Chapter 3: The Iron Fortress

The cart came to a violent stop.

Selene woke with the jolt. She was lying on the cold floor of the cart, her wrists tied behind her back, her ankles bruised and aching. Lyria was beside her, curled up, trembling from cold and fear, her eyes red from crying too much.

Outside, the massive gates creaked open, revealing the castle. A towering fortress that everyone feared. Tall, dark, made of black stone. A place where the sun seemed never to rise. Guards everywhere. Towers armed with archers. Damp, heavy walls.

"Get the little slaves up," one of the soldiers ordered, banging the cart with the butt of his spear.

The doors flung open without warning and both girls were yanked out roughly. Their wedding dresses were ruined, torn, stained with mud and dried blood. Whatever beauty they once had was gone. Now, they were nothing but filthy rags.

As soon as they stepped down, the stares began. Guards. Soldiers. Men everywhere. There were almost no women, at least not in that part of the castle. The men laughed while staring, scanning them from head to toe, drooling like dogs staring at raw meat.

"Well, well... the little princesses have arrived."

"Fresh meat. Think they know how to moan yet?"

"Bet the blonde screams loud when she’s in pain."

"And the dark one looks like she bites. Better tie her up right."

Selene tried to stay strong, but Lyria sobbed loudly, clinging to her arm, trying to hide.

"Don’t look at them. Don’t look. Just breathe," Selene whispered, shielding her with her body.

They were taken through a damp, dark corridor reeking of urine and sweat. Long stairs descended deeper and deeper. No sun. No hope.

"Stop here," a tall woman commanded, a coiled whip hanging from her belt. "Time for a bath."

"Don’t touch us!" Selene growled, her eyes glowing faintly with bright yellow.

"Take it all off," the woman said, ignoring her completely.

Two soldiers stepped in and, with trained brutality, tore the remains of their dresses from their bodies.

Lyria screamed, covering her chest. Selene lunged to protect her, but was grabbed by the hair and slammed against the wall.

"Leave the little rebel bitch to me," the woman said. "You two handle the blonde."

They were both thrown naked into a stone tub where two other slaves poured buckets of ice-cold water over them. The water mixed with soap, and rough hands scrubbed every inch of their bodies with violence.

"No! Stop! Don’t touch me!" Lyria begged, sobbing.

Selene tried to pull her sister away, tried to protect her, to fight, but a kick to her ribs knocked her down.

"Want to play protector? Then you’re gonna learn how to obey," the woman yelled, shoving her head under the water.

Selene choked on soap, coughed, but didn’t scream. She refused to give them the satisfaction.

The other slaves watched in silence, some with pity, others with indifference.

"You think you’re special, huh?" the woman sneered. "Little princesses... Hah! Here, you're just two more filthy whores, and you’ll learn that fast."

Selene lifted her chin, even with her face cut and her knees bruised.

"You can beat me, drag me... but I’ll never be one of you."

The woman smiled. That was exactly what she wanted to hear.

"Then let’s teach the little bitch how to kneel."

Selene was dragged by the hair to the center of the stone hall. Soldiers laughed around her. Lyria tried to get up but could barely stand, crying out for her sister.

The woman slowly uncoiled her whip and cracked it in the air. The sound sliced like a blade through the room.

"This is your first lesson, princess. In here, you don’t own anything. No dignity, no will. You get what we allow you to have."

The first strike was sharp, cutting through the air, and her delicate skin.

With the first lash, Selene tensed her muscles and bit her lip, doing everything not to scream. That only made the slave handler, Emma, even angrier. She hit again. And again. Each strike harder than the last.

Lyria screamed in desperation.

"STOP! PLEASE, SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!"

But no one listened.

The other slaves lowered their heads.

Selene trembled. Each blow shredded not just her skin but her pride. Still, she didn’t beg. Even with thick tears running down her face, she never screamed.

"Enough," said a female voice, loud, arrogant.

Everyone turned. Instantly, the handler dropped to her knees as a tall, stunning woman entered the room. Her dress was flawless, elegant, with a corset made of the finest lace. She looked out of place in such filth.

"Luna Saphira," the handler said, still kneeling. "I was only educating her."

"Of course you were. You’re the best at that. But she’s going to die if you keep it up," Saphira said as she walked closer. "Are these the ones from Crimson Moon?"

Selene gasped for breath, on her knees, arms limp at her sides, blood dripping down her back.

Saphira walked up to her. Her heels echoed across the room. She stopped in front of the girl and, without warning, spat in her face.

"A filthy mutt with noble blood," she hissed, laughing like it was the best joke she’d ever heard. "You’re nothing here. Not a princess. Not a warrior. Just another filthy slave."

Selene shut her eyes. Lyria cried in the background, hands over her ears, like she wished she could disappear.

Saphira bent down, her lips brushing Selene’s ear.

"You’re not leaving this place alive," she whispered, venom dripping from every word.

Up on the staircase, Anton watched.

Silent. Arms crossed. His face a mask of indifference, but something inside him stirred. He stared at the slave girl as if he couldn’t understand why seeing her like that felt... like it hurt.

But at the same time, he was impressed by her strength.

"A stubborn slave shouldn’t please me," he thought, growling to himself and sighing.

There was something about her he couldn’t name yet. But in that moment, he made one thing clear in his mind:

He wouldn’t let anyone break that she-wolf.

Not before he did.