Caleb POV

My mother strong-armed me to this soirée of hers; she spends the huge palace resources just to create a fantasy meeting of me meeting an aristocratic lady of choice.

I got tired of coming since it was always the same set of people with the Lycan males' usual groveling and the females' their simpering nonsense.

By the time my mother entered the hall, I caught a scent that was unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. I kept wondering if the chefs had come up with something good today; at least that would help with the coming boredom.

Before I could get to my seat, I was stopped by Minister Lakewood, who manages our external trade with humans.

"My dear prince, I have been meaning to see you," he said while bowing expansively. "Really? Is anything the matter?" I asked.

"No, no, it's nothing. My daughter comes of age next week, and I was hoping I could invite you as a chief guest to represent the royal family. I hope you can do me the honor."

'How displeasing,' was my first thought. I wouldn't mind attending his event if it were reasonable, but it was obvious he wanted to use me to boost his status while furthering a matchmaking effort.

"Such a nuisance!" My wolf bristled in anger. Not bothering to give him the pleasure of an answer, I turned away angrily.

He spoiled my already sour mood, hoping the food the chef made could work magic on my dampened mood. I followed the scent; it was warm, filled with the smell of olives after rain and a hint of ambergris.

But my nose led me to a girl?

A human?

Or not?

Shouldn't humans smell thin and fragile, or is she just wolfless? We do have them around the kingdom.

My wolf stirs. I could feel Trey lift his head in interest; that alone made my spine stiffen in concentration.

How could a human smell so good?

I let my gaze track her the way I would a potential threat; she's holding a tray. Her hands were steady, though her pulse beat too fast at her throat. She had looked up at me, stunned, but now her eyes were lowered, and her posture was submissive.

She was walking towards me slowly but with measure, like someone who knows how to slink around quietly.

Trey exhales, making a low sound in my chest. "That's her, Caleb."

No.

I shut the thought down immediately.

But still my world had tilted the moment her dark eyes had met mine. For one breathless instant, something aligned with me; a pressure I was not aware of snapped tight behind my eyes, as if a door I didn't know existed open a fraction.

When I got close to her, I stopped walking, blocking her path of escape.

Around us, the conversation stops; the Lycans could feel the shift in the air.

I know I shouldn't speak to her, but I didn't care.

"You."

Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't run or beg.

Interesting, she doesn't scare easily like other humans. Her head still lowered, she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Your Highness?"

Her accent is... wrong; she didn't sound from around here. I wondered which pack she came from. This is the first time my wolf and I were curious about a girl.

I step closer; the scent of her is inviting; she truly smells heavenly.

"You're new," I say.

"I-I work in the kitchens, Your Highness." She answered.

My wolf presses forward, curious now, sniffing beneath the surface.

"Human skin, human blood, but still unusual. She is something more," Trey said.

Stating his input without my request.

My gaze drops to her wrists, and I see faint marks of old bindings that have recently healed. I felt raw anger go through me again; it was purely unwelcome. But I could not help but wonder -

Who touched her?

The thought hits deep in my mind.

Trey growls, low and displeased.

I take another step closer, invading her space deliberately. She sways but holds her ground. Foolish girl, I thought.

"Look at me."

She hesitates.

Good, show a bit of fear girl, but she obeyed, surprising me.

Her eyes lifted and met my gaze, and I felt it again, that sharp, breath-stealing click in my chest; it felt like puzzle pieces being put in place and then stopping just short.

Her gaze isn't worshipful or greedy as I have seen from other females; it's searching, as if she were also assessing me, to see if I fit her standards.

That is unacceptable, I thought. Before I could say anything else, my mother's voice cut through the moment.

"Caleb."

I don't look away from the girl immediately. I forced myself to breathe, to push Trey back into his cage.

Chanting to myself, she is nothing, just a human, she is beneath notice.

"She looked at me," I say flatly to my mother.

Mother's tone is dismissive, but I could see a quick shift in her sharp eyes that always misses nothing. "She's human. Humans make mistakes."

I finally step back.

The tension drops, but the echo remains, clinging to my skin as I walk away, but I don't turn around.

I don't need to; I have spiced the occasion enough with fresh gossip.

The rest of the soirée passes in fragments. The nobles talk, the courageous ones like Minister Lakewood approach, trying to form alliances. My mother smiles and maneuvers, her political instincts as sharp as ever. I nod when required and speak when expected of me.

I could not wait for it to end, and the food was passable. I had raised my expectations too high after the scent from the maid.

Still, my attention kept drifting. Trey was restless. "We need to see that girl again," he kept saying. "She's human," I told him silently. "Let it go."

"Then why does she smell like olives after rain? We love olives," he counters.

I don't answer.

Later, when the hall begins to empty, I retreat to the eastern balcony. The cool night air washes over me, grounding. The palace grounds stretch below the lit paths, patrolled by guards.

My mind could not rest because one human girl had disrupted my equilibrium more than any enemy rogue ever had.

I close my eyes, but her scent lingers in my mind.

Gina POV

We were kept busy all through the queen’s event. Lila kept snapping like a she-wolf in heat.

Maybe she is in heat. Who knows, with these Lycans, I don’t have much understanding of their biological makeup.

By evening, the nobles invited by the royals had wined and dined, and my encounter with the prince had become a passing tale, or so I thought.

Before I could slip away to rest after the soirée, I was caught in a corner of the servants’ hallway.

“So, you are the one who disrespected the prince today?” a maid, whom I didn’t recognize, said while her eyes stared at me with disgust. She is obviously a maid based on her clothing, and another one, obviously her underling, stood with her, blocking my likely escape route.

Maid 2 spoke: “Lena, she is not worth your time; obviously, she will be dying soon after she has offended the prince.”

"Shut up, Fiona! She wasn’t punished then, so who will now?"

Keep your head down, Gina, breathe in and out, observe, and give no reply till you find a way to escape. I reiterated to myself. My police training kicks in automatically, grounding me just the way I used to catalog details at crime scenes to push away fright: the distance between people, their shift in tone, people avoiding my gaze, or staring too closely.

I am tired and stressed, and I know I won’t get away easily, but at least I can secure a means with less damage.

Survive, just survive, Gina.

I reiterate to myself while they both argue, then I wonder what way I could solve this.

"Can I go now? Talk it out without me," I said, hoping to defuse them.

“You bitch, who are you trying to impress? Let me tell you now that you might have spoken to the prince, but you are no one here and always will be, get it?”

Rolling my eyes upwards, I stated under my breath, “Grant me patience to deal with fools.”

“Oh, I get it now, you two are jealous the prince spoke to me, right? I can assure you that I am nothing and I own no delusions; you both can have him for all I care,” I stated with sarcasm in my tone.

Maid 1 pushed me; the force made me hit my shoulder against the wall. I screamed in pain, “Haaa, you don’t have to be so violent,” I protested.

“Stop the bullying, ladies. I have called Lady Lila, and she is coming right now. If you know what’s good for you, you all should leave.”

A panting Mary said out loud, her words echoing down the hallway.

“Oh, it’s mousy Mary, now have you taken up the role of a protector?” Maid 1 said.

“Let’s go, Fiona, just so you know, human, my eyes are on you,” she said menacingly, then turned and left while strutting away like a model on the runway.

“Are you okay, Gina?” Mary asked. She stared at me with concern in her eyes, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was always this nice.

“Yeah, thanks, just that I don’t know if I have cracked my shoulder or not,” I replied, trying to massage the pain from my weak bones.

“Follow me, let’s get you a salve from the healer.”

Not bothering to protest, I went to the healer who was in another wing of the servants’ quarters. She is a young, cuddly-looking woman. She looked like the nun who shielded me from bullies in my orphanage home when I was ten.

“Nice to see you, Mary. Are you injured again?” She asked, a soft smile lighting up her face.

“No, Tabitha, I brought the new maid; she injured her shoulder,” she replied while presenting me to the healer like a product for sale.

“Oh, I see, come closer, let’s see what we have here.”

I unbuttoned the top part of my maid's dress, and I could feel a sting as I removed the cloth from my shoulder to show her. Those maids really did me dirty. I haven’t even recovered from the rope burns on my wrists and ankles, now another injury.

"Hmm, that looks bad. Were you pushed? Your skin is quite sensitive, so you need to be more careful."

“Yes, I will.” Soon enough, I was bandaged and given an ointment they called a salve to use for massage.

“Thank you, Tabitha,” I thanked her wearily, leaving the infirmary with Mary, so I could go for my much-needed sleep.

We had not walked for up to a minute when Mary and I came across Lila, who seemed to be waiting for us. I could not keep it in, so I whispered, “Mary, did you really call Lila the other time?”

“No, I didn’t. I just said that to scare your bullies,” she replied.

“So why is Lila here then?”

“Are you asking me? Seems you have forgotten the mess you caused at the soirée today.”

Oh, yeah, my encounter with the Prince.

Lila was waiting for us, and by the look on her expressionless face, I didn’t think it boded well for me.

She didn’t bother to say hello, and with a tone that offered no opportunity for argument or rebuttal, she said, “Mary, you can go back; as for you, come with me.” I had no choice but to follow her; there was no chance to protest.

Not bothering to look back, I could sense that Mary had disappeared, my spineless dishwashing colleague.

Lila didn’t say a word. She walked fast, moving with ease that shows her obvious Lycan heritage. I almost had to jog to keep up.

For someone who has always primed myself to be fit as a police officer, it’s sad to see myself in a body so weak that I breathe hard even with the slightest exertion.

I really need to figure out how I will escape from here with this kind of physique.

Jogging behind her absentmindedly, lost in thought, I almost ran into Lila, who had suddenly stopped in front of a door.

I looked at the brown mahogany door she stopped at. There was a label on it: The Internal Affairs.

The place looked creepy. I shivered, unable to shake the sudden feeling of dread running down my spine.

She opened the door to a long, narrow chamber lined with reinforced glass panels and metal fixtures.

The room was modern but sterile, built for easy cleaning and clearly meant for discipline and questioning. Three people were waiting inside. They were waiting for me.

The lady maid, Madam Istrell, the one who welcomed me on my first night and laid down the rules the following morning, stands at the center. She had a tablet in her hand. There were two wolf guards flanking her with their arms crossed akimbo and their faces unreadable.

"Gina Hane," she says without looking up. "Human, a scullery maid, was assigned to the kitchens three days ago." It was as if she were reading my stats, like a robot and not a living being.

"Yes, Madam," I reply.

"You have been accused of impropriety," she continued, looking up and now staring at me with a fierce glint in her eyes, "you disrupted the palace order and encouraged inappropriate attention from a royal."

My chest tightened. Shit! I think I am truly in trouble now. Mary did warn me, but I never took it seriously. The prince and I hardly spoke; it was just a few words with tons of tension packed in them.

"I did not-" trying to protest my innocence.

She raises one finger.

"Silence."

The word carried weight, authority, magic, possibly, maybe, or just centuries of obedience drilled into these walls because the whole space went mute, and breathing seemed to seize for a millisecond.

"You will listen," she says. "You will accept correction, and you will learn your place."

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

In my world, you don't accuse without evidence, that will be slander punishable in the court of law, but here it is obvious that there are no human rights. They simply don't exist. This world doesn't care. I don't even get a chance for self-defense.

"As a low-ranking human without a wolf," Madam Istrell continues, "you are not entitled to defense."

There it is, the truth, laid bare.

She starts tapping her tablet once again, "For your action of disrespect, there is an approved punishment for it."

She looks at me once more and says sharply, "This should warn you about keeping your place and accepting not to cross any lines here. This is the royal palace, and ultimate obedience is required."

One of the guards steps forward and gestures toward a metal post fixed onto the floor.

My stomach drops.

"So, am I getting a physical correction?" I ask quietly in horror.

"Yes," she replies. "You have been sanctioned and found guilty; you will receive the necessary flogging as a reminder."

I had no means or power to escape this cruelty, so I walked to the post on my own.

I had faced tough times and seasons in my short life as an orphan, and I had been strong all my life, lifting my head high to face each challenge. Even in this unfair situation, I will not be dragged or caught begging for something I am not guilty of.

The guard lifts my wrists and snaps shut the restraint bands, pulling my arms over my head. The position stretches my shoulders and forces my spine straight.

I close my eyes, control my breathing to bear the oncoming pain, and start to meditate.

The pain is temporary; you control your emotions, they don't control you.

The first strike lands across my back, white-hot.

I gasped before I could stop myself.

It was not a whip; it was something flat and heavy, designed to hurt without breaking the skin. To leave marks that fade just in time to avoid questions.

The second strike followed before I could recover, and by the third strike, my legs were trembling.

Madam Istrell's voice is calm as she recites, I am guessing that's the protocol. "This is for forgetting your station."

Another strike.

"For allowing attention you did not earn."

Strike.

"For threatening palace stability and challenging hierarchy."

Strike.

My vision blurs.

I grit my teeth, refusing to scream.

I will not give them that.

By the sixth strike, something inside me cracks, not my bone or muscle; something deeper in me, and the room tilts as if I were being turned upside down.

The scent of ozone suddenly fills the air.

I heard it before I felt it. It was a low sound, it did not sound human, it vibrated through my ribs, and my blood surged, pressing against the back of my skull.

Enough.

The word wasn't spoken; it was a strong persuasion.

Heat floods my veins, and my heart slams once, twice, then changes rhythm entirely, beating heavier, slower, but more powerful.

The guards hesitated and stopped striking me.

Madam Istrell frowns. "What is that noise?"

I don't know what it was, either, but I feel it now.

Something curled tight inside my chest, like a sleeping animal stirring for the first time.

You are not prey, Gina.

My knees buckle, the restraints snap open as I collapse forward, hitting the stone floor hard. Pain explodes through my body, and then vanishes; it is replaced by strength.

But the strength was not much, just a spark that was enough to keep me breathing and stay awake.

I opened my eyes briefly. I was kneeling on the floor, and my sight was blurred, but I could sense the breathing of everyone in the room.

The guards seemed to exchange uneasy glances at the odd reaction from me.

"She's overheating," one of them mutters. "I am not sure humans can take this much beating."

Madam Istrell stiffens. "Then end it."

They unhook me and step back as if I'm suddenly dangerous.

I lie there on the floor, gasping, sweat soaking through my uniform, my skin burning like I have been struck by lightning.

Inside my head, I heard a strange voice. "I am awake," it said.

The voice is small, it sounded new and curious, but I didn't understand it myself, but I had a feeling that it understood me more than I could hope for.