RAVEN’S POV

The servant’s quarter smells like old soaps mixed together.

They gave me a room. Tiny. A cot, a basin, and a hook on the wall for clothes I don’t have.

The head of household - Mrs Garret - looked me up and down this morning with the kind of expression reserved for things you’d usually find at the bottom of your shoes.

“You’ll start in the kitchen. Dawn to dusk. If you’re useful, you stay, if not, you leave.”

Simple enough.

Except nothing about this is simple.

I’m on my knees now, scrubbing the main hall floors. The stone is cold. Unforgiving. My knees are already bruising through the thin pants they gave me to wear.

Water sloshes in the bucket beside me. My hands are raw. Red. The stone Mrs Garret gave me is industrial strength. Made for floors, not skin.

But I keep scrubbing.

Around me, the pack house is waking up. Wolves moving through the halls. Heading to breakfast. Some, to training. And others going to their various lives.

They don’t look at me.

Omegas are invisible. Servants even more so.

I knew this, obviously. But living it is different.

A pair of boots stop beside my bucket.

One of Amara’s handmaidens. Nerissa. We used to laugh together back in the day. She taught me card once.

She doesn’t recognize me now.

“Move,” she says flatly. “You’re blocking the hallway.”

“Sorry,” I shift to the side, still on my knees.

She steps past without another glance.

I continue scrubbing.

This is fine. This is good, actually. Being invisible means I’m unnoticed. Unnoticed mess I can watch, listen, and learn.

The morning drags on. My back aches. My knees hurt. But I manage to finish the man hall.

Mrs Garret inspects my work with narrowed eyes. Looking for any excuse to criticise.

Unfortunately for her, she finds nothing.

“Kitchen next,” she says. “Breakfast dishes.”

The kitchen is chaos.

A pack of three hundred means a mountain load of dishes. I’m elbow deep in greasy water within minutes.

The other kitchen staff - three women I vaguely remember - walk around me like I’m some furniture.

I wash. Rinse. Stack.

My hands are bleeding now. Small cut from a broken glass hidden in the suds. But I don’t stop.

Can’t stop.

“Hey, new girl.” One of the women - Sarah, I think - gestures to the cabinet. “Put those teacups away when you’re done.”

I glance over, and my stomach drops.

Mother’s teacup set.

The delicate blue flowers. The gold rim.

My hands shake as I lift one from the drying rack. It’s still beautiful.

“Careful with those,” Sarah warns. “They belonged to Luna. Well. The would-be Luna. Alpha’s very particular about them.”

Would be Luna.

That’s what I am now. A would be. An almost.

I put the cups away gently. Each one carefully placed in the cabinet.

When I turn back, Nerissa and two other handmaidens have entered the kitchen.

They’re giggling about something. Probably Amara. They always orbit around her like her moons.

One of them - Jessica - is carrying a pitcher of water.

She sees me.

Something flickers in her eyes. Not recognition. More like malice. The casual cruelty people show newcomers when they know there won’t be consequences.

She trips.

On nothing.

The water spills all over the floor I just finished mopping.

“Oops.” Jessica’s smile is sharp. “Looks like someone needs to clean that up.”

The other handmaidens laugh.

I stare at the water that’s just spreading across the stone. Then at my bucket and rag sitting in the corner.

I could say something.

But Raven doesn’t have the right to speak.

So I just nod. “I’ll get it.”

I’m reaching for my bucket when -

“Raven.”

The voice comes from the doorway.

I freeze.

That voice.

I turn slowly.

Adrian.

He’s standing in his training gear. Shirt sticking to his skin with sweat. Hair neatly tied back.

The Beta.

Damien’s best friend.

He’s staring at me. Not through me like the others. At me.

“Your hands,” he says.

I look down. Blood is dropping from my fingers. Small drops are now hitting the floor.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “Just some cuts. I’ll -“

“Come here.”

It’s not a request.

I cross over to him slowly. Aware of every eye in the kitchen watching heavily.

He takes my hands in his. His touch is gentle. Very careful.

A soldier’s hand examining damages.

“These need to be wrapped.” His voice is controlled. Measured. But something I. My wolf stirs.

He pulls a clean cloth from his pocket. Typical Adrian. Always prepared.

He wraps my hands with efficiency. Not tight enough to hurt. But just enough to stop the bleeding.

“War taught me to protect,” he says. Almost to himself. “I failed once.”

Then his eyes meet mine.

“Never again.”

There’s something in his gaze. Something I can’t quite read. Something that makes my breath catch.

The handmaidens are whispering behind us.

Adrian doesn’t look at them. Just focuses on wrapping my hands.

“Thank you, Beta.” I manage.

He nods once. Then he’s gone.

The kitchen erupts in whispers the moment he’s out the door.

“Did you see that?”

“The Beta never notices servants.”

“What’s so special about her?”

I don’t answer. Just pick my bucket and start mopping the spilled water.

Adrian actually saw me.

Not Mia. Not a memory.

Just me. He saw Raven.

And I don’t know what that means.

I catch it.

A bit too perfectly - one handed, and the yard goes still.

No shit.

“Spar with me,” Adrian says.