LYRA POV
I woke up screaming.
My hands flew to my throat, expecting chains. Finding none. My eyes shot open, expecting dungeon darkness. Finding soft morning light instead.
Where—?
I bolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. This wasn't the slave wagon. Wasn't the auction house. I was in a bed—an actual bed with clean sheets and pillows that smelled like cedar and something else. Something wild.
The room around me was bigger than my entire house in Ashveil had been.
Books lined one wall. A fireplace crackled with low flames. Thick curtains framed windows that showed mountains in the distance, their peaks covered in snow. And to my left, glass doors opened onto a balcony.
A balcony.
What kind of prison had balconies?
I threw off the blankets—who had put me to bed?—and stumbled to the doors. My legs shook. How long had I been unconscious? The last thing I remembered was the carriage ride with him. The monster. General Nightfang. The man who killed my mother.
I'd fallen asleep—or passed out from exhaustion and terror—while he watched me with those burning gold eyes.
And now I was here. Wherever "here" was.
The balcony doors weren't locked. I pushed them open and stepped outside, the cold mountain air hitting my face like a slap. Below me, a fortress sprawled across a valley—black stone walls, training yards where beast soldiers sparred, towers that pierced the grey sky like knives.
Nightfang Keep. It had to be.
I was in the monster's home.
The urge to jump, to run, to do anything but stand here waiting screamed through me. But the balcony was four stories up. I'd break every bone trying to escape.
"Smart girl," a voice said behind me. "Most humans try to jump anyway."
I spun around so fast I nearly fell.
A wolf beastman stood in the doorway—scarred face, grey fur visible at his collar, eyes that had seen too much death. He held a tray with food and water.
"Who are you?" I demanded, hating how my voice shook.
"Kairan. The general's second-in-command." He set the tray on a small table. "Eat. You've been out for a full day."
A day. I'd lost a whole day.
"Where is he?" The question came out before I could stop it.
"Dealing with the mess you caused." Kairan's expression was unreadable. "Buying Elira Thorne's daughter at a public auction wasn't subtle. The entire capital is talking. Prince Theron is demanding answers. And the general—" He paused. "He's protecting you, whether you deserve it or not."
"I didn't ask him to—"
"No. You just existed." Kairan moved toward the door. "That's dangerous enough. Eat. Rest. The general will come when he's ready."
"Wait!" I stepped forward. "Why am I in a bedroom instead of a cell? Why give me books and a balcony? What does he want from me?"
Kairan looked at me for a long moment. "That's between you and him. But a word of advice, girl—the general could've let Prince Theron execute you at that auction. He didn't. Maybe ask yourself why before you try to kill him."
He left, locking the door behind him with a soft click.
I was alone.
I should eat. Should keep my strength up. But my stomach churned too hard. Instead, I explored the room like a trapped animal learning its cage.
The books were real—histories, poetry, even a few human folk tales I recognized. The clothes in the wardrobe were my size, simple but clean. The bathroom—actual bathroom with running water—had soap and towels.
This wasn't how you treated slaves.
This was how you treated... what? Guests? Prisoners? Something else?
My eyes landed on a desk near the fireplace. Papers sat in neat stacks. Ink and quills. Like someone actually expected me to write.
Then I saw it.
Hidden partially under a cloth on the desk—a letter opener. Silver, sharp, forgotten or left deliberately.
My fingers closed around it before I could think.
A weapon. Finally, a weapon.
I tested the weight. Not much, but enough. If the general came close, if he tried to hurt me, I could—
What? Kill a beast who'd lived three hundred years? A trained warrior who'd murdered my mother?
But I held onto the letter opener anyway. It made me feel less powerless.
Hours crawled by. The sun moved across the sky. I paced. Ate a little of the food because Kairan was right—I needed strength. Practiced gripping the letter opener, imagining striking, knowing I'd probably die trying.
Just like Papa died trying to protect me.
Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back angrily. Crying wouldn't help. Grief wouldn't save me.
The lock clicked.
I spun toward the door, letter opener hidden behind my back, heart racing.
General Nightfang entered.
He looked different in daylight—less like a shadow, more like a man. But no less dangerous. His golden eyes found me immediately, and that impossible pull I'd felt at the auction flared to life again.
The rope made of lightning, tying me to him.
What was that?
"You're awake," he said, his voice neutral. "Good."
"Stay back," I warned, my hand tightening on the hidden weapon.
His eyes narrowed slightly. He knew I had something. Of course he knew.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said carefully.
"You killed my mother!" The words exploded out of me. "You bought me like I'm property! You—"
I lunged before I finished the sentence, bringing the letter opener up toward his throat with every ounce of strength I had.
He moved like water—smooth, effortless, impossible. His hand caught my wrist, stopping the blade an inch from his skin. His other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me off balance.
We froze like that. Me pressed against him, the letter opener trembling between us, both breathing hard.
"Good instinct," he said quietly. "Poor execution."
Then he twisted my wrist—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make my fingers go numb. The letter opener clattered to the floor.
He released me and stepped back. I stumbled, expecting punishment. Expecting violence.
Instead, he picked up the letter opener and handed it back to me.
"What—?"
"Keep it," he said. "If it makes you feel safer."
I stared at the weapon in my hand, then at him. "You're insane."
"Probably." He moved to the fireplace, putting distance between us. "Sit down, Lyra. We need to talk."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"I know. Sit anyway."
Something in his tone—not quite a command, not quite a request—made me sink into the chair by the desk. I kept the letter opener visible, a silent threat.
He stood by the fire, shadows dancing across his face. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "I'm going to make you an offer. One year. Serve me for one year—attend court functions, play the role of my... acquisition. In exchange, at the end of that year, you'll have your freedom and enough gold to disappear anywhere in the world."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "You think I'm stupid? You'll kill me the moment I'm not useful."
"No." His eyes met mine. "I won't."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because if I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead." He paused. "Prince Theron wants your execution. Half the beast nobility thinks you're a threat because of your bloodline. The only thing keeping you alive right now is me."
The words hit like stones. He was right, and I hated it.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why protect me at all? You killed my mother. You should want me dead too."
He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then: "Because I knew your mother."
The room tilted. "What?"
"Elira Thorne." He stared into the fire, not at me. "I knew her before she became a rebel leader. Before the wars. Before..." He stopped. "Before I killed her."
"You're lying."
"I wish I was." His jaw clenched. "She was brilliant. Fierce. She almost brought down the entire beast empire with nothing but strategy and courage. And when I finally caught her, when the king ordered her execution..." His voice dropped. "She looked me in the eyes and told me her daughter would finish what she started."
My breath caught. "But you said her daughter died—"
"That's what our spies reported. That's what I believed for twenty years." He finally looked at me, and the pain in his golden eyes was so raw it hurt to see. "Until I saw you on that auction stage with her eyes. Her face. Her fire."
"So what?" I stood up, anger giving me courage. "You feel guilty? You want to make up for murdering my mother by keeping me as your pet for a year?"
"No." He moved closer, and I raised the letter opener. He stopped. "I want to keep you alive because you're the last piece of her left in this world. Because she deserved better than what I did to her. And because—" He hesitated. "Because there's something about you that I need to understand."
"What does that mean?"
"Your eyes aren't just like hers. You have something else. Something that shouldn't exist in a human." His gaze intensified. "When I touch you, I feel... a connection. A pull. Do you feel it too?"
The lightning rope. The impossible bond.
I couldn't admit it. Wouldn't give him that power over me.
"I feel nothing but hatred," I lied.
He studied me for a long moment. "Liar."
"Then we're both liars." I lifted my chin. "You say you'll free me after a year. I say I believe you. We're even."
Something almost like a smile touched his mouth. "Fair enough."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "One more thing. There's someone else in the capital with silver-grey eyes. Your father—the man who raised you—told you to find her. I'm going to help you do that."
My heart stopped. "Why would you help me?"
"Because whoever she is, she's connected to your mother. And if Elira had secrets, I need to know them." His hand gripped the doorknob. "They might be the only thing that keeps you alive."
He left before I could respond.
I sank back into the chair, my legs giving out.
Someone else with my eyes. Someone my father wanted me to find.
Who?
I looked down at the letter opener in my shaking hand. One year of serving the man who killed my mother. One year of playing slave to a monster.
But maybe—just maybe—one year of finding answers.
The fire crackled. Outside, night was falling over Nightfang Keep.
And somewhere in the capital, a grey-eyed woman waited.
A woman who might tell me who I really was.
What I really was.
Why beast soldiers burned my village just for my eyes.
I touched my reflection in the silver letter opener—silver-grey eyes staring back at me.
"Who are you?" I whispered to my reflection.
Somewhere in the fortress, a woman's scream cut through the night.
I ran to the balcony, heart racing.
Below, in the training yard, a female figure stood surrounded by shadow guards—her hands glowing with impossible silver light, the same color as my eyes.
She turned her face upward, as if she felt me watching.
And even from four stories up, I saw them.
Silver-grey eyes.
Just like mine.
The woman smiled—cold and knowing.
Then she vanished into shadows, taking her guards with her.
I gripped the balcony railing, my whole body shaking.
Who was she?
And why did seeing her feel like staring into a dark mirror?