Chapter 8 The Palace

NAYA

The carriage lurches to a stop.

I barely have time to steady myself before the door swings open, flooding the space with the cool morning air. My fingers tighten around the folds of my dress, but I force my shoulders back and step out.

The palace is nothing like I imagined.

It towers above me, a fortress of grey stone and jagged spires, cold and unwelcoming. The high walls stretch endlessly, swallowing the last remnants of daylight. It is not like home.

Home.

The word stings, a sharp reminder that I have none.

The moment my feet touch the gravel, movement surrounds me. Guards unload the carriages, carrying trunks of belongings that do not feel like mine. My dresses, my books, my life-all reduced to nameless objects in the hands of strangers.

A flutter of movement catches my eye.

A butterfly, pale blue and delicate, drifts past me, its wings like slivers of moonlight. I follow its path as it dances through the air, weaving between the guards, past the heavy gates, toward the garden beyond.

Rabbits scurry through the grass. Birds perch on the twisted branches of leafless trees.

I've seen these things before-of course, I have. But now... now they feel different. Or maybe I'm the one who's different.

A voice pulls me back.

"You're staring."

I turn to find Kael watching me, his arms crossed over his chest. There is something in his gaze-something softer than the rest of this place.

I say nothing. He doesn't press.

Instead, he gestures to the figures approaching us.

Two men stand before me. One looks eerily similar to Kael, with the same sharp features, the same dark hair. The other is older, broader, with a scar cutting through his cheek.

"My brother," Kael says, nodding to the younger one. "Roran."

Roram smirks. "A pleasure, little dove."

I bristle. The nickname feels like a collar tightening around my throat.

Kael ignores him. "And my cousin, Kieran."

Kieran barely acknowledges me, his eyes skimming over me once before he loses interest.

Then, a heavier presence steps forward.

Alpha Zareth.

My breath stills as he looms over me, larger than any man I have ever met. His gaze is like iron-cold, unyielding.

He does not greet me. Does not offer a word.

Instead, he grunts.

Then, without so much as a glance, he mutters, "Follow the guards. They'll take you to your room."

And just like that, he is gone.

The walk through the palace is long.

Kael walks beside me in silence. The hallways stretch endlessly, lined with high windows and flickering torches. But it is not the grandeur that unsettles me. It is the emptiness.

There is no warmth here. No colour.

And then I see them.

The maids.

They move like ghosts through the halls, their gazes downcast, their steps quick and practiced. But it is not their silence that unsettles me. It is the way they are dressed.

Or rather, how they are not dressed.

Thin fabric clings to their skin, barely covering what should remain private. Some wear nothing but sheer skirts, their torsos exposed. Others drape in silks so thin they might as well be wearing air.

My stomach churns, this isn't right. Where are their proper uniforms? Where is their dignity?

I open my mouth, but the words die before they can escape. No one else seems disturbed. Not Kael. Not the guards. So why am I?

I swallow hard and keep walking.

My room is in the farthest wing of the palace, the topmost floor in the tower.

The climb is exhausting, each step carrying me further from the world below. When we finally reach the door, I hesitate.

The guards push it open, and a gust of cold air greets me.

It is not a room, it is a prison.

The walls are bare stone, the furniture sparse. A single bed sits against the far wall, the blankets thin and unwelcoming. There are no decorations. No warmth. No trace of comfort.

This is not a home.

Kael watches me carefully. "If you need anything," he says, "tell me."

Then, without another word, he leaves.

The maids move quickly, unpacking my things, filling the empty spaces with dresses and trinkets. But it does not help. The walls still feel like they are closing in.

Soon, they leave too.

I am alone.

Breakfast comes too soon; a maid comes to call me, interrupting my reverie as I stare into the horizon, wondering if I can see Varethorne from here. I barely have time to settle before I am being escorted back down, my dress trailing behind me. She walks with haste, staying three steps ahead of me so striking up conversation is futile.

The dining hall is grand, stretching longer than any room I have ever seen. At its centre, a table so long it seems endless.

The moment I step inside, all eyes turn to me.

Alpha Zareth sits at the head of the table. He gestures to the seat beside him. "Come."

I force my legs to move. The chair feels too large, too unfamiliar as I settle beside him.

Then, the maids arrive. They move between the seats, serving trays of food, pouring goblets of wine. But they are wearing even less than before.

Thin straps drape over their shoulders, leaving their backs bare. Their skirts barely reach mid-thigh. Some wear nothing but thongs.

Heat creeps up my neck. My stomach twists. I cannot stay silent.

I clear my throat, the sound is deafening. All movement ceases. Goblets still. Forks freeze. Conversations cut off.

Alpha Zareth turns his head slowly. His eyes-dark, sharp-lock onto me.

I regret it instantly but I cannot stop now.

"Why are the maids dressed like this?" I ask, my voice softer than a whisper.

A hush falls over the table.

Then-

Roran laughs.

He nudges Kieran, grinning. "We have a feisty one."

Kieran smirks. "A woman with a voice. How rare."

Kael does not laugh. He looks at me, concern flickering in his eyes.

Alpha Zareth rises; the air shifts. Thickens. His voice is thunder. "Who gave you permission to speak?"

I flinch.

The room holds its breath.

Zareth's glare could burn through steel. His voice grows louder, a storm brewing.

"Who gave you a voice?" he bellows. "Who gave you the right to question my house?"

I cannot breathe. My hands tremble in my lap, my nails biting into my palms. I should not have spoken. I should not have said anything.

His voice crashes over me, each word sharper than the last.

"You will not speak unless spoken to."

Silence.

His anger presses down on me, suffocating.

"Get out."

The words slice through the air.

My throat tightens. I force myself to stand. I will not let them see me break. Lifting my chin, I turn and walk away. My steps are steady, my spine is straight.

But I feel Zareth's glare burning into my back.

And worse, I hear footsteps following me.