The omega girl is already halfway down the hall before I can answer. The "Alpha wants coffee" order still clangs in my skull. I take the stairs two at a time, because every second I waste means Kade's anger will grow. I sprint to the kitchen as if someone is already counting down the seconds I have left to obey.
The kitchen is already boiling when I get there. The morning staff are already here, running up and down, sweating and barking orders. I silently walk into the kitchen, hoping I'm as invisible as I want to be. Thankfully, this morning is one of those mornings when everyone is too busy to notice the stain in the pack in the person of Elias Thorne's sister.
The cook, with his skin like beef jerky, stirs a cauldron big enough to drown a child in. Steam rises, flecked with what I pray is only herbs.
I head towards the big, old kettle which is never off the flame. I reach for it, burning my palm on the handle because I forget, every morning, how much it bites. My fingers clench, blushing red, and I hiss under my breath. The other girls smirk into their sleeves but don't dare say anything. My pain gives them joy, and maybe I deserve it.
I work fast, repeating the instructions in my head as I do whenever I'm asked to bring coffee. I am supposed to make the coffee not too bitter, not too strong, the color of new blood. It is the only thing Alpha Kade claims to enjoy. Rumor has it, he learned to drink it during his time at the border and that he only started craving it after the war. The truth is that no one knows what Kade likes or hates, because Kade doesn't talk to omegas, or to anyone unless it is to demand or destroy. I once saw him lift a wolfhound by the scruff and snap its jaw sideways because it barked at him. The image replays now as I pour the coffee into a gold-rimmed porcelain cup.
I balance the cup on a saucer. My hand is steady now; I force it to be. I walk the length of the scullery and through the swinging door, back into the cold artery of the main hall.
I do not see Seraphina until it is too late.
She suddenly appears from the dark seam between two pillars, flanked by her usual minions. She is wearing another ridiculous red silk dress that clings to her like it was painted on her body. Her hair is swept up, and her face is perfect. She is two years older than me. But we had been friends as kids. Her smile is a needle. The girls behind her are new, not really new, but they are not her childhood friends.
"Lyra," Seraphina says. She says my name like we are still friends meeting for tea. "Running errands already? It's barely sunrise."
I do not answer. I stare at the floor, at the seam where two tiles meet, the place where dirt collects and never comes out.
She steps closer. "You missed dinner again," she says. "If you collapse in the hall, they will say it was your own fault."
I could tell her the truth, that I do not eat because my stomach turns at the sound of my own chewing, that I do not eat because I am afraid of what I will become if I ever feel full. But it is not truth she wants. She is mocking me because she knows I cannot sit at the same table she now sits.
I move to go around her, keeping the cup steady, but she matches my step. The girls behind her close in, a perfect little trap.
"Let's see it, then," Seraphina says. "You make Alpha Kade's coffee yourself, don't you? They say you do it better than anyone."
There is nowhere to go but through her. I keep my eyes down, but I can feel her watching me, noticing every tremor and every stutter of my breath. Fighting Seraphina means punishment for me. Her uncle Gareth will not accept any excuses. I've learned not to fight back a long time ago.
"Careful," she says in a bright voice, "you wouldn't want to—"
She moves fast as I make another attempt to move and hooks one leg under mine. The world tips. The cup jumps from the saucer and arcs through the air. Scalding coffee paints the floor, spatters on my face, and soaks into the gray of my skirt. The cup shatters with me on the floor.
For a second, everything is silent. Even Seraphina seems surprised by the violence of the break. Then she laughs. The sound is soft and low, but it cuts deeper than any shout. Her minions join her, snickering softly.
"Clumsy as ever," she says. "Make another cup, servant girl. And hurry, you know how Alpha Kade hates to be kept waiting."
I bite back a retort and pick myself from the floor, tears welling up and blurring my vision as I pick up the broken pieces. One edge slices my thumb, and blood wells up, bright and red. I wipe it on my skirt.
I remember a time, long ago, when Seraphina's smile wasn't cruel. When she, Tara, and I would sneak sweets from the kitchen and play in the orchard. We were just kids then, before Elias and before everything went to hell. Before her family's loyalty to the Alphas became a weapon against me.
I try to hold my face steady, but it must twitch, because Seraphina's smile widens.
"You are so easy, Lyra," she whispers. "Maybe that's why they keep you around."
I say nothing, because nothing I say will matter. Seraphina stands and flicks her fingers. "Clean this up," she says, and the girls fall away behind her, their laughter echoing down the corridor.
The world comes back in pieces: the sting of the burn on my leg, the sticky film of coffee drying on my skin, and the pressure of unseen eyes watching from every shadow. I gather the porcelain, careful not to cut myself again, and dump the shards in the bin by the door.
Back in the kitchen, the other omegas pretend not to see the stains on my skirt. The head cook arches one brow as I reach for another cup.
"Again?" he says.
"Yes," I say.
He doesn't ask what happened because he has seen this ritual before, dozens of times.
"You're bleeding," he says, nodding to my hand.
"It's nothing."
He shrugs. "If you say so. There are bandages in the drawer. If you bleed into the Alpha's coffee, you will end up in the river."
I almost smile at this, but don't. He turns away, and I wrap my thumb in a bit of rag. It stings, but it is a clean pain, not like the rest.
I make the coffee again. This second time is worse because my fingers are raw from the spill, and the kettle feels heavier now. I wrap the fresh mug in a cloth before placing it on the tray, but I'm shaking harder than before.
And I'm late. So late.
Alpha Kade's chambers are at the end of the east wing. The corridor is so quiet that it makes my footsteps sound like an alarm. Out of the three, he is the one I fear the most. Knox is explosive, Kalem is unsettling, but Kade's quiet fury and cold wrath are a different kind of terror. It's the kind that chills you to the bone and makes you feel very powerless.
The door to his study is slightly ajar. I pause, and my hand hovers near the wood. I can hear his deep voice barking at someone inside. He is furious.
"No," he snarls, "I said double the shipment. If they cannot produce it, we'll take their land and their titles."
There's a muffled response; I don't hear the words, only the fear. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps. A young male delta, face pale and sweating, scurries out of the room, barely sparing me a glance as he rushes past.
I whisper a prayer under my breath and tell myself it's just for a few seconds. Just give him the coffee and get out.
I nudge the door open and step in, keeping my eyes on the floor. He is standing by the window, his back to me, but I know he is aware of my presence. He is wearing a dark leather tunic stitched with the Blackwood crest. His arms are crossed, and even in silence, he radiates fury.
The air feels colder here, like his presence changes the temperature. Like he is part of the stone that built this place. I walk straight to his desk, keeping my gaze down. The tray rattles slightly as I set it down.
"You're late."
I flinch.
His voice isn't loud. It never is. But that tone slices like a blade across my spine. I brace myself, but it doesn't help.
He turns toward me slowly, and I catch a glimpse of his face. It's the same sculpted, cold look that never changes. Except for the green pool of his eyes. They are burning, but not with fire. They burn with something colder than ice.
"What kept you?" he asks, stepping closer.
"I—" I start, but the word dies in my throat. What can I say that won't dig me deeper?
"Don't tell me it was hard to boil water," he adds, quiet but cutting. "Or did you get distracted again trying to eavesdrop on real pack business?"
I lower my head further.
"Or maybe," he continues, circling me now, "you just enjoy making me wait. Is that it, Lyra? You want my attention so badly, you delay the only thing I ever ask of you?"
"No, Alpha," I whisper.
He stops in front of his desk and finally takes the cup of coffee, bringing it to his lips and sipping. There is a pause, in which he holds the coffee in his mouth like a dare. He sets the cup down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Interesting," he says, the word pronounced as if it were a slur. "You've managed to make it worse than last time. Did you add a new ingredient today, Lyra? Or is betrayal hereditary in your family?"
My face is burning. I shake my head.
"I'm sorry, Alpha. I—"
He holds up a finger, and the rest of the sentence dies in my throat. He picks up the cup again, swirls the dark liquid, and studies it as if looking for a reason not to throw it in my face.
"Kneel," he says.