You Worth Nothing

Chapter Five 

The heavy iron door slammed shut, leaving me trapped in absolute silence.

I lay frozen on the cold stone floor, listening to Evander’s heavy footsteps fade down the corridor. My body throbbed with a dull, relentless ache. Every breath felt heavy, tasting of dust and cold iron, but the mental exhaustion weighed far more than the physical pain.

I slowly pulled my knees against my chest, wrapping my reddish Fox tail tightly around my legs to trap whatever little body heat I had left.

How has my life turned into this nightmare? Only a week ago, I was a prince of the Averon Kingdom, holding onto the foolish hope that my father would eventually see through my stepbrothers' lies. Now, I was a chained slave in a foreign territory, bought like livestock and shoved into a dark cellar by a ruthless beast.

Escape seemed impossible. The fortress was built into solid cliffside rock, crawling with heavily armed panther guards, and my own body was battered and broken. But as I stared into the pitch-black room, a cold, sharp resolve settled deep inside my chest. I refused to die in this place. I refused to let Dominic, Silas, or Evander completely erase my existence. I just needed to survive long enough to find a single crack in their defenses.

Hours dragged on like eternity. Sleep never came.

Early the next morning, the heavy iron latch slid open with a harsh, metallic screech. Before I could even sit up, a bucket of freezing water slammed directly into my face and chest.

I gasped for air, sputtering and coughing as the icy liquid soaked through my clothes and skin.

“Get up, stray,” a smooth, poisonous voice commanded.

I rubbed the stinging water from my eyes to see Julian standing over me, holding an empty wooden bucket. His dark, handsome face was twisted into a look of absolute disgust, his sleek black ears perked forward in satisfaction.

“Evander may have bought you, but nobody eats in this estate without earning their keep,” 

Julian sneered, kicking my thigh with his polished leather boot. “Get up and start cleaning the main hall. The floors need scrubbing.”

I pushed myself up onto my knees, my teeth chattering uncontrollably from the freezing water. I held up my swollen, bandaged left hand. 

The linen wrapping was filthy, soaked through with stagnant water and dark blood. The fingers were twisted at unnatural angles, and clear, foul fluid had begun to seep through the cloth, dripping continuously onto the stone floor.

“I cannot scrub floors,” I rasped, my voice dry and cracked. “My hand is infected. I cannot move my fingers.”

Julian’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Do not make excuses. You have two hands, do you not? Use the other one.”

“I said no,” I snapped, glaring up at him with every bit of defiance I could muster. “I will not ruin my hand completely for your amusement.”

Julian raised his hand, his sharp claws extending, ready to strike my face once again.

“What is going on here?”

Evander’s deep, booming voice echoed from the doorway, instantly cutting through the tension. 

He stepped into the room, his broad shoulders easily blocking out the morning light from the hallway. Beside him stood an elderly female shifter carrying a wooden medicine satchel.

Julian lowered his hand instantly, his cruel expression melting into a soft, concerned smile as he turned to face his mate.

“Darling, I was just trying to give him some light chores,” Julian said smoothly, stepping close to Evander and wrapping a possessive arm around his waist. “I told him he needs to help around the house if he expects to be fed. But he refuses to work. He is just pretending to be hurt to get out of doing anything. If he cannot be useful in this estate, he should starve.”

Evander did not look at Julian. His glowing golden eyes locked directly onto my hand, watching the foul liquid drip slowly from the filthy bandages onto the floor.

“Check his hand,” Evander ordered the healer, his gravelly voice flat and unreadable.

The elderly female stepped forward, crouching down beside me. She gently unwrapped the blood-soaked linen, exposing my black and blue fingers, swollen to twice their normal size. She pressed down lightly on the palm, making a sharp spike of agony shoot straight up my arm. I bit my lip hard, tasting iron to keep from crying out.

“The bones are fractured, and the wound is deeply infected,” the healer said, looking up at Evander. “If it is not cleaned, set, and wrapped properly right now, he will lose the entire hand within days.”

Julian let out a soft, dismissive hum. “It is just a Fox hand, Evander. It hardly matters.”

“Fix it,” Evander commanded bluntly, ignoring Julian’s comment entirely.

For the next twenty minutes, the healer cleaned the infection, forced the broken bones back into place, and slathered a soothing green herbal paste over my skin before binding it tightly with clean white linen. The pain was excruciating, leaving me panting and sweating on the floor, but the throbbing ache finally softened into a manageable burn.

Once the healer packed her satchel and left, Evander looked down at me with cold, unfeeling eyes.

“You heard my mate,” Evander said, his voice laced with absolute dominance. “You do not sit idle in my home. Find work that does not require your left hand. Clear the tables, carry the light linens, or wipe the dust. If you refuse, then there's no food for you.”

Without waiting for my answer, Evander turned and walked out, Julian clinging closely to his arm while casting a smug, victorious glare over his shoulder at me. I wanted to scream at them to let me go. But that would cause me more trouble.

All through that day, I worked.

My body was weak, my stomach clawing at itself with a deep, familiar hunger. I was used to starving—my father had locked me away without food for days back in Averon—but carrying heavy wooden trays and wiping down long oak tables with only my right hand exhausted what little strength I had left. Every time I passed the estate kitchens, the rich scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air, making my mouth water painfully.

Whenever I asked the kitchen staff for a small piece of bread or a cup of water, they simply turned their backs on me, following Julian’s strict orders.

By nightfall, the entire estate grew quiet. My legs were shaking so badly I could barely walk back to my subterranean room. I collapsed onto the edge of the low bed, clutching my throbbing, freshly bandaged hand against my chest, my stomach burning with empty agony.

I closed my eyes, trying to sleep through the hunger, when a faint, strange sound caught my attention.

It was not a lock turning, nor was it the heavy footsteps of guards.

It was a low, rhythmic tapping coming from the small, high stone vent near the top of my wall.

I sat up slowly, my Fox ears perking high as I stared at the dark opening.

I waited for the person to push my door open but after a while the footsteps retreated.