The days that followed the food insult bled into one another, a relentless rhythm of hunger and humiliation. My body, once finely tuned under the Sect's discipline, now felt like brittle porcelain. Each morning, rising from bed was a war with my own limbs. My muscles ached, my head spun, and a dizzy haze threatened to pull me under.
Lara stayed near me, a quiet anchor in the storm. Her small hands guided me when I faltered, her wide, worried eyes reflecting the toll this ordeal was taking. Most of my time was spent in bed or on the chaise, conserving every ounce of energy. Even the small pouch of dried fruits and nuts I had smuggled from the Sect dwindled fast, barely enough to keep me alive.
The Pack's cruelty continued without mercy. Every meal was a test of my patience: lumpy gruel, stale bread, or water that tasted of nothing. I refused it all. Not out of pride alone, but to maintain the control that the Sect had drilled into me. Begging was weakness, showing it was worse.
Elias was conspicuously absent. His empty chair at the dining table felt like a silent accusation, a reminder that my suffering had his tacit approval or worse, his amusement. The indifference gnawed at me, a sharper pang than any hunger.
Lara's concern grew daily. Her gentle composure had shifted into a nervous watchfulness, her plump cheeks thinning with anxiety. She tried to sneak me scraps, pieces of roasted meat or fresh vegetables she could steal but I always refused.
"No, Lara," I whispered, my voice raspy. "If they catch you, it'll make everything worse."
Her shoulders slumped, but her loyalty never wavered. She became my eyes and ears, slipping through the Packhouse, listening, watching. Returning with bits of overheard conversation, details about the Alpha's schedule, the mood of the Pack, the cracks in their routines. Lara became my lifeline.
One afternoon, as the sun sank behind the distant hills, painting the sky in bruised oranges and gray, Lara burst into my room, moving faster than usual, her excitement and fear tangled together. She held a small bundle close to her chest, pressing it like a secret treasure.
"My lady," she whispered, voice tight with urgency. "Someone spoke to me."
I sat up, my body aching, my curiosity immediately sharp. "Who, Lara? What happened?"
"A woman," Lara said, glancing at the door as if expecting someone to appear from the shadows. "She works in the laundry. Pulled me aside, whispered that she knows you are here… that the Sect knows. She said, 'The verdant roots run deep, even in barren lands.' And she sent this."
My heart leapt. An infiltrator. Direct contact from the Sect. My father had planned for this. I wasn't entirely alone.
Lara unwrapped the bundle with care. Inside were small treasures: smoked meat, firm cheese, plump dried berries. The scent hit me first rich, intoxicating. My stomach roared in protest, craving what I had been denied for days.
"Eat this now, my lady," Lara urged, eyes wet with relief and fear.
I hesitated. My plan depended on suffering, on leverage. But the hunger in my body won first. I tore off a piece of meat, savoring the smoky richness, letting the flavor anchor me. Cheese followed, then berries, each bite a rebellion against the Pack's cruelty.
Lara lowered her voice. "She said it's from Father."
The words froze me mid-chew. Father rarely sent direct messages. This was no idle note of comfort—it was strategy.
"What did he say?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Lara's eyes were grave. "The Harvest Moon draws near. Its light will illuminate your path, but also their shadows. Do not forget the glory of our Sect. Your purpose is etched in the stars, Seraphina. Endure, and remember who you are. Bring honor to our name, and bring them to heel."
The weight of those words settled on me like stone. The Harvest Moon. The time was almost upon me. Father was watching. The Sect was watching. And they expected results.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sharp rap split the room. My pulse leapt. Lara froze. The plate, the hidden food, everything was evidence.
"Who is it?" I hissed.
"Lady Seraphina, it is Aaron," came a cold, measured voice. "Alpha Elias sent me with an urgent message."
"Hide it!" I snapped, shoving the plate toward Lara. Her quick hands stashed the meat in her tunic, slid the plate under the bed, tucked my pouch away. In seconds, nothing betrayed the truth.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Just a moment!" Lara called, breath steady despite the urgency.
I swung back into bed, pulling the sheets around me, feigning weakness. My heart hammered, adrenaline surging. Hidden strength hummed beneath my frail facade.
The door opened. Aaron's tall form filled the threshold, eyes sharp, unreadable. He stepped in, hand holding a rolled parchment. His gaze flicked over the empty table but betrayed nothing.
"My lady," he said, voice formal, detached. "Alpha Elias sends this message personally."
I braced myself.
"The wedding ceremony will take place in two days," Aaron said, voice flat. "At the height of the Harvest Moon. Preparations are underway. You are to be ready by twilight."
Two days. My mind spun. Shock slammed into me harder than hunger had ever done. I forced my expression into stillness, hiding the chaos.
Beside me, Lara's body stiffened. I could feel her rage simmering.
Aaron nodded once, turned, and left. The door clicked shut. Silence fell heavy.
Lara whirled on me, hands on her hips, eyes blazing. "Two days! After all this! They're trying to break you, my lady. Elias and his Pack! May they rot in the deepest pits of the Underworld!"
I watched her, mask carefully neutral. The insult was deliberate, a final test before the ceremony. But Father's words echoed: endure, remember who you are, bring them to heel.
This was it. The game had truly begun.