LYRA'S POV If humiliating a suitor in front of half the pack was a crime, then I guess I deserved exile. My father didn't call it that, of course. He called it "discipline." Said I needed to "learn respect." So here I am, dumped at Frostfang, standing before the coldest fortress in the realm, waiting for the Alpha who's supposed to fix me. News flash: I'm not broken. The gate creaks open, and two guards step aside. "Alpha's inside," one of them says before leaving me to my fate. Inside, the mansion is too still. Too perfect. Stone walls, fur-lined chairs, a fireplace burning low. Everything smells like cedar and control. I drop my small bag on the floor and look around, wondering what kind of man lives in a place like this. "You're late." The voice comes from behind me... deep, calm, threaded with command. I turn. Alpha Corin D'Rael stands by the doorway, tall and broad, his shoulders draped in thick black fur for the cold. I force a smile. "I didn't realize there was a curfew for exiles." One dark brow lifts. "There is now." The silence stretches, heavy and daring. He steps closer, slow and deliberate. "You'll speak when spoken to. You'll follow my rules without question. You're here to learn discipline, not test it." "Respect is earned, Alpha," I say before I can stop myself. He pauses. Just a fraction. Then glances over his shoulder, a look so steady it pins me in place. "Then earn mine," he replies, and walks away. And now, my lessons begins.  __ A maid shows me to a room upstairs. It's big, but not as big as the one back home. Still, it's warm and clean. I start changing into something more comfortable when the maid knocks again. "The Lord Alpha wants you down in five minutes for dinner." "Lord Alpha, indeed," I mutter. "Got it." She leaves. I take my time anyway. By the time I get downstairs, he's already seated at the long table. His eyes lift as soon as I walk in. "You're late." "I'm a lady," I say, walking over. "I needed to get dressed properly." He gives a short nod to the chair across from him. "Sit." I smirk. "Didn't realize I was your pet." He doesn't respond. Just watches me until I sit anyway. Without all the fur, he looks different. There's a scar running from his right brow to just below his eye. When he looks up, I look away quickly. He speaks again, his voice steady. "Your act back home,humiliating a suitor in front of the council, was reckless. You embarrassed your family and your pack." "I embarrassed a man who couldn't take no for an answer," I shoot back. "Enough," he says sharply. "You'll learn when to speak." He leans back. "There are rules here. No lateness for meals or training. Lights out when the bell rings. Hair tied up at all times. A uniform will be provided." I stare at him. "What the hell is this, a primming school for losers?" "And most importantly," he says, ignoring me, "no talking back. You speak when you're asked to." Silence. Then he adds, "And yes. You are a loser." That hits. My chair scrapes against the floor as I start to stand. "I'm not sitting here while you-" "Break a rule," he cuts in. "You get punished. Now sit your ass down." I hold his gaze, chest tight. "Now," he says again, calm but cold. I sit. The fire crackles between us, and I realize one thing...This man isn't going to break easily. And neither will I. Dinner went by fast and silent. I was soon in my room, fuming. How dare he call me a loser? I sat on the bed, staring at the walls. Everything about this place screamed order. No laughter. No warmth. Just rules. When the bell rang somewhere in the distance, I frowned. That must've been the signal for lights out. I ignored it. I wasn't tired, and even if I was, I wasn't going to sleep just because he said so. I changed into a nightshirt, paced the room a bit, and then decided I needed air. Maybe a walk would help. Or maybe I just wanted to break one of his precious rules. I opened the door quietly and stepped into the hallway. The floor was cold under my feet. The mansion was silent, except for the crackle of a fire somewhere far off... Probably the guards warming up. I started down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. "Going somewhere?" The voice came from the shadows, behind me. It was deeper than earlier.  I froze. He stepped forward, tall as ever, He was wearing a linen shirt and pants now... He still had fur draped around his shoulders.  "What did I say about light out after the bell?" I folded my arms. "What are you doing up, then?" He didn't answer. He just moved-fast. His hand caught my arm, pulling me back against the wall. My breath hitched. His body didn't press into mine, but he was close enough for me to feel the heat through all that control. "Let me go," I snapped, trying to sound braver than I felt. He leaned closer, voice low and even.  I saw the color of his eyes properly for the first time. It was stormy...grey or was it just blue with an icy tinge.   "Around here, Lyra, obedience isn't about fear. It's about control. And by the time I'm done, you'll understand both." My pulse jumped. "You're hurting me." His grip loosened at once. He stepped back, cold eyes unreadable. "We start training at dawn," he said quietly. "Don't be late again." He turned, walking away. The air smelled of snow and cedar and him... whatever "him" smelled like.  "Oh, and one more thing," he said without looking back.  "This is the last time I'll ask nicely." I stood there, heart pounding, the silence swallowing me whole.

LYRA'S POV The room is big - bigger than most, smaller than home. Everything looks perfectly arranged, almost unnaturally so. The bedspread is smooth, the fireplace small but giving a little warmth. Even the air feels disciplined. He stops by the door and says simply, "Dinner is in thirty minutes." His voice is deep, even - command dressed in calm. Then he turns to leave. I mimic under my breath, "Dinner is in thirty minutes." From the hallway, his voice cuts back without missing a beat. "I heard that." My face burns. I slam the door shut and sink onto the bed. Perfect. Barely an hour here, and I've already annoyed him. --- By the time I make it downstairs, it's been forty minutes. Maybe forty-five. Sue me. I got lost in the damn maze of hallways, then decided to redo my braid because the cold made my hair frizz. The dining hall is dimly lit, long shadows cast by the fireplace. The table stretches forever, yet only one person sits at it - Alpha Corin. He looks up as I walk in. "You're late." "I'm a lady," I say, taking my time crossing the room. "I needed to get dressed properly." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit." I tilt my head, smirking. "Didn't realize I was your pet." He doesn't rise to the bait. Just watches, silent and unmoving, until I sit anyway. The chair feels colder than it should. Without the heavy furs, he looks different - hard lines of muscle beneath a dark shirt, a scar running from his right brow to just below his eye. He's older, yes, but not frail like I'd imagined. There's something measured about him, like every movement is deliberate. He finally speaks, cutting through the silence. "You claim to be a lady. But your behavior back home was anything but." I stiffen. "If refusing to play pretty doll for entitled wolves is unladylike, then sure." His gaze doesn't shift. "You embarrassed your family. Your father's name. Your pack." "Maybe my pack needed a reminder that their daughters aren't trophies." "Enough." The word lands flat and final - no need for force when authority comes naturally. "You'll learn when to speak." He leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. "There are rules here. No lateness for meals or training. Lights out when the bell rings. Hair tied up at all times. A uniform will be provided." I blink. "What the hell is this? A primming school for losers?" He ignores me completely. "And most importantly," he continues evenly, "no talking back. You speak when you're asked to." Silence stretches between us. Then he adds, without a hint of emotion - "And yes. You are a loser." Something in me snaps. I push my chair back sharply, wood scraping against stone. "You-" "Sit your ass down." He doesn't raise his voice, but something in his tone shifts - a low, quiet authority that wraps around the room like frost. My body reacts before my mind does. My knees weaken, and I find myself sitting again, pulse hammering. He sets his fork down neatly, eyes never leaving mine. "There are punishments for breaking the rules here, Lyra. I suggest you decide quickly whether you're here to learn... or to be taught." The way he says taught makes something in my chest tighten - not from fear, but from the dangerous awareness of him. I meet his gaze, chin lifted despite the tremor in my pulse. "I don't break that easily, Alpha." His lips curve slightly, just enough to make me question if it's amusement or warning. "Good," he says quietly. "I like a challenge." --- Gods. I hate this place. The fire in the hearth crackles like it's mocking me. I've been pacing for ten minutes, muttering under my breath about arrogant Alphas with sticks up their backsides. "I said I'd learn respect, not prison etiquette," I grumble, running my fingers through my hair. "Who even rings a bell for lights out? What is this, a monastery?" The bell tolls just then. I glare at the ceiling. "Oh, perfect timing." I try to sleep. I really do. But my skin itches with restlessness. Outside, I can hear the guards laughing softly by the fire. The night air must be freezing, but I'd take cold over suffocating silence any day. So, naturally, I slip out. The corridor is dim, lit only by dying lanterns. I move quietly, just wanting air. Nothing else. "Going somewhere?" The voice comes from behind me - deeper than I remember. I freeze, then turn slowly. Alpha Corin stands in the half-light, tall, broad, wrapped in fur like the cold itself bows to him. He's wearing less than earlier - a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled, dark trousers that make him look more dangerous than civilized. My throat tightens. "What are you doing up?" He doesn't answer. His eyes flick to the unlit lantern beside me. Then back to mine. "What did I say about lights out after the bell?" "I wasn't sleepy." "Not an excuse." "I didn't realize I needed permission to breathe." That's when he moves. Fast. Before I can blink, his hand catches my wrist and pulls me back - not painfully, but with enough force to make my heart slam against my ribs. My back meets the cold stone wall. He's close, not touching, but close enough that the space between us feels electric. "Let me go," I whisper, though my voice betrays me. "I don't fear you." His gaze drops briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes. His voice is smooth with control. "Obedience isn't about fear, Lyra. It's about control. And you're going to learn that before you burn this place down with your defiance." My pulse jumps. "You're hurting me." He releases me instantly, but doesn't step away. His fingers find my jaw, tilting it up - forcing my gaze to his. His eyes are storm-gray, sharp enough to cut through my stubbornness. "Lyra." My name comes out a rough murmur. "I see you're a sucker for punishments." My breath stutters. I should hate the way that sounds. I don't. Then, as suddenly as he came, he pulls back. The air between us feels colder without him. "We start training at dawn," he says, voice returning to that calm, dangerous edge. "Don't be late again." He turns, walking down the hallway. "Oh, and Lyra?" His voice carries back without him looking. "This is the last time I'll ask nicely."

LYRA'S POV I didn't sleep much. The air felt too still. My head too loud. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face again, the way his eyes looked when he said "obedience isn't about fear." The way his hand felt so firm around my wrist. I hated that it stayed with me. I hated that I kept remembering his voice, deep and chilling, like he'd branded the words into my skull. When the bell rang for dawn, I groaned and sat up, hair wild and throat dry. The uniform lay folded at the edge of the bed, crisp and perfect, a reminder that I was supposed to follow rules now. Yeah, right. I looked at the uniform for a long second, then pulled on my own clothes instead - dark pants, a loose shirt, boots. Comfortable. Mine. He could choke on his discipline. The corridors were cold, light just starting to leak through narrow windows. My boots echoed against the stone. Somewhere outside, I could hear voices, movement - training had already begun. Perfect. Late again. When I stepped out into the yard, the cold hit hard - the kind that bit through layers and woke every nerve. Warriors were already lined up, moving in sync, punching, blocking, shifting. Everything looked clean, and in order.  And then I showed up. Heads turned. A few stopped mid-motion. Someone muttered under their breath. Corin was standing near the edge of the group, hands clasped behind his back. He looked like he'd been carved from the cold itself - calm, collected, eyes unreadable. When he saw me, the noise in the yard faded. His gaze swept over me once, from my untied hair to the clothes I'd chosen... and stopped. "You were told to wear the uniform." His tone wasn't raised. It didn't need to be. I shrugged. "Didn't like the color." The quiet that followed could've frozen a lake. He didn't move right away. Just looked at me, until I felt the weight of it dig under my skin. Then he walked closer. His steps were measured, boots crunching lightly against the frost. "Come here." I didn't. "I'm fine right here." He stopped just a few feet away, close enough for me to feel the difference in warmth between us. His scent carried faintly, smoke, snow, cedar. It messed with my head. His jaw tightened. "You'll learn faster if you listen the first time." I met his gaze, stubborn. "Or maybe you'll learn that I don't take orders just because someone growls them." Something flickered in his eyes, not anger exactly, but something sharper. Amusement maybe. Or challenge. He stepped even closer. "You didn't sleep." It wasn't a question. I blinked, caught off guard. "How do you-" "You have the look of someone fighting ghosts." His voice dropped lower. "You'll find no peace if you keep feeding them." That hit deeper than it should've. I looked away, suddenly unsure what to say. He turned slightly, gesturing to the rest of the group. "You'll train with them." "I don't need a babysitting session." He ignored that. "Run the perimeter. Ten laps." I laughed under my breath. "You're joking." He just raised a brow. "Do I look like someone who jokes?" My smile slipped. "I'm not running ten laps." "Then run until I tell you to stop." That one hit like a dare. I hesitated, then squared my shoulders and started walking toward the line. Every step felt like a silent fight, between my pride and the part of me that hated how calm he stayed through it all. Behind me, I could feel his eyes on me. Watching. Measuring. By the third lap, my breath was sharp in my throat. By the fifth, my legs were trembling. And when I slowed, his voice came again -  "You can stop when you decide what you're really running from." That pissed me off more than the running did. I turned toward him, chest heaving, and snapped, "You think you know me?" He met my glare, calm as ever. "No. But I will." Something in the way he said it made my pulse stutter. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. And damn me, but a part of me wanted to find out what it meant. _____ By the time training ended, my body felt like it had been trampled by a herd. Everyone else drifted off, still talking. I was halfway to leaving when his voice stopped me. "Stay back." The others vanished quick. Of course they did. Corin walked over, calm as always. "You think defiance makes you strong," he said. "It just makes you predictable." I folded my arms. "You done lecturing, Alpha?" He stopped close...a little too close.  "No. But you're done running." I hated how his nearness messed with my pulse. He brushed a stray strand from my face, voice dropping low. "Get some rest. You'll need it for the evening session." My head snapped up. "Evening session?" That hint of a smirk touched his mouth. "You'll see." Then he turned and walked off, leaving me standing there- tired, annoyed, and way too aware of the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about him. ___ The evening session was worse than the morning. More running, more drills, more barking orders that made me want to scream. My muscles burned, my palms stung, and by the time the bell rang, I didn't wait for dismissal. I just walked off. Okay, stormed. I smelled like sweat and anger by the time I reached the kitchen. A young maid turned when she saw me and froze mid-curtsy. "You need a bath, my lady." "I know," I muttered, grabbing an apple from the counter. "Heard someone mention a bathhouse." "There is," she said quickly. "But it's for the Lord Alpha only. Your chamber has a smaller bath. I can draw it for you-" "No, thanks." I cut her off. "I'll handle it." Upstairs, I almost fell face-first onto the bed. My body ached for warm water. For a real soak. The one in my room would do, but it wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't home. Dinner came and went. No one called me down, not even him. Small miracle. I waited until the bell rang again - lights out, then waited another hour. Just to be sure. Then I grabbed my towel, oils, and crept out. The halls were dark, quiet. My feet barely made a sound. I walked till I got to the far end of the hall.  The bathhouse. Inside, the air was warm, damp. The lamps were dim and they cast their glow on the water. The pool stretched wide, heat curling up from it. Gods, it looked perfect. I dropped my towel, tied my hair up, and stepped forward, ready to sink in and forget everything. Then the water moved. A ripple first. Then a shadow. Someone rose from it. Dark hair slicked back. Water running down a chest that looked carved from stone. Broad shoulders. I didn't mean to trail my eyes down, they moved on their own to the waist region and just a little look below it made my face heat up. Dear gods! It was him...Corin.  I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.