HUMILITY

CELESTE

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‎My hands were no longer hands. They were claws made of raw meat and fire.

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‎I had been scrubbing for three days.

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‎The mountain of pots never seemed to get smaller. Every time I finished one stack, Olara would dump another load of greasy, blackened cauldrons onto the washing table.

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‎"Faster, Princess," Olara would bark, banging her wooden spoon against the counter. "The hunters are back. They’ll be hungry."

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‎I didn't argue. I didn't complain. I just dipped my scouring pad into the freezing, gray water and scrubbed until my shoulders screamed and the blisters on my palms burst, weeping clear fluid that stung like acid.

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‎My emerald dress was long gone, burned in the fire pit. I wore the rough gray trousers and flannel shirt Kaelen had given me. They were three sizes too big, held up by a piece of rope I used as a belt. My hair, once glossy and perfumed, was tied back in a messy knot, smelling of woodsmoke and onions.

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‎I looked like one of them. 

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‎I smelled like one of them. But I was still starving.

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‎"Lunch," Olara grunted, slamming a tin bowl onto the counter in front of me.

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‎I dropped the pot I was holding, my hands shaking. The bowl contained the same thin, gray stew we ate every day. It was mostly water, with a few chunks of potato and—if you were lucky—a string of tough venison.

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‎But to me, right now, it looked like a feast.

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‎"Thank you," I whispered, my voice hoarse from the smoke.

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‎"Five minutes," Olara warned. "Then back to the pots."

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‎I took the bowl and limped out the back door of the kitchen hut. My ankle was healing thanks to Rhea’s poultices, but it still throbbed if I stood on it too long.

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‎I sat on an overturned log near the edge of the clearing, cradling the warm bowl in my hands. The heat seeped into my frozen fingers.

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‎I lifted the spoon to my mouth, closing my eyes in anticipation.

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‎Snap.

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‎The sound of a twig breaking made me freeze.

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‎I opened my eyes. 

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‎Hiding behind a stack of firewood, watching me with wide, mismatched eyes, was Jinx.

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‎The boy looked thinner than he had the day I arrived. His cheeks were hollow, and his oversized jacket hung off his small frame like a shroud. He was staring at my spoon, his gaze tracking the drip of broth as it fell back into the bowl. He licked his lips unconsciously.

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‎I lowered the spoon.

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‎"Jinx?"

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‎He flinched, looking ready to bolt. "I wasn't stealing! I was just... checking the wood."

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‎"I know," I said softly.

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‎I looked at the camp around us.

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‎For the first few days, I had kept my head down, terrified to look at the "monsters." But now, as I watched, I saw the truth Kaelen had tried to tell me.

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‎I saw a mother sitting by a tent, nursing a baby that was too small, her own face gaunt with hunger. I saw two old men sharing a single pipe because they didn't have enough tobacco for two. I saw warriors returning from patrol, not with gold or treasures, but with a few scrawny rabbits to feed a hundred people.

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‎They weren't savages. They were starving.

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‎Magnus called them vermin. He said they raided our convoys because they were greedy.

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‎But looking at Jinx—at the way his ribs pressed against his shirt—I realized they raided because they were dying.

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‎My stomach gave a painful, hollow growl. I needed this food. I was dizzy with hunger. If I didn't eat, I might pass out over the wash trough this afternoon.

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‎I looked at Jinx. I looked at the stew.

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‎I am a warrior’s daughter, Nanny had said.

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‎But what did a warrior do? Did they hoard resources while children starved? Or did they protect the weak?

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‎"I'm not hungry," I lied.

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‎Jinx’s eyes widened. "You're not?"

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‎"No," I said, forcing a smile. "Olara puts too much pepper in it. It gives me a stomach ache."

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‎I held the bowl out to him. "Do you want it? Otherwise, I'll just have to throw it to the pigs."

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‎Jinx didn't hesitate. He scrambled out from behind the woodpile, moving with the desperate speed of a feral animal. He grabbed the bowl with both hands, nearly spilling it in his haste.

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‎"Thank you," he gasped. He didn't wait for a spoon. He lifted the bowl to his lips and drank the broth in greedy gulps, then shoveled the potatoes into his mouth with his fingers.

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‎I watched him, my own stomach twisting in agony. The smell of the food was torture.

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‎But as I watched the color return to his pale cheeks, the knot in my chest loosened.

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‎"Slow down," I whispered. "You'll get sick."

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‎He lowered the empty bowl, licking a drop of gravy from his chin. He looked at me, his mismatched eyes filled with a worshipful awe.

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‎"You're weird," he decided.

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‎"Why?"

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‎"Vexa says you're a monster," he said matter-of-factly. "She says you eat babies."

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‎I let out a dry laugh. "I think Vexa is projecting."

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‎"You gave me your food," Jinx said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Are you going to die now?"

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‎"Eventually," I said, standing up. My legs felt shaky, lightheaded. "But not today. Go on, Jinx. Before Olara catches you."

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‎He grinned—a flash of white teeth in a dirty face—and ran off, the empty bowl clutched to his chest like a treasure. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the hunger pangs.

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‎Back to the pots.

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‎I turned to go back inside.

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‎And that’s when I saw him.

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‎Standing in the shadow of the tree line, leaning against a massive oak, was Kaelen.

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‎He was perfectly still, blended so well with the forest that I wouldn't have seen him if his eyes hadn't caught the light.

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‎He was watching me.

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‎He wasn't scowling. He wasn't sneering. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was... stunned.

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‎He looked at the spot where Jinx had been, then back at me. He looked at my empty hands. He looked at my pale, hungry face.

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‎Our eyes locked across the clearing.

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‎For a moment, the air between us crackled with that familiar, terrifying electricity. I expected him to mock me. To tell me I was stupid for giving away my strength.

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‎But he didn't.

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‎He slowly unfolded his arms. He nodded—just once. A small, almost imperceptible dip of his chin.

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‎Respect.

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‎It wasn't affection. It wasn't kindness. But it was respect.

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‎He turned and melted back into the shadows of the woods, disappearing as silently as smoke.

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‎I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding a rhythm that had nothing to do with hunger.

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‎I had lost my lunch. I had lost my dignity scrubbing pots.

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‎But as I limped back into the steam and noise of the kitchen, I realized I had gained something far more dangerous.

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‎I had gained the attention of the Rogue King. And this time, he wasn't looking at me like an enemy.

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‎He was looking at me like a equal.

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‎KAELEN

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‎I watched her limp back into the kitchen, her gray oversized shirt swallowing her small frame.

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‎I stayed in the shadows, my hand resting on the rough bark of the oak tree. My wolf was pacing in my mind, agitated, scratching at the door of my control.

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‎She fed the pup, my wolf whined. She is hungry, but she fed the pup.

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‎I clenched my jaw, trying to silence the instinct.

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‎I had expected her to break. I had given her the hardest, filthiest job in the camp, convinced that within an hour she would be crying at my door, begging to go back to her cell. I wanted her to prove me right. I wanted her to prove she was just another selfish, useless High Court decoration.

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‎Because if she was useless, I could hate her. And if I hated her, I could ignore the bond that was currently tearing my soul in half.

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‎But she hadn't broken.

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‎She had scrubbed until her hands bled. She had taken the abuse from Olara. And just now... she had given her only meal to a thief.

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‎I had seen High Court ladies slap servants for spilling a drop of wine. I had seen Alphas kick beggars out of their way.

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‎I had never seen a royal starve herself for a rogue.

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‎She is not them, the thought whispered, unbidden and terrifying.

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‎I looked at my hand—the one she had stabbed. The wound was already a faint pink scar, but the memory of her fire burned hot. 

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‎"Damn it," I whispered to the empty forest.

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‎I was in trouble.

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‎Because I wasn't just attracted to her anymore. I wasn't just bound to her by fate.

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‎I was starting to admire her.

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‎And that was a weakness Magnus would exploit the moment he found us.

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‎I pushed off the tree, turning toward the perimeter. I needed to run. I needed to kill something. I needed to exhaust my body until I couldn't think about Celeste Black.

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‎But as I broke into a run, shifting into the black wolf, the scent of vanilla and sacrifice clung to my nose, impossible to shake.