**TriggerWarning**
Morning light spilled through the cracks of the servant quarters, thin and cold. Lyra woke to the sound of clanging pots and harsh voices. Her body ached from the night before, but there was no time to rest—servants who moved too slowly were punished, and punishment under the Luna was far worse than a warrior's casual cruelty.
Today, Lyra had been summoned.
Selene, the kitchen maid, shoved a basket into her arms. "Take these to the Luna's hall. And try not to look like you're about to faint, rat, or she'll have you scrubbing floors until your fingers bleed."
Lyra clutched the basket of herbs and bread, her heart hammering. The Luna's summons never ended well.
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The Luna's hall was bright and cold, its stone walls draped in silks. Wolves moved in and out with deference, their heads bowed. At the center, seated in a carved wooden chair, was MiraNightwalker—the Alpha's mate, tall and regal, her beauty sharp enough to cut. Her raven hair spilled down her shoulders, and her pale green eyes gleamed with venom.
Around her stood her ladies-in-waiting: Liora, a pretty maid with a cruel smile; Cyris, a sharp-eyed scribe who rarely spoke; and Tamsin, another servant girl who laughed too loudly at Mira's jokes.
The moment Lyra entered, Mira's lip curled.
"Well, well. The rat comes crawling." Her voice dripped with contempt. "Set the basket there. On the floor. Not on the table—you might stain it with your filth."
Lyra lowered the basket to the floor, keeping her gaze down.
But Mira was not satisfied. "Look at me."
Slowly, Lyra raised her eyes. The Luna's green gaze bore into her, gleeful in its malice.
"You have your mother's face," Mira said softly, almost kindly—until her smile twisted. "It sickens me."
Liora giggled, covering her mouth with delicate fingers. "It's true, Luna. She looks like a pale imitation. The cursed brat who should have burned with her mother."
Lyra bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Mira rose gracefully, her gown whispering across the floor. She circled Lyra like a predator stalking prey. "Do you know why I keep you alive, slave?"
Lyra didn't answer.
"Because death would be mercy." Mira's hand shot out, gripping Lyra's chin so tightly her jaw ached. "Every time I see your wretched face, I remember the woman who defied me. And I will not grant you the escape she received."
She shoved Lyra back, and the basket tipped, bread rolling across the polished stone.
"Pick it up," Mira snapped.
Lyra dropped to her knees at once, gathering the bread with trembling fingers. The hall was silent save for the muffled laughter of Mira's attendants.
When she finished, Mira tilted her head, studying her. "Not enough. Liora, fetch the whip."
Lyra's heart sank. Her stomach twisted as Liora returned with a leather whip coiled in her hands, eyes alight with cruel delight.
"Five lashes," Mira said casually, as though ordering a cup of tea. "And remember, rat—each one is a gift. A reminder that you exist only by my grace."
---
The first lash cut fire into her back. Lyra bit down on her lip to stop the cry that clawed its way up her throat.
The second landed harder. Her vision blurred.
By the third, her knees buckled, but she forced herself upright, refusing to give Mira the pleasure of seeing her broken.
Liora smirked as she swung the fourth, and the fifth, each strike echoing against the hall's walls.
When it was done, Lyra's body trembled, blood seeping through her torn dress. She remained kneeling, head bowed, breaths shallow.
Mira stepped closer, her voice low and venomous. "Remember this, Lyra. You are nothing. A slave. A reminder of shame. And when your time ends, not even the moon will weep for you."
She turned away, dismissing her with a wave. "Take her out. I don't want her stench fouling the air."
Selene—summoned silently from the kitchen—hurried forward, dragging Lyra by the arm. For once, Selene didn't insult her. She only muttered, "Hold on. Just hold on."
---
Later, as Lyra lay in the shadows of the servants' quarters, pain burning across her back, she whispered into the silence, "Mother… I won't break. No matter what she does, I won't break."
The words shook, but the fire in her heart flickered brighter than before.
And outside, beneath the heavy moon, a breeze stirred—gentle, almost protective, as if the night itself had heard her vow.
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