Martha stopped just outside Lily’s cell, her breath caught in her throat. The sight through the bars nearly broke her.
“Dear goddess…” she whispered.
Her fingers curled tightly around the small bundle of cloth she had tucked under her arm. A clean towel, a blanket and a flask of water. It was all she’d managed to gather before coming down here.
Lily lay on the damp stone floor, curled in on herself, her body trembling. The oversized shirt she wore was clinging to her fragile frame.
Martha rushed to the bars, her voice shaking. “Let me in. Please. She needs help.”
One of the guards snorted. “Waste of time. She’s not gonna make it. Give her a day. Two, tops.”
They unlocked the cell without much care, waving her in like they were tossing her into a pit.
“No,” Martha whispered, stepping into the cell with slow, careful steps. “No, no, no…”
She dropped to her knees beside Lily and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. The heat made her flinch.
Fever. And it’s bad. Her skin was flushed, her lips pale and cracked. Her eyes barely fluttered open, glazed and unfocused.
Tears welled in her eyes as she smoothed the damp hair from Lily’s face. “Oh, my sweet girl… what have they done to you?”
Behind her, the guards chuckled.
“She should’ve died days ago,” one of them muttered. “She needs a healer,” Martha snapped. “She’s burning up!”
The other guard laughed. “A healer? For a slave?”
“She’s going to die if she doesn’t get a healer!” She pleaded, hoping they would sympathize.
The other guard scoffed. “Why would we waste resources on a Brightpaw?”
“If she dies slow,” the first guard said with a shrug. “Not our problem.”
Martha turned away from them, heart pounding. Rage built in her chest, but she shoved it down. Lily needed her. That came first.
Lily stirred weakly, eyes barely opening. Her fingers reached for Martha’s, gripping them with surprising strength despite her weakness. Her lips moved.
Thank you.
Martha choked on a sob and squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t you thank me yet. I haven’t done anything.”
Lily tried to push her hand away, a pained expression crossing her face. She mouthed another word—Go.
“I’m not leaving you,” Martha said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Lily shook her head weakly, her hand still trying to push her away, but Martha leaned in close.
“Listen to me,” she whispered. “You’re not dying here. Not like this. I’m going to get help. I don’t care what it takes.”
She gently eased Lily back down onto the floor and placed a wet folded towel on her forehead, hopping it would bring down the fever. Lily’s tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands trembled in Martha’s grasp.
Martha stayed beside her until the girl drifted into unconsciousness again, mumbling and shivering through fevered dreams. Then she stood and turned to the guards.
“I want to see the Alpha,” she said.
They laughed. “You think you can just walk in on him?” one sneered. “He’s got better things to do!”
She stormed up the stairs with her heart pounding. She knew where Zayn should be. And if he wasn’t there, someone would fetch him.
She reached the Alpha’s office just as a tall, curvaceous woman was preparing to enter.
Victoria—the mistress. Perfect, polished, and dangerous.
Martha stopped a few paces short, panting from the climb.
Victoria turned slowly, one perfectly plucked brow raised. She looked Martha over with disdain, nose wrinkling.
“You? What are you doing here?” she scoffed.
“I need to speak with Alpha Zayn,” Martha said, forcing her voice to stay steady.
Victoria didn’t hide her disgust. “About what?”
“It’s urgent. It’s about Lily—”
The name alone made Victoria’s face twist with contempt.
“She’s still alive?” she said coldly. “Unfortunate.”
Martha clenched her fists. “She’s burning up with fever. She needs a healer. If she doesn’t get help—”
“She’ll die,” Victoria cut in. “Good. One less problem to worry about.”
Martha’s mouth opened in shock. “You—you witch—”
Victoria raised her hand as if to slap her. “What? How dare a maid talk to me like that!?”
“Enough!”
The word cut through the tension like a blade.
Both women turned to see Zayn standing in the hallway just behind the office doors. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp and cold.
Martha dropped to her knees immediately. “Alpha, please. It’s Lily. She’s very sick. The guards refuse to help her. If something isn’t done—”
Victoria interrupted. “She’s faking it for sympathy. That girl’s always been good at playing the victim.”
“She’s not faking,” Martha said firmly. “She’s dying.”
Zayn looked at her for a long, quiet moment. Then he turned to Ezra, who had stepped into view behind him.
“Summon a healer,” he ordered.
Ezra blinked. “Alpha?”
“She doesn’t die unless I say so.”
Victoria stepped forward, voice low with irritation. “You can’t be serious—”
Zayn cut her off with a glare. “I said I want her alive. Death is too easy.”
***
Three days passed.
The fever raged, but Lily held on.
Martha never left her side. She fed her broth in small spoonfuls, wiped the sweat from her brow, and whispered stories from the past. Sweet ones, quiet ones, anything that might keep her clinging to life.
And then, on the third day, the fever broke. Lily stirred.
Her lashes fluttered. Martha… she mouthed.
Martha’s eyes filled with tears. She cupped Lily’s burning cheek.
“You’re awake,” she whispered. “Thank the Moon Goddess. You’re awake.”
Lily’s lips parted in a silent attempt to mouth again, but her body was too weak. Still, her hand found Martha’s, and she held it tight.
“I told you I’d stay,” Martha said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re not alone anymore.”
But the relief didn’t last.
Later that day, the sound of heels echoed down the dungeon corridor.
It was Victoria. The guards quickly opened the cell door, and she swayed in. She stood there with effortless confidence, filling the space like she owned it. Her hair fell in glossy waves around her shoulders, framing cold, beautiful features. Her eyes were sharp and cruel.
Martha rose quickly, moving in front of Lily protectively. She wondered what she wanted now.
Victoria raised a brow and smirked. “Relax, maid. I’m not here to kill her. I brought her a gift.”
She held up a garment—a short, revealing red dress.
Martha’s stomach turned.
“Put it on,” Victoria said, tossing it onto the floor.
“She’s not strong enough,” Martha said.
“She doesn’t need strength,” Victoria replied. “Just obedience.”
Lily sat up slowly, her eyes dazed and tired. She looked at the dress, then at Martha, confused.
“Are you dumb? Wear it,” Victoria ordered.
Lily hesitated. “I do not like repeating myself, wear it now! Or else…”
With shaking hands, Lily reached for the hem of the oversized shirt. She stripped slowly, her back to the wall, moving like every inch of fabric burned her. She pulled the red dress over her head, the material clinging to her body awkwardly.
Victoria tilted her head, satisfied. “Better,” she said. “Now you look like what you are.”
Lily stared at the floor, feeling humiliated.
Victoria leaned in, grabbed Lily's chin and forced her to meet her gaze, “Get used to it. You’re not the Alpha’s daughter anymore. You’re not even a wolf. You’re a slave now.”
She released Lily roughly and stepped back, her cold laughter echoing cruelly through the dungeon.