I was scrubbing the kitchen counters with furious, mechanical strokes, the rag squeaking against marble that already gleamed like it had never seen a speck of dirt. I wasn't about to lose my life over pride or rebellion—not yet, anyway. Anything was better than dead. Anything. I still hadn't gotten the answers I needed: Who were my parents? Who was I? The certainty that my real name was Elena had settled deep in my bones like truth carved in stone, but it came with no map, no pack name, no memory of silver fur or burning towers. Just a hollow ache where those pieces should be.
If I died here, I'd die empty. And I refused to let that happen.
Mrs. Claudia appeared in the doorway just as I finished wiping the last sink. She didn't knock, didn't wait for me to catch my breath.
"Once you're done here, go clean the young master's room," she said flatly, already turning to leave.
I opened my mouth to protest—I've basically cleaned the entire east wing today—but she was gone before the words formed. The door swung shut behind her with soft finality.
I stared after her, rag dripping in my hand. What were the other maids even for? It felt like the whole palace had decided I was the only servant who mattered. Or maybe the only one expendable enough to send into the lion's den.
Sighing, I gathered my bucket and supplies and started walking. And walking. The corridors twisted like a maze designed to confuse intruders—or prisoners. I had no idea where the "young master's room" was. Every hallway looked the same: dark wood, silver wolf motifs, flickering sconces that cast long, claw-like shadows.
Then I spotted her—a girl about my age, maybe a year older, hurrying down the cross-corridor with a stack of linens. She had kind eyes and a name tag that read Eleanore. Relief flooded me. Finally, someone normal. Someone close to my age.
"Hello," I said, offering a small smile.
She stopped short, eyes widening like I'd jumped out at her from the dark.
"Who are you?" Her voice was small, edged with fear.
"You don't need to be scared," I said quickly. "I'm the new maid. Assigned by the Alpha King himself."
"Oh." She relaxed a fraction, managing a shaky smile. "Okay. I'm Eleanore."
I glanced at her tag—yep, matched. Then she looked down at my chest.
"You're Flora," she said, nodding at the name tag pinned to my uniform.
I looked down. There it was: neat black embroidery spelling Flora. My stomach lurched. I hadn't put that there. I ripped it off in one sharp tug, the pin tearing a tiny hole in the fabric. The name fluttered to the floor like a dead leaf.
Eleanore's eyes went wide at the violent motion.
"By the way," I said, ignoring the tag on the ground, "do you know where the young master's room is?"
"Prince Kaelan?" Her voice jumped an octave. Her eyes darted left, then right, like she expected him to materialize from the shadows.
"Yes, him," I nodded.
"I don't know!" she yelped, practically throwing herself backward. She spun and bolted down the corridor, nearly knocking the bucket out of my hand as she passed.
"What the heck!" I shouted after her retreating back. She disappeared around the corner without looking back.
"Crazy freak," I muttered under my breath, heart pounding from the near-collision.
"Eleanore?" an older voice called.
I turned. Another maid—older, gray streaking her hair, same black-and-silver uniform—was approaching. She paused when she saw me.
"You must be the new maid," she said, offering a warm, almost grandmotherly smile.
"Yes, I am," I replied, still rattled.
"Have you seen a girl pass by here? Wearing a name tag—Eleanore?"
"Yeah, she just ran that way," I said, pointing. "Like I'd set her on fire or something."
The old woman chuckled softly. "She's skittish. Don't take it personally."
She started to move on, but I stepped forward quickly.
"Wait—please. Can you tell me where the young master's room is?"
Her smile vanished. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating like she'd heard a death sentence.
"Uhm…" She swallowed hard, then reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Here. Take this."
She pressed it into my hand like it burned her fingers.
"It's a map," she said quickly. "It'll show you wherever you need to go in the palace. Just… follow it exactly. Don't wander."
Before I could ask anything else, she hurried off in the opposite direction, shoulders hunched, as if afraid someone might see her talking to me.
I stood there for a second, staring at the paper in my palm.
Why is everybody acting so strange?
I unfolded the map. It was hand-drawn—precise, elegant lines marking halls, staircases, wings labeled in neat script. A small red star pulsed faintly in one corner, shifting slightly as I tilted the page. The label beside it read: Prince Kaelan's Chambers.
My throat tightened.
The map knew where I was going before I did.
I gathered my cleaning supplies again—bucket sloshing, mop handle cold against my shoulder—and started following the twisting path the red star indicated.
Every few steps, I glanced over my shoulder.
The palace felt alive now—watching, listening, breathing.
And somewhere ahead, in those private chambers, the beast waited.
Not chained.
Not calm.
Just… waiting.
For me.
I gripped the mop tighter and kept walking.
Because refusing meant death.
And answers—real answers—only came to the living.
Even if living here felt a lot like dying slowly.
I stepped into Prince Kaelan's room, the heavy door creaking shut behind me like a sigh of relief. The space was empty—no towering figure, no storm-gray glare, no low growl rumbling from the shadows. A small, tired smile tugged at my lips. Good. He was probably still out there somewhere, sulking over the consultant's words, raging against the idea that I—the powerless, wolfless nobody—could be the key to his madness.
I set the bucket down with a soft clunk, the water inside sloshing gently. The room smelled of old wood, faint incense, and neglect. Dust lay thick on every surface: a gray film over the dark mahogany dresser, the bookshelves that lined one entire wall, the massive four-poster bed draped in black velvet and silver-threaded furs. It looked like no one had bothered to clean in years. Maybe no one had dared.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
I dusted, wiped, scrubbed, polished—every motion mechanical, every breath measured. The mop left wet trails across the stone floor; the rag turned gray-black with grime. I lost track of time. An hour passed, maybe more. My arms ached, my back screamed, but I kept going. Anything to stay busy. Anything to delay whatever came next.
Finally, I straightened, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist.
"Finally," I sighed, letting the mop handle clatter against the bucket.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed, too exhausted to care if it was allowed. The mattress sank under me—soft, luxurious, nothing like the thin pallet in the attic where I'd spent my first nights. I let my gaze wander over the room now that it gleamed.
The design was striking: deep charcoal walls etched with faint silver runes that caught the low torchlight, tall arched windows draped in heavy black curtains, a massive fireplace carved with snarling wolves frozen mid-roar. It was beautiful in a dark, intimidating way—like the palace itself. Big. Powerful. Cold.
My eyes snagged on a small silver frame on the bedside table.
I leaned forward and picked it up.
The photograph showed two children, maybe ten or eleven years old. The boy was unmistakably Kaelan—Ramon—younger, softer around the edges, but those same storm-gray eyes stared straight at the camera with a quiet intensity. He was smiling, small and genuine, arms slung around the shoulders of the girl beside him.
The girl… I didn't recognize her. Dark hair, bright eyes, a laugh frozen on her face. She looked happy. Carefree. Nothing like the haunted palace I'd woken up in.
I turned the frame over in my hands, wondering who she was. A sister? A cousin? A friend long gone?
Before I could set it down, the door slammed open.
"What are you doing in my room?"
The voice was low, dangerous, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
I flinched hard. The frame slipped from my fingers.
It hit the floor with a sharp crack. Glass exploded outward in glittering shards, scattering across the stone like broken stars.
I froze, heart slamming against my ribs.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet Ramon raging gaze on me.