Chapter 1

Lyra's POV

Three days.

Every maid who turned twenty could choose to leave the estate. My birthday was three days away.

Three more days, and I'd never scrub another floor in this house.

I set the polishing rag down and flexed my cracked fingers. My uniform was gray, worn through at the elbows, stiff with old soap. None of that mattered anymore.

A knock at the door made me flinch.

"Miss Arabella wants you." The servant didn't look at me when she said it. She never did.

My stomach dropped. It always did when I heard that name.

My mother had been a witch. She'd hidden inside the estate for years, and when they found her, they said she killed the luna. Arabella's mother. I didn't remember my mother. I only remembered what came after.

Arabella had chosen me as her personal maid. Not out of kindness. She hated me, and she wanted me close enough to hurt.

I smoothed my apron and headed for her chambers. The corridor to her wing smelled like fresh polish. The staff had been scrubbing the estate top to bottom for days, all for the northern alpha's visit. Even the courtyard stones had been swept twice.

My hands were trembling, but I pressed them flat against my thighs. Three more days. I just had to keep my head down for three more days.

Her room smelled like perfume and new jewelry. She sat at her vanity, rings and bracelets spread across the table, turning a pearl earring in the light.

I stood by the door. Silent. Still. That was the only safe way to be around her.

"Three days," I breathed. I didn't mean to. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Arabella's hand paused. "What did you say?"

My body went rigid.

She turned. Her eyes narrowed, and then something shifted. Surprise, followed by a slow, spreading smile. "You're turning twenty, aren't you?" She laughed, soft and pleased. "Don't tell me you actually think you can leave."

I didn't answer.

"Other maids can go, Lyra. That's true." She went back to the earring, holding it up to catch the light. "But your mother was a criminal. You stay here. Forever."

The floor tilted under me.

Forever. I'd built everything around those three days. Every silent morning, every bruise I swallowed without crying. And she'd known. She'd known the whole time and waited until now, three days before my birthday, so she could watch me break.

Her eyes found mine in the mirror. Satisfied.

I couldn't speak. Not because I chose silence, but because my throat shut down. It did that when the pain got too big, seized up and refused to let anything out. My body had learned a long time ago that silence was safer.

"Come here." She'd already turned back to her reflection. "Comb my hair. I'm receiving a guest with Father today."

I picked up the comb.

"Cassian Draven." She said the name slowly, savoring it. "The young alpha from the north. He's here to see Father — a formal visit." She tilted her head, admiring herself. "Very rich. Very powerful. And I hear he's quite handsome."

Her cheeks flushed pink. She almost looked human when she talked about him.

I combed through her hair in slow, careful strokes. I'd heard of Cassian Draven. Everyone had. He'd risen from nowhere three years ago. The youngest alpha to hold the Northern Pack, feared by rogues, respected by everyone else.

But what did any of that matter to me? I was never leaving this place. I'd comb Arabella's hair and take her beatings until my hands gave out. Forever.

Something tangled. I pulled too hard.

Arabella hissed and shoved me backward. "Are you trying to rip my hair out?" She was on her feet. "You stupid, clumsy—"

I hit the floor. My ankle twisted under me, and pain shot up my leg. I curled in, arms over my head, bracing for the kick.

It didn't come. A knock at the door.

"Miss Arabella." The servant's voice was breathless. "Alpha Draven has arrived."

Arabella's rage vanished. She smoothed her dress, checked her hair, adjusted a curl. Then she pointed at me without looking down.

"Drawing room. Tea. And try not to embarrass me."

I pulled myself up. My leg wouldn't hold my weight properly, and the hallway seemed to stretch twice as long.

The staff had been working all night to prepare for this visit. I'd been with them, polishing silver until three in the morning. My arms ached. My vision kept going dark at the edges.

The drawing room was the brightest room in the estate. Polished marble, fresh flowers in tall vases, afternoon sunlight pouring through windows that ran floor to ceiling. I'd arranged those flowers this morning. My fingertips still smelled like stems.

But when the doors opened and he walked in, I forgot all of it.

He was tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair pushed back from his face. He moved like someone who expected the room to rearrange itself around him. He didn't wear gold or jewels like the southern wolves did. He didn't need to.

Arabella, in all her silk and rings, looked like a clown beside him.

I pressed my back against the wall and tried to become invisible. Arabella and her father were leaning forward in their seats, all smiles, all careful words. They were nervous. If they were nervous around him, one wrong move from me would mean something worse than a shove.

I kept close to the wall. Invisible. That was what I did best.

My hands shook as I poured the tea. I kept my eyes on the cup. Steady. Steady. The cup rattled against the saucer. I tightened my grip.

I picked up the saucer and walked toward him. Two more steps. One.

My ankle gave out.

The pain hit sharp and sudden. The cup left my hands. Hot tea splashed across his pants, and the saucer shattered on the marble.

This was the end. Arabella would kill me for this.

I pitched forward — the floor rushing up — and an arm caught me around the waist.