Rian's POV
I was sitting on the edge of the window bench, watching a pair of sparrows chase each other between the trees when I heard the soft knock.
"Come in," I called, expecting one of the silent castle servants.
But it was Mira.
Her dark curls were pulled into a neat bun, and she wore a modest but well-fitted maid's uniform, the royal crest stitched just above her heart.
"Mira?" I stood, surprised. "What are you—?"
She smiled wide, her eyes shimmering. "Don't get all soft on me now," she teased. "I've been reassigned."
"Reassigned?"
"To you."
The words didn't register at first. I blinked, stunned.
"I'm your maid now," she said gently, stepping further into the room. "Your personal one."
I didn't know what to say. Warmth rose to my throat, along with a pressure behind my eyes I tried to blink away.
"But… why?"
She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, even though I knew it was. "Avery pulled some strings. Said someone trustworthy should be by your side. Someone who doesn't treat you like… well, like they don't see you."
My heart clenched.
I took a step forward, then another, and wrapped my arms around her.
Mira froze for a heartbeat before hugging me back, strong and fierce.
"You're not alone anymore," she whispered near my ear. "Not in this place."
And for the first time since stepping foot in this palace, I believed her.
_____________________________________
Mira's soft humming echoed through the chamber as she gently brushed my hair. A melody I hadn't heard in years. It made something inside me ache, something warm—like home, like safety.
"You'll never believe I was scrubbing blood off castle tiles just two weeks ago," Mira said, amusement in her tone.
I turned slightly, just enough to catch her reflection in the vanity mirror. "And now?"
"Now," she grinned, "I dress the future Luna of the realm."
My smile faded. That word—Luna—felt heavy on my chest, like it didn't belong to me.
"I'm not—" I started.
Mira raised a brow. "You may not believe it yet, but even the walls are whispering it. And they don't whisper unless they're sure."
Before I could reply, the door creaked open. Avery's familiar scent drifted in first spiced wine and rosewood and then she appeared, her dark hair braided intricately, her robes too elegant for just a casual visit.
"Don't tell me I missed breakfast gossip," she teased, slipping into the room like she belonged.
"You're always late for breakfast," Mira said, rolling her eyes affectionately.
"I'm a princess. I can afford to be."
They bickered lightly, like sisters, and I sat quietly, watching them. It still surprised me how easily Avery had warmed to me after that frosty first meeting. I'd thought she was another rival, a mistress. But she wasn't. She was his sister. And to my astonishment, she liked me. Not for what I was or wasn't but for who I was.
"You've looked distant all morning," Avery said after a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's going on in that beautiful, broody head of yours?"
I hesitated, brushing my fingers along the edge of my sleeve. "He hasn't said anything. Not since…"
The night.
That night.
The one where I thought everything had changed. Where his touch didn't destroy me, where his eyes held something close to reverence. Where I thought, maybe, I wasn't just another piece in this twisted palace game.
"He's a stubborn ass," Avery said bluntly. "And probably terrified."
"Terrified of what?"
"Of feeling," she answered softly. "Of wanting something he can't control."
I didn't reply. I couldn't.
Because if I spoke, the dam might break—and I wasn't ready to cry in front of them.
Before either of them could press further, a knock rattled the door. Mira answered it, speaking briefly to the guard outside before turning back to me.
"He wants to see you," she said.
The air in the room shifted. I stood slowly, heart thudding. Avery reached out, squeezed my hand once, firmly.
"You don't owe him anything," she whispered. "But don't let him forget what you are."
The king's hut was a place of solitude and shadow. Built near the forest's edge, it reeked of cedar, smoke, and power. I stepped inside, expecting him to be pacing, snarling something. But he stood silently, facing the fire, his shirt undone, his body tense.
"You called for me?" I said.
He didn't turn. "Close the door."
I obeyed, though I suddenly wished I hadn't.
He was quiet, unbearably so, until the silence grew teeth.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he said at last.
My breath caught, but I didn't respond. I wouldn't offer softness, not this time.
He turned finally, eyes dark and unreadable.
And in the next breath, he was on me lips rough, hands urgent. I didn't resist. Not when he pressed me to the wall. Not when his mouth claimed mine like a man starved. Not when his fingers tore through fabric like paper.
We didn't speak.
Because if we did, it would ruin everything.
And when he sank into me, it wasn't desperation—it was a storm, crashing and devouring, and I let it drown me.
He didn't hold back. I didn't beg him to.
For a moment, we forgot we were broken.
For a moment, it was real.
But reality came crashing in the moment after.
He pulled away. Slowly. Breathing uneven.
Then, with the same mouth that had whispered need against my skin, he spoke—
"You can go."
At first, I thought I heard wrong.
"What?" I asked, blinking.
"You're dismissed."
Dismissed.
My chest caved in on itself. Rage bloomed where hurt tried to take root.
"You… you called me here," I whispered, voice trembling. "You touched me. You—used me. Again."
He looked away, jaw tight. "It's better this way."
"For who?!" I snapped, stepping forward. "For you? So you don't have to feel? So you can keep pretending I'm just some toy for your urges?!"
"You don't understand—"
"No, I understand perfectly," I hissed. "You think I'm just an omega. Some pathetic little creature who should be grateful the mighty king noticed her."
His gaze finally met mine, and there was a flicker of something pain? Guilt?
I didn't care.
"I'm not your mistress," I said. "I'm not a warm body to fuck and discard. And if you want to reject me, then do it. But don't call me to your bed again."
He flinched. Actually flinched.
"Rian—"
"No," I cut him off. "I won't let you destroy me and then pretend it never happened. I survived your touch. The only one who has. And if that scares you? Then that's your burden, not mine."
I turned, storming toward the door. My hand was on the handle when I heard him whisper, almost too soft—
"I don't want to lose you."
I froze.
But I didn't turn around.
"You never had me," I said.
And I walked out, slamming the door behind me.