The journey took five long hours through the winding, endless roads of the Northern Territories. Mia hadn't said a word the entire time. She simply sat by the small window in the carriage, her eyes fixed on the world beyond—thick, towering trees, twisted with age and blanketed in mist, the shadows between them holding a kind of stillness that felt almost… sacred. Or cursed.
Birds flitted through the branches, wildflowers broke through the forest floor in defiance of the darkness, and the scent of pine and earth drifted through the cracked window.
For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe. Just breathe.
The carriage bumped once—then slowed.
She sat upright.
They had arrived.
The Blackthorn Fortress loomed ahead like a monster carved from mountain stone—cold, dark, and ancient. Tall towers clawed at the sky, their edges lined with jagged black iron. Guards in blood-red armor stood along the gate, unmoving, their spears tipped with silver.
Mia's fingers curled against her thighs.
They were here.
---
The carriage door opened.
Guards stepped forward immediately, flanking her without a word. She climbed down without needing to be told, her body aching from sitting too long in that stiff seat. Every muscle protested. Every breath felt like a reminder that she didn't belong here.
Above the massive courtyard, balconies overlooked the inner fortress. She could feel eyes watching her.
And somewhere… she felt *him.*
The Lycan King.
---
A group of guards approached from another wing, led by a tall lycan with closely cropped brown hair and a scar across his jaw. He whispered something to the others, then turned to go—but not before giving one sharp command.
> "Take her to the head maid. She's His Majesty's personal servant. Uniform her. Immediately."
The guards surrounding Mia didn't respond with words. They simply moved.
She followed them into a narrower section of the fortress—away from the firelit grandeur, into the servant corridors. The walls here were darker, made of worn stone slick with cold. The sound of dripping water echoed from unseen pipes. She passed by quarters lined with worn wooden doors, a few maids hurrying in and out, none daring to glance at her for too long.
Eventually, they handed her a folded set of clothing: black maid uniform, high-collared with a silver-trimmed apron, and a deep red ribbon meant to be tied at the neck. Her size. They'd been expecting her.
No words. No kindness. Just orders.
She changed in silence.
Then they led her again, down another path—this one eerily quiet.
---
A pitch-black corridor greeted her. The torches on the walls were few and far between, barely lighting the way. The floor was smooth and cold beneath her feet. The air was… heavy here. Like the stones carried memories.
As they walked, Mia glanced at the doors lining the corridor—massive, ornate, and each carved with terrifying images.
Symbols of ancient lycan lines.
And paintings.
Werewolves being hunted.
Slaughtered.
Heads held high by laughing lycans.
The back of her throat tightened.
She blinked, trying to shove the memories back.
The fire.
The blood.
Her mother's final scream.
The howl of the wolf that tore through her brother's chest.
They were *all* still there. Right behind her eyes.
A guard nudged her with his elbow. She hadn't realized she'd stopped walking.
"Eyes forward," the blonde one muttered. His name was Grey.
Another voice joined him. Darker. Cold. "She's quiet. But are you sure she's a werewolf?"
Mia didn't turn. But her ears caught every word.
"She's an Omega" Grey said. "That's what the auction master said."
"Omegas don't have blue eyes," said the dark-haired one—Jason. "They're supposed to all have brown eyes. Always. It's rare. But I've seen it."
"Could be a mutation."
"Or something else," Jason replied with a shrug. "Either way. Let's get this over with. He's expecting her."
They stopped in front of the final door.
Thick. Dark. Heavier than all the others. A carved crest of fire and fangs burned into the surface.
Grey stepped back and said with clipped tone, "Knock before you enter. Always. He must permit you first."
Jason gave her one last unreadable glance before both men turned and walked off, disappearing into the corridor without another word.
---
And so, Mia stood alone.
She raised her hand and knocked gently.
No answer.
She waited.
Knocked again. Harder.
Still nothing.
Fatigue pressed against her bones. She was hungry. Her feet throbbed from standing too long. Her stomach twisted with emptiness. The day had been nothing but chains, silence, and cold hands.
She lowered herself to a crouch beside the door. For a moment, she just hugged her knees, resting her head on them.
Would he leave her out here?
Was this some kind of test?
Another reminder that she was owned?
---
*Knock. Knock.*
This time, she knocked with more force.
From inside, finally—a deep, annoyed voice:
**"Coming."**
The door creaked open slowly.
And there he was.
---
The Lycan King stood shirtless in the doorway, a black robe tied loosely at his waist. His skin was tan and smooth, marred only by a single, burning **red sun tattoo** etched across the left side of his chest—sharp, precise, and terrifying in its simplicity.
Mia's heart *stopped.*
Her breath caught.
That tattoo.
She had seen it before.
Or rather… she had one.
Not identical. But similar. Smaller. Marked beneath her left breast, hidden for years.
Same pattern. Same fire in its lines.
Was it… a symbol?
A bond?
Something ancient and forgotten?
"You weren't brought here to stare at your master's body, you lowly wolf," he said coolly, his tone dripping with disdain.
Mia snapped out of it.
She bowed immediately—not out of fear, but out of instinct. The instinct of a girl who had learned long ago that defiance could cost you your life.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," she whispered.
He studied her. Not with curiosity. Not with interest. With boredom.
"Get to work."
He turned away, his robe shifting around his sculpted form as he headed deeper into the room toward a massive blackwood desk—his study, covered in scrolls, maps, and sealed documents.
Mia took a small step inside.
The door shut behind her with a thud.
Her fingers brushed her own ribs, over the place where her secret tattoo burned beneath the fabric of her dress.
It wasn't just a design.
It was a mark.
And the more she stared at his, the more something inside her twisted.
Why did they match?
Why did she feel as if the past—the part of her she had buried with her family—was slowly clawing its way back to the surface?
---
**She didn't know yet…**
That the man who just dismissed her...
Might not just be her master.
He might be the reason her pack died.
And the reason her fate was sealed before she was even born.
---
**To be continued…**