Chapter 2 Transformation

Helen's POV

Five days.

Five days since the rejection, since Derek's offer, since I refused. Five days of hell.

The alarm sounds before dawn, and I wake on the hard floor with my back aching and my bones creaking. I am eighteen, and my body feels like an old woman's. I wash my face in cold water, pin my hair back, and glance at my reflection in the shard of broken mirror: tired eyes, hollow cheeks, new scars. I look away.

The kitchen is already chaos, with pots clanging, fires roaring, and the smell of food I will never taste. Someone shoves a tray into my arms, then another, then another, piled with roasted meat, fresh bread, and honeyed fruit. My stomach growls. I ignore it.

"Move," a guard says, pushing me forward. "The Alpha's sisters are waiting."

The royal quarters lie on the far side of the keep, down corridors and up stairs, past guards who sneer, nobles who look away, and servants who whisper. My arms burn and the plates rattle, and if anything spills, I will be punished. The guard's boots echo behind me, his eyes boring into my back.

"Hurry up, slave. The ladies don't like to wait."

I balance the trays on one arm and knock on the tall, carved door.

"Come in."

Sunlight pours through the windows onto walls painted with flowers and furniture soft with money. The air smells of roses and perfume. Two golden-haired women lounge by the window in silk, laughing. Elara and Mira, Derek's sisters, the princesses of the Red Velvet Pack.

The laughter stops.

"Well," Elara says. "Look who it is."

"The rejected one," Mira says, smirking.

I keep my head bowed and carry the trays to the table. Smoke and dust cling to my face, and Elara wrinkles her nose. "You smell like the kitchen."

"You look like a rat," Mira adds.

I say nothing and arrange the plates, my hands shaking with exhaustion. The first plate is fine. The second is fine. I reach for the third.

My hand slips.

The plate crashes, and meat, bread, and honeyed fruit spill across the expensive carpet.

"You clumsy fool!" Elara shrieks.

Mira steps toward me, eyes cold. "Do you know what that carpet costs? More than your worthless life."

I drop to my knees and scoop up the food with my bare hands. It is hot, and it burns my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

"Useless," Elara says, laughing. "Useless and rejected."

"Derek was right to reject you," Mira says, kicking the food aside. "He told us all about his generous offer, you know. Look at her, crawling on the floor like an animal. Maybe that's why he wanted her as a concubine. Maybe he likes animals."

My hands go still.

*Concubine. Animal. Rejected.*

I want to scream, to cry, to run. Instead I lift my head and meet their bright, hungry eyes.

"Did we hurt your feelings?" Mira asks, mocking.

I stand, stained and grimy, and my voice comes out calm. "You can't hurt me. You are spoiled children who have never known pain."

Their mouths fall open.

"How dare you," Elara starts.

"You think you are better than me? You are cruel and petty and small. All you have is your brother's name, and when it falls, you will have nothing."

The room goes silent. Elara's face flushes red, and Mira's hands tremble. "You will pay for this," she whispers.

I set the plate back on the tray. "Perhaps. But not today."

I turn for the door, and Elara screams for the guards.

They seize my arms and haul me back. Elara's hand rises, and the slap comes without warning, snapping my head sideways.

"Did you really think a slave could be Luna?" she hisses.

"You are nothing," Mira says, and shoves me down. My knees hit the stone. "Crying like a child?"

"I'm not crying."

They circle me, laughing, their voices cutting where their hands do not. Worthless. Rat. I stare at the floor and endure it, because that is what slaves do. We endure, we survive, we wait.

The door opens.

I know those footsteps. Foolishly, helplessly, my heart leaps. *Maybe he will stop them. Maybe he will be the man I thought he was.*

"What is this?" Derek sounds bored. "Why is the slave on the floor?"

"She was insolent," Elara says. "She spilled the food and called us spoiled children."

I wait for him to defend me, to pull me up and say *enough*.

He hauls me up by the arm, rough and careless, and I look at him with blood on my lip and pleading in my eyes. His grey eyes show nothing at all.

"Remember your place," he says, low and hard. "You do not speak to my sisters that way. You do not speak to anyone that way."

My heart shatters for the second time in five days.

He drops my arm. "Come. I need to speak with you."

In the empty corridor he turns on me. "Have you thought about my offer?"

"Yes," I say. "My answer is no."

His smile is cold and cruel. "You are stubborn. I like that. But it will not save you."

"I don't need saving. Not from you."

He laughs, short and sharp. "We will see how long you last. How long before you come to me and beg."

"I will never beg you."

He steps close enough that his breath warms my skin. "You will. They always do. You will break, and when you do, I will be waiting."

"I would rather die."

He smiles and steps back. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind and make you."

I walk out of the Red Keep with my cheek throbbing and my lip still bleeding. The morning is cold, the sky grey, the sun hidden behind clouds. I do not know where I am going. I only know I have to move. I find a shadowed gap between two buildings, lean against the wall, and close my eyes.

*In. Out. In. Out.*

I survive.

"Helen."

Gwen, the head maid, stands before me, her face unreadable, her eyes cold. She studies the bruise and the blood. "Clean yourself up. The Lycan King arrives today, and you have been assigned to serve him."

I stare at her. "The Lycan King? Why me?"

"You know how to be invisible. You know how to keep your mouth shut."

I laugh, bitter. "You clearly haven't heard what happened with the Alpha's sisters."

"I heard. Forget it. You will be polite, and you will be invisible. Understood?"

My jaw tightens. "Understood."

She walks away, and her words settle on me like a weight. The Lycan King. Ruler of Lunaria. The most powerful wolf in the kingdom. And I am to serve him.

Back in the slave quarters, I wash my face, fix my hair, and put on the cleanest clothes I own, old and worn but clean. Julia watches with worried eyes. "Are you okay?"

"No," I say. "But I will be."

Samantha presses a small cloth into my hand. "For the swelling." I hold it to my cheek, and the cold eases the pain. "Thank you," I whisper. She only nods. She does not need to say more.

The kitchen is chaos again, until Gwen claps her hands and sends the other slaves off to ready the great hall. In seconds the room is nearly empty. She points me to a corner. "The Lycan King's tea. You will make it yourself. No one else knows how."

On the small table sit a kettle, a cup, and a box of ingredients. My ingredients. My mother's.

The box is old and worn, and when I open it, the smell hits me: lavender, chamomile, honey, and something else, something secret that only my mother knew. I can almost hear her voice. *The secret is in the timing. The water must be just right, the leaves must steep just long enough, and you must pour with love. Always with love.*

My hands are steady and my mind is clear. For this one moment, I am not a slave. I am my mother's daughter. I pour the water, add the leaves, and wait. The tea is perfect. I can smell it, feel it.

I reach for the cup.

The steam curls up, lavender and honey and that last secret note, and something deep in my chest answers it. A pull, strange and magnetic, tugs at me from somewhere close, as if something out there has called my name.

Then my body convulses. My bones crack, my skin stretches, my muscles tear. The cup shatters on the floor. I hit my knees, vision blurring, limbs wrenching apart.

My wolf is coming.

No. Not here. Not now.

I try to push her down, but she is too strong. I scream.

And then I shift.

I land on four white paws, silver-eyed and glowing. The kitchen is silent. The others are gone, and I am alone.

Or I thought I was.

And then I see someone.