Chapter Two

* Regina *

"What's wrong, Mama?"

I was awakened by the sound of her sobs in the middle of the night, the kind of noise slipping through the silence of our small room. The servant's quarters in the South were not spacious, it is built for function rather than comfort, a single cramped space meant for both of us. The moonlight filtered faintly through the cracks in the shutters, painting pale lines across the rough wooden floor. My mother sat at the edge of our straw bed, her back hunched, shoulders trembling.

Her hands slowly moved to wipe the tears on her face, and even in the dimness, I saw the tremor in them. I can feel her despair through her form.

"It's nothing, Regina," she whispered, in a raw voice. "Go back to sleep now. You need your rest, dear. Tomorrow will be busy with chores before the Alpha and Luna wakes up, then you still have to go to school after."

I lay still, staring at the small rise and fall of her frame. She never cried where others could see, never let anyone but me glimpse the cracks in her strength. But tonight, she couldn't hold it in any longer and I am worried because something might have happened and she won't tell me about it.

"Is it Alpha Douglas again?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Her whole body stiffened. She didn't turn to face me which means that I am right. It is always about him. If not him then Luna Diana.

"Regina.” Her tone was sharp at first, but then softened, breaking on my name. "Don't ask me that. Please."

"But Mama.”

She shook her head. "Go back to sleep. You're too young to understand these things."

"I'm not too young," I argued, my voice trembling. "I know he calls for you at night. I hear the whispers. They say you, they say.”

My throat closed around the words, I lack the courage to finish them. I don't want to make her more upset by the kind of things that I wanted to say.

Her shoulders sagged, as though the weight of my half-formed accusation pressed down on her. "Don't listen to whispers. Don't carry my burdens, Regina. All you need to know is this, keep yourself safe. Don't meddle in things that could harm you. One day, you'll leave this place. You'll find your mate somewhere far from here. You'll have a life that's yours. Don't.” She faltered, voice catching. "Don't be like me."

Don't be like me. The words pressed into me like iron brands. I wanted to crawl across the narrow bed, to wrap my arms around her, but she sat rigid, her back turned as if shielding me from her shame.

Tears stung my eyes all of a sudden but like her I also wouldn't want to be seen crying. I pulled my thin blanket to my chin, staring up at the cracked ceiling beams. "Don't cry, Mama," I whispered. My voice was so small the night swallowed it whole.

Her sobs slowed, then faded into a heavy stillness. I knew she wasn't asleep, she never slept deeply on nights like these. But she stayed quiet, wrapped in her silence as though it was the only shield she had left. I shut my eyes tightly, but sleep never came back again.

By the time dawn broke, my mother was already moving about, her figure framed by the faint glow of morning light slipping through the shutters. She folded our meager clothes into the chest at the corner, her movements precise, almost mechanical. The smell of damp linen clung to her.

"Wake up, Regina," she murmured, bending down to shake me gently. Her fingers brushed against my cheek, cold, roughened by endless scrubbing.

I stirred, blinking against the pale light. "Good Morning, Mama."

Her lips lifted in a tired smile. "Get up, my girl. We've work to do before the Alpha and Luna wakes up.”

I pushed myself upright, shivering in the chill, and slipped into my worn sandals. Together, we went outside, the early air sharp against my skin.

The servant's quarters buzzed quietly with other omegas already at work, fetching water, chopping wood, preparing fires. My mother and I joined in, carrying heavy buckets from the well. Each step splashed water against my legs, and my arms strained under the weight. My mother, though frail, carried her share without complaint. Her hands reddened as she scrubbed clothes against the washboard. I swept the dusty hall floors, the broom's bristles worn thin.

Some of the other omegas glanced at us. A few nodded in sympathy, their eyes flickering with unspoken understanding. Others looked away, avoiding us entirely, as if my mother's shame, her association with Alpha Douglas, was a sickness that might rub off.

Their silence stung almost as much as their whispers.

By the time the sun had climbed higher, spreading streaks of gold across the pack grounds, my arms and back ached. My mother straightened, wiping her damp brow. From her apron, she pulled a small cloth-wrapped bundle and pressed it into my hand.

"Here," she said softly. "Eat this on your way. Don't be late for school. Remember, Regina, education is your way out. You're meant for more than this life."

I looked at her, at the deep lines of exhaustion on her face, at the shadows beneath her eyes, and swallowed the lump in my throat. I wanted to promise her everything, that I'd study harder, that I'd never let her cry again, that I'd make her proud. But the words tangled inside me.

"Be safe, Mama," was all I managed to say.

She smoothed my hair with trembling fingers, her lips curving into a fragile smile. "Always."

The path to the schoolhouse stretched long and uneven, stones crunching beneath my sandals. Ahead, groups of children walked together, their laughter bright against the morning air. I stayed behind, hugging my satchel close, the bundle of food warm in my palm.

The schoolhouse sat at the edge of the training fields, a long wooden building. Nearby, warriors sparred, their fists slamming into flesh, the dull crack of bone on dirt echoing through the air. My chest tightened at the sight, I wanted that strength, that freedom.

Inside, the benches were nearly filled. I slipped into the farthest corner near the window, letting sunlight stream across my desk. Maybe if I stayed quiet, they'd forget I existed. But the whispers came anyway.

"That's her, the omega's daughter, isn't it?”

"Alpha Douglas calls for her mother almost every night."

"No wonder she looks so tired."

I kept my head down, nails digging crescents into my palms. Heat burned my cheeks. I could hear them clearly.

Ronan, the Beta's son, leaned back in his chair, his smirk sharp as a knife. "Maybe one day, Regina, you'll be just like her. Serving whoever calls. That's what omegas are good for, right?"

Laughter rippled through the room.

My chest squeezed tight. I wanted to scream he was wrong, that I'd never be like that, but the words stayed trapped. Instead, I unwrapped the small bundle my mother had given me. Inside was a rough piece of bread and a thin strip of dried meat. Simple, plain, but precious.

"Look at that," Ronan drawled loudly, pointing. "Scraps. Figures."

More laughter as they look at me.

"Leave her alone, Ronan," one girl whispered, her voice barely audible.

He grinned wider. "Why? I'm only telling the truth."

I clenched my fists. One day, I promised myself, I'd prove them wrong. I need to become strong.

The lessons dragged on, but I soaked in every word. My pen scratched furiously against the paper. Each page filled was more than just notes, it was a promise. A lifeline. My way out of this pathetic life of mine.

By midday, the sun blazed. I slipped outside, settling beneath the crooked tree at the edge of the grounds. The shade softened the harsh light as I chewed the last of my bread. I am still hungry but I have no choice.

From here, I watched the warriors continue training. Their bodies moved with power, discipline, confidence. My chest ached with longing. I wanted to be a warrior to become strong.

I closed my eyes, my mother's words echoing softly in my mind. One day you'll leave this place. You're meant to find your mate far from here. Don't be like me. I pressed my palm against the ground, anchoring myself. I would know my mate when I turned eighteen and perhaps he is strong, a strong warrior that would save us from this kind of life and then my pups won't be omegas anymore.

"I won't, Mama," I whispered to the wind. "I promise. I'll be more."