Laughter echoed against stone—low, cruel, and cold.
Zev, the seventh alpha king, lounged on his throne, wine swirling in one hand. Frostbitten eyes flicked to the girl kneeling before him—slender, dirt-smudged, bleeding. A frayed collar hung loose on her neck.
Beside her, an older woman clutched her shoulder, trying to keep her upright.
"She's not even fit to be my slave," Zev drawled. "Look at her. She's trembling like a leaf."
Another alpha chuckled from a throne across the room. "You break ones like that in a night. What's the issue?"
Zev stood and stepped down from his dais, circling the girl slowly.
"She doesn't smell like fear," he murmured.
The girl's jaw tightened. Not a flinch. Not a tear.
Zev crouched, fingers gripping her chin. "Tell me, little rabbit. Why aren't you afraid?"
"I am," she whispered, voice steady. "Just not of you."
The room fell silent.
Even the guards stiffened.
"She doesn't know her place," the older woman hissed. "Forgive—"
"Leave," Zev said.
"Alpha?"
"I said get out. Before I paint the stones with your throat."
She fled.
Now it was just him and the girl who dared to challenge a king.
Zev traced her jaw with his thumb. "Interesting."
He turned to his brothers. "I'll keep her."
"But you just said—"
"I changed my mind," Zev said with a smirk. "Kings are allowed that."
Then, to her, "You'll come to my wing. You'll serve. You'll obey."
A pause.
"Refuse—and I'll make sure you regret it."
She finally looked up.
And he felt it—that flicker of defiance blazing in the ruins of her fear.
Zev snapped his fingers.
Guards stepped forward.
"You're coming with me," he said.
She followed.
No resistance.
But her gaze didn't break.
And for the first time in a long while, Zev felt something shift.
—
The room was warm, candlelit. Bare stone and old wood. A cage dressed like a chamber.
"You live here now," Zev said. "Obey, and you survive."
The girl nodded, her voice barely above a breath. "I understand."
Zev lingered for a moment, then closed the door behind him.
Silence.
She crumpled to the floor, pressing trembling hands over her heart.
"I'll survive," she whispered. "I have to."
—
Later, she sat on the cold floor, folding the threadbare cloth that held the last remnants of her past—a cracked mirror, a frayed scrap of shawl, a tiny locket.
Tears came silently.
She hadn't chosen this fate. Hadn't asked to be offered like livestock.
But hunger had teeth. And memories worse.
Men with greedy eyes.
Nights curled beside her dying sister.
No freedom.
No safety.
Only her body—the one weapon her mistress told her to wield.
"Make him want you," the voice echoed in her head. "Girls like you don't fight. They submit. They survive."
She glanced at the mirror.
At the girl in the glass.
Tear-streaked. Hollow-eyed.
Then she whispered, "I'll survive."
Even if it means becoming what he wants.
She lay down, back to the room.
Not dreaming.
Not hoping.
Just bracing.
Because tonight, she'd meet Zev again.
And the game would begin.