnels."

Hiding? Shame burned hotter than the silver. We weren't hiding, we were attacked unarmed. We had to survive so we could regroup and fight back. But the way Dante's lips curved into a mocking smile told me he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Cowards, then." He stood, descending the steps with a predatory grace that made my wolf snarl in warning. "Or smart. I haven't decided which."

He walked past the first prisoner, barely glancing at them. Past the second and third. When he reached Thomas, he paused.

"You're young. Strong. You could be useful." Dante tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle. "Swear loyalty to Shadowfang, and I'll remove those chains. You'll train with my warriors, eat at my table, live."

Thomas's jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might actually consider it. Then he lifted his chin and met Dante's eyes. "I am Silvermoon. I'll die Silvermoon."

"As you wish."

The movement was so fast I almost missed it. One moment Dante was standing there, calm and still. The next, his hand had transformed into claws, and Thomas's head was rolling across the floor.

The other prisoners gasped. One of them whimpered. I just stared at Thomas's body as it slumped sideways, blood pooling beneath him, and felt something inside me turn to stone.

"Anyone else want to die for a pack that doesn't exist anymore?" Dante asked pleasantly, wiping his claws on a cloth offered by a servant. "No? Good. Take them to the cells. Put them to work in the mines. If they survive a year, we'll talk about whether they're worth keeping."

The guards dragged the four remaining survivors away. I waited for my turn, but Dante's hand shot out, stopping the guard reaching for me.

"Not her. The princess requires special attention."

The hall had filled during the exchange. Shadowfang pack members lined the walls now, dozens of them, watching with hungry eyes. I could feel their gazes crawling over my skin like insects. Some looked curious. Others looked pleased. One woman in particular, beautiful, with hair like spun gold and a dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe back home, looked absolutely murderous.

"Strip her," Dante commanded, his voice carrying through the sudden silence.

My heart stopped. "What?"