Elara's pov

The sleeping quarters were worse than I imagined.

After our grand welcome and by grand, I mean the king nearly snapping our spines with his voice alone, Clara, the ever-smiling venom in human form, led us down a stone corridor that stank of mildew and sweat. Her heels clicked sharply on the ground as she turned to us, looking far too pleased for someone ushering humans to their temporary cages.

“Welcome to your new home,” she chirped, spreading her arms with mock smiles. “Female quarters are on this side. Males on the other. You’re not allowed to mingle after dark unless instructed. And if you get caught sneaking around...well, I hear the dungeons are cozy before castration.”

She winked. Someone behind me choked.

Clara turned back to the girls. “Now, here’s how this works. You see the bunks? If there’s a blanket on top, it’s taken. If it’s bare, it’s yours assuming you can grab one in time. The linen closet is that way.” She pointed down a shadowed hallway. “Run. Fight. Bleed if you must. Blankets mean survival. Don’t sleep without one unless you like waking up with frostbite or fleas chewing on your ears.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then Clara smiled wider. “Oh. Did I forget to mention? There are fewer blankets than beds. Good luck!”

It was a bloodbath.

Girls sprinted, shoved, scratched. I saw someone throw an elbow hard enough to knock another girl against the wall. I moved fast, years of surviving in the compound teaching me how to avoid fists and find opportunities.

I snagged a blanket from a smaller pile near the back and turned toward the bunks. The best ones by the windows and closest to the hallway were already taken. All that remained were the ones near the damp stone wall or next to the bathroom door.

I chose the bathroom.

It was loud. Constant foot traffic. And the stench from inside promised headaches. But at least it was a corner. Fewer people to watch my back.

I laid the blanket down and sat on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding. My fingers shook from the adrenaline, from the growing weight in my stomach.

It had been nearly two days since I last ate.

I lay down, trying to sleep but that was hard. I drifted in and out, ears always tuned to movement, to footsteps that didn’t belong. Morning, if that’s what it could be called in this ever-dim castle, came with the toll of a distant bell.

My stomach cramped as I stood. I walked with the others toward the mess hall, a dull ache filled my limbs.

The food was simple. Gruel and stale bread. But the moment I sat down and lifted a spoon to my lips, Clara appeared beside me like a witch.

I got back a sigh.

“Mind if I join you?”

I didn't answer. Just glanced up briefly before returning my gaze to the bowl.

She sat anyway, primly crossing her legs like she was in a parlor rather than a servant’s dining room.

“I always watch the new ones. It’s funny,” she began, voice light, “how they think they’ll survive. That maybe, just maybe, if they keep their heads down, they won’t end up as bloodstains on the walls.”

I said nothing. Took one bite. The taste made my dry throat burn.

Clara leaned in, her breath like rosewater and rot. “You won’t last. You’re too thin. Too soft. The king doesn’t like fragile things unless they break beautifully.”

My stomach twisted tighter, the food in my mouth suddenly hard to swallow.

“Do you know how many humans have died here? How many I’ve seen thrown from the tower for forgetting to polish a doorknob? Or worse how many he’s kept alive just to see how long it takes before they beg for death?”

She smiled sweetly. “You should smile more, Elara. You have a nice face. Shame it’ll be ruined soon.”

I dropped my spoon.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she said brightly. “You start earlier than the others. Something about testing your obedience or whatever. You’ve got, oh—” she checked an invisible watch on her wrist, “—two minutes. His chambers are at the top of the castle. Better run.”

My legs scraped the bench as I stood. The others stared. No one offered help. I didn’t expect them to.

I ran.

Up stone staircases, across endless corridors. My lungs burned. My vision swam. Each step was harder than the last but I didn’t stop.

I should have knocked.

I didn’t.

I pushed the massive door open with both hands, heart still hammering, and stumbled in.

And froze.

The chamber was massive, carved from stone and wood. The fireplace roared, casting flickers of shadow on the far wall. A towering bed sat beneath a canopy of wolf-fur, and just beside it—

He stood.

King Kaelen.

His back was to me, shirtless, muscles carved like iron, a clawed hand dragging slowly through his wet hair. He turned when the door clicked shut behind me, gold eyes catching the light.

For a second, he said nothing.

Then he moved.

One second I stood there. The next, I was airborne.

Pain exploded in my side as I slammed into a bookshelf. Wood cracked. My breath left me.

He crossed the room in three long strides, his bare feet silent on the stone.

“You don’t enter without being summoned,” he growled, voice like thunder cracking through the bones of the earth. “You knock. You wait. Do you think you’re above rules?”

I tried to speak. Couldn't.

He grabbed the front of my dress, yanked me up until my feet left the floor. His face was close, breath cold.

“You’re not special,” he hissed. “You’re not wanted. You’re a piece of meat that will rot the moment I grow bored.”

He dropped me.

I collapsed to the ground, coughing, throat raw.

“Clean this room. Everything. Not a single hair on the floor. If I find dust, you’ll wish I killed you today.”

Then he turned away, dismissing me like a stain on his boots.

I lay there for a moment, listening to the heavy sound of his footsteps as he disappeared through another door.

My arms trembled as I pushed myself upright.

Blood dripped from a cut on my brow.

My ribs ached with every breath.

But I stood.

Because I had to.

Because I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me break.

Not yet.