CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lyra’s pov

The last thing I wanted was attention. Not from the other servants, not from the warriors, and definitely not from the king.

So, I vanished.

Or tried to.

Every morning, I woke up before the others, dragging myself from the hard stone floor of the servant quarters and disappearing into whatever task I could find. I’d clean the halls that didn’t need cleaning, scrub armor racks that hadn’t seen use in years. Anything that gave me an excuse to stay far, far away from the throne room, the war rooms, the east wing.

Anywhere he might be.

I avoided Garrick too, no matter how kind his eyes or soft his voice. The moment his tall figure appeared around a corner or his scent touched the air, I slipped through a door or ducked behind crates. One time I hid in a broom closet for nearly half an hour until I was sure he’d gone.

Pathetic? Maybe.

Necessary? Absolutely.

My heart couldn’t take it. Not after that night in the forest. Not after that dream. That vision. It still haunted me even though I refused to speak of it—especially because I refused to speak of it. The Moon Goddess had touched me. She had whispered to me.

And I was still pretending it hadn’t happened.

It was easier to think of it as a hallucination born from too much pain and too little food. After all, I wasn’t chosen. I wasn’t special. I was Lyra—the mistake, the disgrace, the girl who barely survived the pack that raised her.

I wasn’t anyone.

The other servants hadn’t forgotten the night in the kitchen. Though none dared lay hands on me, their eyes were sharper than ever, their laughter louder when I entered a room. Tessa threw smirks like daggers, whispering just loud enough that I’d catch words like pet and whore. The omegas watched me like I was something contagious.

I took it all in silence.

Because silence was safety.

And safety was survival.

By the seventh day of dodging Garrick, I was certain I was getting good at this. I hadn’t so much as seen the king’s shadow. I’d been careful. Too careful. My body still ached from overworking, my thoughts scrambled with sleep deprivation, but I didn’t care. It was worth it not to see those golden eyes.

Not to feel that stare.

I was almost proud as I made my way back to the servant quarters late that night. My arms were sore from hauling buckets, my fingers raw from scrubbing marble, but I was too tired to feel anything but relief.

I rounded the final corner, exhaling in quiet triumph. Just a few more steps and I could collapse.

Then a shape moved from the shadows.

I froze.

My heart dropped into my stomach as a tall figure stepped into the moonlight—broad shoulders, black cloak, golden eyes like dying suns.

No.

I instinctively took a step back, my spine pressing against the cold stone wall. “Y-Your Majesty…” I breathed.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just watched me.

The silence stretched thin, vibrating with something dangerous.

“Have you enjoyed hiding from me?” His voice was calm. Too calm. It made my skin prickle.

“I wasn’t hiding,” I lied instantly, like breathing.

A brow arched. “No?”

“I’ve been working.” I tried to straighten up, act like I wasn’t shaking inside.

“And dodging Garrick?”

“I didn’t…” I paused. There was no use lying again. He’d seen right through me. “I just needed time.”

“To ignore the vision?” he asked.

What?!

My breath caught.

I didn’t answer.

“I know you dreamt something,” he said, stepping forward. “I saw you in the forest, Lyra. I saw what touched you.”

I backed up until I couldn’t anymore. My shoulders hit stone.

“How long,” he said, voice dropping lower, “did you think you could run from me?”

My throat dried up.

I searched his face for cruelty, for the same venom he’d shown in the kitchen that night.

But it wasn’t there.

He didn’t look angry.

He looked… haunted.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“Say something,” he said.

Still, I couldn’t speak.

He moved closer until the air between us shrank to nothing. I could smell the forest on his skin, the intoxication in his scent. My knees trembled.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said suddenly, softly. “I don’t… want to.”

Then why did it feel like I couldn’t breathe?

He reached out, like he was going to touch my face—then stopped.

His hand hovered in the air.

“I don’t understand what you are,” he whispered. “But I can’t look away.”

And just like that, I knew—

I’d been cornered.

Not just in this hallway.

But by fate.

By him.