★Nuel's Pov★
We had passed a reasonable distance, yet we were still not at the throne room. Each place we crossed seemed larger and grander than the last. Long hallways that stretched endlessly, balconies so wide they could house countless servants if they all lay down side by side.
It reminded me of how the servants at my father's pack lived, huddled together in one suffocating room, cramped like mustard seeds just to make space for the rest who were also shoved inside, regardless of how congested it already was.
Back then, I had always found it hard to believe whenever my servant friend told me. My father was wealthy; he had more than enough resources to build proper servant quarters, even small ones.
But then again, he was the same man who locked me away in the West Wing like a prisoner and later betrayed me by sending me here. With him, nothing seemed impossible. Cruelty was his language and he spoke it fluently.
