Chapter 3: The Princess in Gray

Lyra POV 

"You heard me." He reaffirmed the words I thought I had heard wrong. 

Dante settled back onto his throne, crossing one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world. "Strip her of those royal garments. I want everyone to see what a Silvermoon princess truly is without her crown and comfort."

Two female guards approached, and I tried to fight, but the silver had sapped too much of my strength. They tore at my ceremonial dress, the white silk gown I'd worn to watch my brother's coronation, now stained with blood and dirt. The fabric ripped easily, and soon I was standing in nothing but my undergarments, shivering in the cold hall.

The crowd murmured. Some laughed.

"Better," Dante said softly. "But not quite right. Kira, bring the uniform."

The golden-haired woman stepped forward, and I saw the triumph in her green eyes. She held a bundle of gray fabric that she dropped at my feet with deliberate carelessness.

"Servants wear gray in Blackthorne Keep," Dante explained, his tone almost conversational. "As do slaves. And that's what you are now, Princess. Not a prisoner of war. Not a hostage. A slave. My personal property, to do with as I please."

"I am the heir to Silvermoon—"

"You are nothing." He was on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between us so fast I didn't see him move. His hand locked around my throat, not the collar, my actual throat, and squeezed just enough to make breathing difficult. "Silvermoon is ashes. Your title is meaningless. Your bloodline ends with you." He released me suddenly, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping. "Put on the uniform. Now."

My hands shook as I reached for the gray dress. It was rough, cheap fabric, the kind given to the lowest servants. As I pulled it over my head, I felt every eye in the room watching, judging, enjoying my humiliation.

"The collar stays," Dante added. "Always. I want everyone to know exactly what you are."

When I was dressed, Kira yanked me to my feet by my hair. "Let me guess," she purred, her breath hot against my ear. "You thought you were special? Thought the big bad alpha might have a soft spot for the pretty princess?" She laughed, sharp and cruel. "He's mine, little girl. Has been for three years. You're just a toy. A way to humiliate the bloodline he hates the most. Don't forget it."

She shoved me back to the ground, Dante stood watching our exchange with something that might have been amusement.

"Kira speaks truth, though she's more possessive than necessary." He gestured lazily to a spot beside his throne. "Your duties are simple. You will serve me personally. Bring my meals, pour my wine, attend to my needs. You will sleep in the servants' quarters with the other slaves. You will work when I command it and rest only when I allow it."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll make you watch while I execute one of your fellow survivors. Every single day you disobey, another one dies." His smile was gentle, almost kind. It made my skin crawl. "I have three left. That's three days of defiance you can afford. After that..." He shrugged. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get creative."

A man emerged from the shadows beside the throne, tall, thin, with eyes like a snake. He moved wrong, too fluid, too graceful. He was not a wolf, something else.

"This is Marcus," Dante said. "My... advisor. He'll ensure your cooperation."

Marcus smiled, and I saw fangs. Not wolf fangs. Something longer, sharper. "Hello, Princess. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Vampire," I breathed. Werewolves and vampires had been enemies for centuries. The fact that Dante had one in his inner circle was unthinkable.

"Half vampire," Marcus corrected pleasantly. "My mother was a wolf, which is the only reason the alpha tolerates my presence. That, and I'm very good at what I do."

"Which is?"

"Breaking things that don't want to be broken." His smile widened. "The alpha believes you might be stubborn. I do hope he's right. It's been so long since I had a proper project."

My wolf was throwing herself against the silver barrier with renewed desperation. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here and accept this nightmare.

"Take her to the kitchens," Dante ordered. "She can start by cleaning the aftermath of tonight's festivities. And Marcus? Make sure she understands what happens if she tries anything foolish."

The vampire's grip on my arm was like iron as he dragged me from the hall. Behind us, I heard Kira's musical laugh, heard the pack members returning to their conversations as if they hadn't just witnessed the complete destruction of everything I was.

The kitchens were a disaster. Apparently, Shadowfang had celebrated their victory with a feast, and no one had bothered to clean up. Food was everywhere, dishes piled high, the floor sticky with spilled wine and gods knew what else.

"You have until dawn," Marcus said, releasing my arm. "If it's not spotless, I take a finger. If you try to escape or use any of these convenient sharp objects to hurt yourself or others, I take two fingers. If you're still being difficult by tomorrow night..." He leaned in close, and I could smell death on his breath. "I get to be creative. And trust me, Princess, you don't want that."

He left me there, alone in the massive kitchen, with nothing but dirty dishes and my own despair for company.

I stood frozen for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Then, slowly, I walked to the nearest basin and plunged my hands into the cold, greasy water.

The silver collar burned. My body ached from the attack, from the journey, from everything. But I started washing dishes because what else could I do? My pack was dead. My family was gone. And I was alone in enemy territory, wearing a slave's uniform, with a vampire watching from the shadows to make sure I didn't step out of line.

I was scrubbing a particularly stubborn pot when I heard it, a soft voice, barely a whisper.

"Princess?"