Chapter 2 The Punishment

Chapter Two: The Punishment

"Lyra Hale," he said.

Her name on his lips was a storm wrapped in silk. He didn't shout it. He didn't have to. His voice alone carried a weight that silenced everything...the birdsong, the breeze, even the pounding of her own frantic heart.

Lyra stood slowly, brushing the dirt from her palms, blinking up at him as if the moment were made of dreams.

"I...I am Lyra Hale, Your Highness," she breathed, heart trembling.

She saw it, just for a second, his eyes flicked down, from her face to her hands, dirt streaked and trembling. His gaze lingered on the neckline of her cotton dress, on the thin chain around her throat, the flush in her cheeks.

Her lips parted, barely holding in the gasp. Was this it? Was he going to kiss her? Or maybe confess something he'd hidden all these years? A secret desire? A forbidden longing?

He stepped closer.

Her knees buckled inward. Her heart was a wild, frenzied mess behind her ribs.

But instead of leaning in, instead of touching her...

He pulled a small piece of parchment from his belt and read aloud without emotion, "You were assigned to knit ten ceremonial tunics for the Eastern warriors before the moon rites."

She blinked, confused. "Yes, Your Highness. I...I did."

"You delivered nine."

Her breath caught. "I...what?"

His eyes flicked up, like golden firelight meeting frost. "I don't repeat myself."

"I didn't mean to..." Lyra's voice cracked. "It must've been a mistake. I counted them twice. Maybe one was misplaced or..."

"A mistake," he said, cutting her off, "does not change the outcome."

"I swear, I worked so hard...I spent nights stitching the Eastern crest...I didn't sleep for..."

"Intentions are irrelevant when contracts are broken."

His tone didn't rise. It never did. But it held the kind of chill that made even the wind tuck itself away.

Lyra's lips quivered. "I...I didn't mean to fail the task. I'll fix it. I'll sew another tunic today, tonight even, and..."

"No," Ronan said simply. "Your penalty has already been decided."

She went still.

Aria rose behind her, arms folding slowly across her chest, eyes narrowing.

"Tomorrow," Ronan said, slipping the parchment away like it meant nothing, "you will accompany my men and me to the river clearing."

Lyra blinked. "The river...?"

"You'll serve us," he continued, bored, like reading off a grocery list. "From dawn until sunset. Water, towels, provisions. We'll be resting and training. You'll attend to our needs."

He turned then. Just like that.

No warning. No explanation. No softness.

A prince's final word.

"Wait..." Lyra took a step after him, desperate. "Is that all?"

He didn't pause.

Didn't glance back.

Just walked away, his cloak sweeping behind him like storm clouds on silk.

And then he was gone.

A full minute passed before Aria let out an explosive, "Are you kidding me right now?!"

Lyra didn't answer.

She was staring at the path he'd taken, hands still clenched in front of her like he might return, like he might turn around and say just kidding, I only wanted to see your eyes up close.

"Lyra," Aria said again, more sternly. "He just humiliated you in front of everyone. Are you breathing? Blink twice if you're traumatized."

Lyra finally turned to her, and...she was smiling.

Glowing, actually.

Her eyes were wide with joy, her cheeks flushed like she'd been kissed, not punished.

"I'm spending the whole day with the prince," she whispered.

Aria stared at her like she'd grown antlers. "As his servant. His towel girl."

"I don't care."

"Lyra."

"I don't care, Aria!"

Lyra spun in a slow, dizzy circle, like a girl in a fairytale meadow. "I'll be by his side. All day. I'll hear him laugh. I'll see him train. I'll fill his water flask. I'll get to say his name. Maybe even hand him a towel when he's shirtless."

Aria gagged. "You're hopeless."

Lyra bounced over and squeezed her best friend's hand. "I'm not hopeless. I'm just... committed."

"Committed to a man who wouldn't flinch if you burst into flames."

"He looked at me, Aria. He said my name."

Aria stared. "He said your name because he had paperwork."

"I don't care! Do you know how long I've waited just to be noticed by him? I prayed. I fasted. I howled at the moon on my birthday. And now look at me...I'm going to serve Prince Ronan at the stream!"

Aria folded her arms again. "And mop up his sweat."

"I'll bottle it."

"You are deeply unwell."

Lyra giggled, brushing her hands clean again and sinking back down to continue trimming flowers. "He thinks it's a punishment. Poor fool."

Aria arched a brow. "You just called the future Alpha a fool."

"I said it with love."

She plucked a daisy and tucked it behind her ear, humming softly.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself. "Tomorrow I'll be with him."

And for Lyra Hale, that was all that mattered.