Helen's POV My body shakes so violently I cannot lift my head. I try to beg for a second chance, but the words die in my throat, my wolf howls inside me, and my heart splinters into pieces I know I will never find again. Derek stands before me, soon-to-be Alpha of the Red Velvet Pack, the man I thought loved me. Or chose me, at least, until we discovered we were mates and he rejected me on the spot. His grey eyes are cold. The chandeliers catch in his blond hair, and his handsome face twists with disgust. He looks at me like I have always been nothing. "I, Derek of Red Velvet Pack, reject you, Helen of Red Velvet Pack, as my mate." His voice rings through the great hall. The nobles hear it, and the warriors, and the slaves, and they all watch me fall. The bond snaps like a body torn in half. My wolf screams, my soul bleeds, and I cannot breathe. "I would never pick a lowlife slave like you," he says, loud and cruel and final. "Did you really think I could ever want you? Did you really think I cared?" I lift my head, hazel eyes wet, red hair falling across my face, and for the first time I see him clearly. He never cared. Not about me, not about the slaves his pack holds, not about anyone but himself. Only I believed his smiles and trusted his kindness. I was a fool. "I accept your rejection." My voice is steady, and I have no idea how. He flinches, slightly, but enough. The bond does not care about rank or power. It knows only truth, and the truth is that he just destroyed something sacred. I do not wait for his answer. I turn and walk, because I will not run and give him that. I walk past the laughing nobles, past the sneering warriors, past the slaves watching me with pity, out through the gates and into the dark, cold forest, the one place no one follows. There my legs give out, and I collapse beside a still forest pool. The tears fall like rain, like blood, like everything I have ever lost. I cry for my mother, my father, my brother, the life I should have had, the girl I used to be. I even cry for the mate who rejected me. I cry until I am hollow. Then I lie on the cold ground and look up at the full moon, bright and watching. "You chose him for me," I whisper. "You chose a monster." The moon does not answer. But inside me, my wolf stirs, the wolf who has never once answered my call to shift, weak and wounded and alive. So am I. I close my eyes and let the memories come. My mother kneeling before me, her hazel eyes the same as mine, her hands tight on my shoulders. Helen, you need to run. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see. Run and don't look back. My father's gentle voice, Protect her, Samantha. She is all we have left. Then smoke and firelight, and the Red Velvet wolves closing around us in the dark. I open my eyes. The pool is still. I am eighteen years old. I am a slave, rejected and alone. How cruel can my life get? I stand on shaking legs and brush the dirt from my torn clothes. They still smell of the Red Keep. I walk back barefoot through the forest, stones cutting my feet, and I feel none of it. The slave quarters are dim, the door creaking under my hand. Everyone is awake, huddled on their mats, whispering. They see me and fall silent. Then it starts again. "Look who finally came back." "The rejected one. She thought she was special." "Quiet," an older voice murmurs from the corner. "The Alpha has ears everywhere. Do not make yourself his next target." I walk past them with my head high and my eyes forward, and I hear every word. I reach my mat, pull my knees to my chest, and stare at the wall. I try to block them out. I try to disappear. A hand lands on my shoulder. Julia sits beside me and pulls me into her arm. "Don't listen to them," she says, soft and angry. "They're jealous. They're cruel. They know nothing." Samantha appears, older and weathered, and kneels to take my hands, her eyes wet. "My child. My poor child." "I'm fine," I say, hollow. My eyes are dry. I have no tears left. "You're not." Samantha squeezes my hands. "You don't have to be, not with us." Behind us the whispers creep back. *She got what she deserved. She should have known her place.* Julia whirls on them, eyes blazing. "Shut up! All of you!" Her pointing hand shakes. "At least she got a mate! At least she felt the bond! What do the rest of us have? Nothing!" The slaves look away, with no answer. Julia turns back to me and takes my other hand. "Don't let them win. Not Derek, not the whispers, not this place. You are stronger than all of them." *** A hand shakes my shoulder, gentle but urgent. "Helen. Wake up." Julia leans over me, her face tight with worry. Behind her, Samantha is awake too, and pale. "There's a slave here from the main house," Julia says. "Derek wants to see you. Now." His name hits like a slap. The man who rejected me, humiliated me, broke me. "Why?" "The slave didn't say." I sit up, and the cold air bites my skin. Samantha touches my arm. "You can refuse." "And if I do," I say, "what happens?" She does not answer. She does not need to. I stand. "I'll go." "Helen, no." Julia grabs my hand. "He hurt you. He rejected you. He..." "I know." I pull free. "But he is the Alpha now, and I am a slave. I don't have a choice. Stay here. I'll be back." The night air is cold, the moon high, the stars watching as I walk toward the main house. The Red Keep is beautiful, and I hate that it is. Red stone walls glow in the moonlight, tall arched windows catch the light, gardens bloom with flowers that smell too sweet, and fountains trickle like laughter. Perfect and cruel. I remember the first time I saw it, at ten years old, covered in ash, my hands bloody, my parents dead, as the Red Velvet wolves dragged me through those gates. I have been here ever since. The guards do not stop me on the steps. They know who I am: the rejected slave, the one who thought she could be Luna. In the main hall the candles burn, the portraits watch, and the marble is cold beneath my bare feet. Footsteps. I turn. Derek walks toward me in fine clothes, his blond hair perfect, his grey eyes cold, his handsome face smug. He stops a few feet away and looks me over, slowly, like something to be examined. Something to be owned. "Helen. Thank you for coming." I say nothing. He gestures to a chair. "Sit." "No." His eyes narrow, but he lets it go and sits himself, crossing his legs, studying me like a puzzle. "You are angry. I understand. The rejection was harsh, but I am the Alpha now. I cannot have a slave as my mate. It would weaken my position. It would make me a joke." He leans forward, eyes bright. "But I am not a cruel man, Helen. I am willing to be generous." My stomach turns. I know what is coming before he says it. "You can still be mine. Not as my mate, not as my Luna, but as my concubine. You will warm my bed and bear my children, and you will be taken care of." His smile is beautiful, and it is a lie. "Isn't that generous? I could have thrown you out. I could have sold you. I could have had you killed. Instead I am offering you a place, a purpose, a life." Something cold and hard stirs inside me, something that has been building for years. "No." His smile falters. "What?" "No." My voice is calm, my hands steady. "I will not be your concubine. I will not warm your bed or bear your children. I will not be your anything." His face twists, and his eyes go dark. "You don't have a choice."

Helen's POV Five days. Five days since the rejection, since Derek's offer, since I refused. Five days of hell. The alarm sounds before dawn, and I wake on the hard floor with my back aching and my bones creaking. I am eighteen, and my body feels like an old woman's. I wash my face in cold water, pin my hair back, and glance at my reflection in the shard of broken mirror: tired eyes, hollow cheeks, new scars. I look away. The kitchen is already chaos, with pots clanging, fires roaring, and the smell of food I will never taste. Someone shoves a tray into my arms, then another, then another, piled with roasted meat, fresh bread, and honeyed fruit. My stomach growls. I ignore it. "Move," a guard says, pushing me forward. "The Alpha's sisters are waiting." The royal quarters lie on the far side of the keep, down corridors and up stairs, past guards who sneer, nobles who look away, and servants who whisper. My arms burn and the plates rattle, and if anything spills, I will be punished. The guard's boots echo behind me, his eyes boring into my back. "Hurry up, slave. The ladies don't like to wait." I balance the trays on one arm and knock on the tall, carved door. "Come in." Sunlight pours through the windows onto walls painted with flowers and furniture soft with money. The air smells of roses and perfume. Two golden-haired women lounge by the window in silk, laughing. Elara and Mira, Derek's sisters, the princesses of the Red Velvet Pack. The laughter stops. "Well," Elara says. "Look who it is." "The rejected one," Mira says, smirking. I keep my head bowed and carry the trays to the table. Smoke and dust cling to my face, and Elara wrinkles her nose. "You smell like the kitchen." "You look like a rat," Mira adds. I say nothing and arrange the plates, my hands shaking with exhaustion. The first plate is fine. The second is fine. I reach for the third. My hand slips. The plate crashes, and meat, bread, and honeyed fruit spill across the expensive carpet. "You clumsy fool!" Elara shrieks. Mira steps toward me, eyes cold. "Do you know what that carpet costs? More than your worthless life." I drop to my knees and scoop up the food with my bare hands. It is hot, and it burns my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry." "Useless," Elara says, laughing. "Useless and rejected." "Derek was right to reject you," Mira says, kicking the food aside. "He told us all about his generous offer, you know. Look at her, crawling on the floor like an animal. Maybe that's why he wanted her as a concubine. Maybe he likes animals." My hands go still. *Concubine. Animal. Rejected.* I want to scream, to cry, to run. Instead I lift my head and meet their bright, hungry eyes. "Did we hurt your feelings?" Mira asks, mocking. I stand, stained and grimy, and my voice comes out calm. "You can't hurt me. You are spoiled children who have never known pain." Their mouths fall open. "How dare you," Elara starts. "You think you are better than me? You are cruel and petty and small. All you have is your brother's name, and when it falls, you will have nothing." The room goes silent. Elara's face flushes red, and Mira's hands tremble. "You will pay for this," she whispers. I set the plate back on the tray. "Perhaps. But not today." I turn for the door, and Elara screams for the guards. They seize my arms and haul me back. Elara's hand rises, and the slap comes without warning, snapping my head sideways. "Did you really think a slave could be Luna?" she hisses. "You are nothing," Mira says, and shoves me down. My knees hit the stone. "Crying like a child?" "I'm not crying." They circle me, laughing, their voices cutting where their hands do not. Worthless. Rat. I stare at the floor and endure it, because that is what slaves do. We endure, we survive, we wait. The door opens. I know those footsteps. Foolishly, helplessly, my heart leaps. *Maybe he will stop them. Maybe he will be the man I thought he was.* "What is this?" Derek sounds bored. "Why is the slave on the floor?" "She was insolent," Elara says. "She spilled the food and called us spoiled children." I wait for him to defend me, to pull me up and say *enough*. He hauls me up by the arm, rough and careless, and I look at him with blood on my lip and pleading in my eyes. His grey eyes show nothing at all. "Remember your place," he says, low and hard. "You do not speak to my sisters that way. You do not speak to anyone that way." My heart shatters for the second time in five days. He drops my arm. "Come. I need to speak with you." In the empty corridor he turns on me. "Have you thought about my offer?" "Yes," I say. "My answer is no." His smile is cold and cruel. "You are stubborn. I like that. But it will not save you." "I don't need saving. Not from you." He laughs, short and sharp. "We will see how long you last. How long before you come to me and beg." "I will never beg you." He steps close enough that his breath warms my skin. "You will. They always do. You will break, and when you do, I will be waiting." "I would rather die." He smiles and steps back. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind and make you." I walk out of the Red Keep with my cheek throbbing and my lip still bleeding. The morning is cold, the sky grey, the sun hidden behind clouds. I do not know where I am going. I only know I have to move. I find a shadowed gap between two buildings, lean against the wall, and close my eyes. *In. Out. In. Out.* I survive. "Helen." Gwen, the head maid, stands before me, her face unreadable, her eyes cold. She studies the bruise and the blood. "Clean yourself up. The Lycan King arrives today, and you have been assigned to serve him." I stare at her. "The Lycan King? Why me?" "You know how to be invisible. You know how to keep your mouth shut." I laugh, bitter. "You clearly haven't heard what happened with the Alpha's sisters." "I heard. Forget it. You will be polite, and you will be invisible. Understood?" My jaw tightens. "Understood." She walks away, and her words settle on me like a weight. The Lycan King. Ruler of Lunaria. The most powerful wolf in the kingdom. And I am to serve him. Back in the slave quarters, I wash my face, fix my hair, and put on the cleanest clothes I own, old and worn but clean. Julia watches with worried eyes. "Are you okay?" "No," I say. "But I will be." Samantha presses a small cloth into my hand. "For the swelling." I hold it to my cheek, and the cold eases the pain. "Thank you," I whisper. She only nods. She does not need to say more. The kitchen is chaos again, until Gwen claps her hands and sends the other slaves off to ready the great hall. In seconds the room is nearly empty. She points me to a corner. "The Lycan King's tea. You will make it yourself. No one else knows how." On the small table sit a kettle, a cup, and a box of ingredients. My ingredients. My mother's. The box is old and worn, and when I open it, the smell hits me: lavender, chamomile, honey, and something else, something secret that only my mother knew. I can almost hear her voice. *The secret is in the timing. The water must be just right, the leaves must steep just long enough, and you must pour with love. Always with love.* My hands are steady and my mind is clear. For this one moment, I am not a slave. I am my mother's daughter. I pour the water, add the leaves, and wait. The tea is perfect. I can smell it, feel it. I reach for the cup. The steam curls up, lavender and honey and that last secret note, and something deep in my chest answers it. A pull, strange and magnetic, tugs at me from somewhere close, as if something out there has called my name. Then my body convulses. My bones crack, my skin stretches, my muscles tear. The cup shatters on the floor. I hit my knees, vision blurring, limbs wrenching apart. My wolf is coming. No. Not here. Not now. I try to push her down, but she is too strong. I scream. And then I shift. I land on four white paws, silver-eyed and glowing. The kitchen is silent. The others are gone, and I am alone. Or I thought I was. And then I see someone.

Xavier POV The first thing I notice is the smell. It hits me the moment I step out of the carriage: blood, old and new, soaked into the stones, the air, the earth itself. I stand still, breathe, and force my face to stay calm. My father told me the Red Velvet Pack was ruthless and ambitious, and that they kept slaves. He did not tell me it would feel like this. The pain radiates from the walls and the ground and the people who pass with bowed heads and empty eyes, shoulders slumped, hands trembling, flinching at every sound. They are broken, every one of them, and pretending to be whole. I want to free them. But I am here to sign an alliance, to be a prince, to play the game. I hate it. A tall blond man approaches, grey eyes cold, smile wide. He looks like a saint and feels like a snake. "Prince Xavier. Welcome to the Red Velvet Pack. I am Derek, the Alpha." I do not smile or bow. I just look. "You are younger than I was told," he says. "The reports said the Lycan King was old. Gray. Tired." "You were told about my father. I am not my father." His smile widens. "No. You are not." He gestures toward the keep. "Come. We have much to discuss." I follow with my face blank and my hands still, while my mind races. Slaves fill the corridors, kitchens, and gardens, working, serving, bowing. They are wolves, like me, like him, like everyone, and they are treated like animals. I want to demand how he can look at them and see property. Instead I repeat what I have been telling myself since the carriage: I am here to build a bridge, to change things from the inside. In the great hall, with its red stone, golden light, and paintings of wolves and moons and battles, Derek pours out talk of trade routes, territory, resources, power. "The alliance will benefit us both." "My father believes in cooperation." "Cooperation," he repeats, smiling. "Yes." I nod and say the right words, but all I see are branded wrists and empty eyes. When he slides a paper across the table, "Standard terms, nothing you need to worry about," I do not even read it. I am tired, and I am sick of this place. "Excuse me. I need air." "Of course. The courtyard is through those doors." The courtyard is quiet, the moon high, the air cool. I breathe deeply and let the tension leave my shoulders. Then I see it. A white wolf, pure as snow and moonlight, stands in the shadows with its head low and its body still, watching me. I have seen Alphas, warriors, rogues. This is different. Power rolls off it like heat from a fire, and it holds itself like royalty. On its belly is a ring of silver, a mark I do not recognize. I take a step closer. It does not move. Another step, and its silver eyes glow in the dark. I stop. I do not know the mark, but I know what this power means. This is no Alpha's blood. It is the blood of the Moon Goddess, the blood of the first Lycans. I pull off my cloak and walk toward her, slow and careful. She does not flinch, does not growl, does not run. I kneel and lay the cloak over her, and she trembles. She is afraid, but not of me. Then, as though she has been waiting her whole life for someone to see her, she shifts. Her fur recedes, her bones crack and stretch, and a woman kneels in my cloak, pale and thin, her face bruised, her wrists branded. Her hair is red, so red it looks like fire, like sunset, like blood. She looks up at me with hazel eyes, tired and afraid and beautiful. I cannot speak. She is the white wolf. She is royal blood. She is everything. Shouts erupt from the keep, then pounding footsteps. Her eyes widen, and she grabs my arm. "We have to run." "Wait. I am..." "There is no time. They will find us. They will hurt you, and they will hurt me." Her eyes plead. "Please. Trust me." And I do. I do not know why. She pulls, and I follow, through the garden, the trees, the shadows. She knows the way, as if she has run it before, and she never looks back while the shouts behind us grow louder. I am the Lycan Prince, the future King, and I am supposed to be signing an alliance. Instead I am running through the forest with a slave girl I have never met, and I do not care. She stops against a tree, breathing hard, hands shaking. "Thank you. For the cloak. For not hurting me. For trusting me." I want to ask who she is, what she is, why she is hiding. The words will not come. "I have to go," she says. "They will punish me if they find me." "Wait." I reach for her. "What is your name?" Her eyes are sad. "Helen." She turns and vanishes into the trees. My hand is still reaching. Helen. I will find her again.