The omega girl was already halfway down the hall before Lyra could answer. The "Alpha wants tea" order still clanged in her skull. She dropped every other thing she was doing because every second she wasted meant Alpha Kade's anger would grow.
She headed towards the big, old kettle which was never off the flame. She reached for it, burning her palm on the handle because she forgot, every morning, how much it bit. Her fingers clenched, blushing red, and she hissed under her breath. The other girls smirked into their sleeves but did not dare say anything. Her pain gave them joy, and maybe she deserved it.
She worked fast, repeating the instructions in her head as she did whenever she was asked to bring Bloodbloom tea. She was supposed to make the tea not too weak, not too strong, the color of fresh blood. It was the only thing Alpha Kade claimed to enjoy. Rumor had it, he learned to drink it during his time at the border, and that he only started craving it after the war. The truth was that no one knew what Kade liked or hated, because Kade did not talk to omegas, or to anyone unless it was to demand or destroy. Lyra once saw him lift a wolfhound by the scruff and snap its jaw sideways because it barked at him. The image replayed now as she poured the crimson tea into a gold-rimmed porcelain cup.
She balanced the cup on a saucer. Her hand was steady now; she forced it to be. She walked the length of the scullery and through the swinging door, back into the cold artery of the main hall.
She did not see Seraphina until it was too late.
Seraphina suddenly appeared from the dark seam between two pillars, flanked by her usual minions. She was wearing another ridiculous red silk dress that clung to her like it was painted on her body. Her hair was swept up, and her face was perfect. She was two years older than Lyra. But they had been friends as kids. Her smile was a needle. The girls behind her were new, not really new, but they were not her childhood friends.
"Lyra," Seraphina called her name like they were still friends meeting for tea. "Running errands already? It is barely sunrise."
Lyra did not answer. She stared at the floor. That is the proper thing to do.
Seraphina stepped closer. "You missed dinner again," she said. "If you collapse in the hall, they will say it was your own fault."
Lyra could have told her the truth, that she did not eat because her stomach turned at the sound of her own chewing, that she did not eat because she was afraid of what she would become if she ever felt full. But it was not the truth Seraphina wanted. She was mocking her because she knew Lyra could not sit at the same table she now sat at.
Lyra moved to go around her, keeping the cup steady, but Seraphina matched her step. The girls behind her closed in on Lyra.
"Let us see it, then," Seraphina said. "You make Alpha Kade's tea yourself, do you not? They say you do it better than anyone."
There was nowhere to go but through her. Lyra kept her eyes down, but she could feel Seraphina watching her, noticing every tremor and every stutter of her breath. Fighting Seraphina meant punishment for Lyra. Her uncle Gareth would not accept any excuses. Lyra had learned not to fight back a long time ago.
"Careful," Seraphina said in a bright voice, "you would not want to—"
She moved fast as Lyra made another attempt to move and hooked one leg under hers. The world tipped. The cup jumped from the saucer and arced through the air. Scalding Bloodbloom tea painted the floor, spattered on Lyra's face, and soaked into the gray of her skirt. The cup shattered with her on the floor.
For a second, everything was silent. Even Seraphina seemed surprised by the violence of the break. Then she laughed. The sound was soft and low, but it cut deeper than any shout. Her minions joined her, snickering softly.
"Clumsy as ever," she said. "Make another cup, servant girl. And hurry, you know how Alpha Kade hates to be kept waiting."
Lyra bit back a retort and picked herself from the floor, hot tears welling up and blurring her vision as she picked up the broken pieces. One edge sliced her thumb, and blood welled up, bright and red. She wiped it on her skirt.
She remembered a time, long ago, when Seraphina's smile was not cruel. When she, Tana, and Lyra would sneak sweets from the kitchen and play in the orchard. They were just kids then, before Elias and before everything went to hell. Before Seraphina's family's loyalty to the Alphas became a weapon against her.
Lyra tried to hold her face steady, but it must have twitched, because Seraphina's smile widened.
"You are so easy, Lyra," she whispered. "Maybe that is why they keep you around."
Lyra said nothing, because nothing she said would matter. Seraphina stood and flicked her fingers. "Clean this up," she said, and the girls fell away behind her, their laughter echoing down the corridor.
The world came back in pieces: the sting of the burn on her leg, the sticky film of Bloodbloom tea drying on her skin, and the pressure of unseen eyes watching from every shadow. She gathered the porcelain, careful not to cut herself again, and dumped the shards in the bin by the door.
She made the Bloodbloom tea again. This second time was worse because her fingers were raw from the spill, and the kettle felt heavier now. She wrapped the fresh mug in a cloth before placing it on the tray, but she was shaking harder than before.
And she was late. So late.
Alpha Kade's chambers were at the end of the east wing. The corridor was so quiet that it made her footsteps sound like an alarm. Out of the three, he was the one she feared the most. Knox was explosive, Kalem was unsettling, but Kade's quiet fury and cold wrath were a different kind of terror. It was the kind that chilled her to the bone and made her feel very powerless.
The door to his study was slightly ajar. She paused, and her hand hovered near the wood. She could hear his deep voice barking at someone inside. He was furious.
"No," he snarled, "I said double the shipment. If they cannot produce it, we will take their land and their titles."
There was a muffled response; she did not hear the words, only the fear. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps. A young male delta, face pale and sweating, scurried out of the room, barely sparing her a glance as he rushed past.
Lyra whispered a prayer under her breath and told herself it was just for a few seconds. Just give him the Bloodbloom tea and get out.
She nudged the door open and stepped in, keeping her eyes on the floor. He was standing by the window, his back to her, but she knew he was aware of her presence. He was wearing a dark leather tunic stitched with the Blackwood crest. His arms were crossed, and even in silence, he radiated fury.
The air felt colder here, like his presence changed the temperature. Like he was part of the stone that built this place. She walked straight to his desk, keeping her gaze down. The tray rattled slightly as she set it down.
"You are late."
She flinched.
His voice was not loud. It never was. But that tone sliced like a blade across her spine. She braced herself, but it did not help.
He turned toward her slowly, and she caught a glimpse of his face. It was the same sculpted, cold look that never changed. Except for the green pool of his eyes. They were burning, but not with fire. They burned with something colder than ice.
"What kept you?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I—" she started, but the word died in her throat. What could she say that would not dig her deeper?
"Do not tell me it was hard to boil water," he added, quiet but cutting. "Or did you get distracted again trying to eavesdrop on real pack business?"
She lowered her head further.
"Or maybe," he continued, circling her now, "you just enjoy making me wait. Is that it, Lyra? You want my attention so badly, you delay the only thing I ever ask of you?"
"No, Alpha," she whispered.
He stopped in front of his desk and finally took the cup of Bloodbloom tea, bringing it to his lips and sipping. There was a pause, in which he held the crimson liquid in his mouth like a dare. He set the cup down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Interesting," he said, the word pronounced as if it were a slur. "You have managed to make it worse than last time. Did you add a new ingredient today, Lyra? Or is betrayal hereditary in your family?"
Lyra's face was burning. She shook her head.
"I am sorry, Alpha. I—"
He held up a finger, and the rest of the sentence died in her throat. He picked up the cup again, swirled the crimson liquid, and studied it as if looking for a reason not to throw it in her face.
"Kneel," he said.