Two weeks crawled by, but Emma felt each day like a weight pressing down on her chest. She had tried to forget that night with James, tried to scrub it from her memory like the stains on the floor. But her body wouldn't let her.
Her stomach twisted every morning. Her chest ached. And worst of all—her cycle never came.
"Shit," she whispered one dawn, sitting in the corner of the servants' washroom, clutching her knees. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."
Across from her, Clara dumped a bucket into the basin. "What now? You look like you saw death itself."
Emma hesitated, then shook her head. "It's nothing."
"Girl, your face is whiter than soap." Clara frowned. "If you're sick, you'd better hide it. They throw sick servants out like trash."
Emma nodded, forcing a smile. But inside, panic churned. She pressed her palm against her flat belly when no one was looking. What if it's true? What if I'm carrying his child?
The night of the banquet arrived. The Blue Moon Pack's great hall glittered with chandeliers and polished marble. Servants hurried like ants, laying tables with silver plates and pouring wine.
Emma clutched her tray, keeping her eyes down. The hall buzzed with laughter, wolves in fine suits and gowns, the most powerful of Velvetham gathered to honor their guest—King Darius, Lycan ruler.
Clara nudged her. "Keep your hands steady. Drop one glass and they'll skin you alive."
"I know," Emma whispered.
The doors opened, and Darius entered. His presence filled the room like a storm. Tall, broad, his dark eyes sharp and commanding. The room went silent until he smiled faintly, and then cheers rose.
Emma's eyes flicked up once—and froze. Darius's gaze landed on her. It didn't move.
She dropped her eyes at once, heat rushing to her cheeks.
"Hey, Lawson!" one of the male servants hissed, smirking. "King's already drooling. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll take you to bed. Then again, maybe he'll snap your neck after."
The other servants laughed. Emma tightened her grip on the tray. "Shut up."
But the taunts kept coming. "Careful, boys," another said. "The Alpha doesn't like anyone touching his little trophy slave. He'll kill us all if the King takes her first."
Emma's stomach clenched. She wished she could vanish into the floor.
"Servants," a guard barked. "Move!"
They scattered. Emma walked carefully to the tables, pouring wine, keeping her head down. Still, she felt Darius's gaze like a weight on her back.
Then a voice rang across the hall—deep, mocking.
"Emma Lawson."
Her heart stopped. Slowly, she turned. James stood near the head table, his sharp blue eyes fixed on her. His lips curved in a cruel smile. "Still scrubbing dishes and carrying trays, daughter of a fallen Alpha. How far you've fallen."
Snickers rose from the wolves nearby.
Emma clenched her jaw. She wanted to spit at him, to scream. But she lowered her head. "Alpha," she said softly, voice tight.
James leaned back in his chair, enjoying the sting. "Make sure the King's glass never empties. That's your only worth tonight."
Her face burned, but she said nothing. She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
Hours dragged. Emma moved between tables, her arms aching. Whenever she dared to glance up, she found Darius watching her. His lips twitched in faint amusement, as though she were some puzzle only he could solve.
Finally, as she refilled his cup, he spoke.
"What is your name?"
Her hand shook. "Emma, sire."
"Emma." His voice rolled smooth, deep. He studied her face, the curve of her cheek, the set of her mouth. "You're wasted here."
She blinked, startled.
James's voice cut in. "She's a servant, nothing more."
Darius didn't look away from her. "She doesn't look like nothing."
Emma's heart hammered. She stepped back quickly, lowering her head.
Later, when the feast had ended and the tables were cleared, Emma carried dirty plates through the servants' passage. Clara hurried beside her, whispering. "Did you see the King staring at you? He didn't take his eyes off you."
"I noticed," Emma muttered.
Clara smirked. "Careful. If he wants you, you won't get a choice."
Emma swallowed hard. She already felt trapped in a cage—what would it mean if the Lycan King set his sights on her?
She didn't have to wait long to find out.
The next morning, James summoned Lyon to his study. Emma was called there too, trembling as she entered. She stood by the wall, hands folded.
King Darius sat opposite James, his presence filling the room.
"I want her," Darius said simply, pointing at Emma.
Her blood froze.
James arched a brow. "She's a servant. You can have any woman in the city, Your Majesty. Why waste time with her?"
"I decide what's a waste," Darius said evenly. His gaze slid back to Emma. "Name your price."
James leaned back, thoughtful. Then he smiled coldly. "Fifty plots of rich land. That is my price."
Emma's breath caught. Her knees weakened. He was bargaining her like cattle.
Darius's lips curved. "Done."
Emma gasped. "Wait—I—"
"Silence," James snapped, his voice sharp as a whip.
Her eyes burned with tears. She bit her lip hard, forcing them back. She would not cry in front of him.
"Prepare her," Darius said, rising. "She comes with me."
Emma's stomach twisted. She wanted to scream, to run, but her legs felt like lead. Clara's voice echoed in her memory: Don't ever catch his eye. And yet she had.
That night, alone in her tiny room, Emma sat on her cot trembling. She pressed her hand over her flat stomach, whispering into the dark.
"If I'm pregnant…if it's his…then what happens now?"
Her tears finally spilled.
Meanwhile, across the mansion, James stood at his window with Lyon at his side.
"You made a good deal," Lyon said lightly. "Fifty plots of land for one servant. Nothing but profit."
James didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his chest burning with something he didn't want to name. He closed his eyes, and in the dark behind his lids he saw a woman again—blonde hair, soft skin, lips trembling under his.
"Fuck," he whispered. "Why can't I forget her?"