LYRA

The blood never came out completely.

I scrubbed at the linen until my knuckles were raw and the water turned from pink to red to something darker, but the stains always remained. Faint brown marks that whispered of omega blood spilled in punishment or "accident."

My mother said I was too gentle, that I needed to put my back into it if I wanted to survive in this world. But she didn't understand that no amount of scrubbing would ever make these sheets clean.

Just like everything else in Frostveil.

"Lyra." My mother's voice cut through my thoughts. "Stop daydreaming. Lady Corvina wants her chambers prepared before sunset."

My stomach twisted at the mention of the High Alpha's daughter. Lady Corvina had a particular talent for finding fault in everything I did, and an even greater talent for making sure I paid for it.

I gathered the damp linens and stepped outside. Snow fell from the grey sky, blanketing the estate in deceptive beauty—as if something so pristine could hide the rot underneath. Around me, other omegas moved like ghosts—heads down, voices silent.

"Still alive, I see." Thea's voice was flat, emotionless.

"Barely," I murmured.

"Heard Lady Corvina's been asking about you again. Said you looked at her wrong during assembly."

I hadn't looked at anyone. But it didn't matter. Lady Corvina didn't need reasons; she only needed excuses.

"Doesn't matter what you did or didn't do," Thea continued. "She's bored, and you're entertainment. That's how it works."

In Frostveil, omegas weren't pack members—we were possessions. We had no voice, no rights, no protection. The hierarchy was absolute: Alphas ruled, Betas served them, and omegas simply endured.

Or we didn't.

"My mother thinks if I keep my head down long enough, they'll forget about me," I said quietly.

Thea's laugh was bitter. "Your mother's been keeping her head down for twenty-five years, Lyra. Has it helped?"

No. It hadn't.

"Get inside before someone notices you're taking too long. You know what happens then."

I did know. Last month, an omega named Selia had taken too long returning from the market. They'd found her three days later in the forest, her body broken. The official report said rogues. Everyone knew better.

***

The walk to Lady Corvina's chambers felt like a march to execution.

I kept to the servants' corridors, my footsteps silent on the cold stone. I was almost to Lady Corvina's wing when I heard voices ahead.

"—disgusting, really. Did you see the way it looked at him?"

My blood ran cold. Cressida, one of Lady Corvina's friends.

"As if an omega could ever be worthy of an Alpha's attention," another voice laughed. "They're barely better than animals."

"Worse than animals. At least animals know their place."

I pressed myself against the wall, praying they would pass without seeing me.

"Well, well. Speaking of animals."

Cressida stepped into the corridor, blocking my path. Blonde hair perfectly curled, ice-blue eyes cold and calculating. Behind her, two other Beta females crowded close.

"I... I need to prepare Lady Corvina's chambers," I managed, keeping my eyes lowered.

"Do you? Funny. I don't remember giving you permission to speak."

The slap came so fast I didn't see it coming. Pain exploded across my cheek, and I stumbled backward, the basket of supplies clattering to the floor.

"Did it speak again?" one of the other girls giggled. "Gods, they really are stupid creatures."

"Pick it up," Cressida ordered.

I dropped to my knees immediately, gathering bottles and cloths with shaking hands. This was fine. This was normal. As long as I obeyed, it would end soon.

But Cressida's foot came down on my hand, grinding my fingers into the stone.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry out. Crying out only made it worse.

"You know what I think? I think omegas like you need to be reminded of your place more often."

"What's happening here?"

The new voice cut through the corridor like a blade, and Cressida's foot lifted immediately. I looked up and saw him.

A stranger. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing simple traveling clothes. But there was nothing simple about the quiet authority he carried.

"Nothing that concerns you," Cressida said. "This is pack business."

"Is it?" He moved closer. "It looks like three Betas tormenting a servant."

"An omega," Cressida corrected, as if that explained everything.

The stranger's eyes found mine. Not pity—something else. Recognition, maybe. Or anger.

"Even so, I need someone to show me to the guest quarters. This one will do."

Cressida's expression darkened. "She has duties—"

"I'm a guest of High Alpha Corvus. Surely the Alpha's hospitality extends to providing a guide."

The corridor went silent. Politics won over cruelty.

"Of course," Cressida said through clenched teeth. She swept past, but not before leaning close: "This isn't over."

When they were gone, I remained kneeling, hands still shaking.

"You can stand," the stranger said gently.

I did, slowly, keeping my eyes lowered. "If you'll follow me, I can show you to the guest wing."

"Look at me."

The command was soft but firm. Against every survival instinct, I raised my eyes.

He was perhaps twenty-five, with dark hair and pale blue eyes—the color of ice under moonlight. But it was his expression that made my breath catch.

He was looking at me like I was a person.

Not an omega. Not property. A person.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Lyra," I whispered.

"Lyra." He repeated it like he was testing its weight. "I'm just passing through. Here to meet with the High Alpha."

Something about the pause made me think that wasn't entirely true.

We walked in silence before he spoke again. "Does that happen often? What I saw back there?"

Every day. Every hour. Every moment.

"It's nothing," I said instead.

"It didn't look like nothing."

"With respect, sir, what it looked like doesn't change what it is. That's just how things are in Frostveil."

"Just because something is doesn't mean it should be."

I stopped walking. Really looked at him. There was conviction in his expression, even anger on my behalf, as if my pain actually mattered.

It was the most dangerous thing I'd ever encountered.

Because hope was the cruelest torture of all.

"The guest wing is through those doors," I said, pointing ahead. "Someone will bring dinner at sunset."

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"Lyra."

I looked back despite myself.

"You deserve better than this," he said quietly.

Four words that cracked something open inside my chest—something I'd spent years building walls around.

So I did what I always did. I lowered my eyes, bowed my head, and pretended I hadn't heard him at all.

But as I walked away, I felt his gaze on my back like a brand.

And that forgotten part of me—the part that still believed in impossible things—whispered a question I couldn't silence:

What if the stranger who thought I deserved better was the same man who would destroy me?