"Get up, girl. This isn't a place to sleep all day!"
It's the slave trainer and they call him Garrick. His rough hand yanked Regina up before she could even open her eyes properly. The cold, damp floor beneath her had stiffened her tiny body, and every muscle ached. She blinked against the dim light filtering through the cracked wooden boards above, her vision adjusting to the miserable sight she had woken up to for the past two days.
"Move, girl!" Garrick loomed over her, his scarred face an ugly map of years of violence. A jagged line sliced across his cheek, still red and raw, like the mark of someone who'd seen far too many brutal encounters. His breath was foul, rancid, and it made her stomach churn as he leaned close.
The slave quarters smelled of sweat, damp hay, and unwashed bodies. The walls were made of stone, cold and rough, trapping the moisture in the air. There were no beds, just a hard floor covered in thin scraps of fabric that barely counted as blankets. Around her, other slaves moved about, hunched and weary, each carrying the same look of exhaustion. No one spared her a kind glance. They were all too busy trying to survive.
Regina was the youngest here, too small to fight for food, too weak to defend herself. When she had arrived, she had hoped someone might take pity on her, might help her the way her mother used to. But no one did. They were all struggling in their own way. She had to learn fast—no one would save her.
That morning, she was assigned to clean the Alpha's chambers. The bucket of water they gave her was nearly half her size. She lifted it, her arms trembling under its weight, but she knew better than to complain. Complaining meant punishment. She'd seen and heard how agonizing those punishments can be when a slave drops a broom or when the floor isn't shiny enough.
She dragged the bucket across the halls, her breathing heavy. Her small hands ached as she clutched the handle tightly. When she finally reached the Alpha's chamber, her arms gave out, and the bucket tipped over. Water splashed onto the expensive rug, and Regina froze in terror.
"What do you think you're doing?" A voice rang out.
Regina looked up, her heart pounding. The Alpha's chamber was massive, the walls lined with bookshelves and animal heads mounted as trophies. A large desk sat in the corner, and behind it stood the most powerful man in the pack—Alpha Sirus.
But it wasn't him who had spoken.
A boy, maybe a few years older than her, stood nearby. He had dark, tousled hair and piercing gray eyes. He wasn't as terrifying as the Alpha, but there was something sharp about him, something that made Regina hesitate.
She dropped her gaze, pressing her lips together. She knew better than to speak.
Marco, Sirus's only son, stepped forward. His gaze flickered to the spilled water, then back to her shaking form.
"Let me help you—"
"Step away from the slave, Marco." Alpha Sirus's voice was like ice.
Marco stiffened. His hands clenched at his sides, but he obeyed, stepping back. Regina swallowed hard and quickly got to work, scrubbing the floor as fast as her hands would allow. She kept her head down, but she could still feel Marco's eyes on her.
***
That night, something even worse happened.
Garrick stormed into the quarters, his face grim. "The one who served the bread this morning has been executed," he announced flatly. "We need someone else at the dining room tonight. You—" His finger pointed directly at Regina.
Her stomach twisted.
She had never served the Alpha's table before. Back when her father, the Alpha of their pack, was still alive, she had once sat at the table, not beneath it. But now, she had no choice. The last person who had served there was dead.
With trembling hands, she carried the tray of bread through the long dining hall. The room was filled with warriors, their loud voices booming as they laughed and ate. She kept her head down, placing bread on each plate as quickly as possible, terrified of doing something wrong.
As she reached Marco, she felt her stomach twist painfully. The smell of roasted meat, warm bread, and thick stew made her dizzy. It had been two days since she had eaten anything more than scraps.
Her stomach growled—loudly.
She froze.
The table went silent for a brief second before laughter erupted from some of the warriors. Regina's cheeks burned with humiliation, and she hurried to finish her task. But then, she made the mistake of glancing up.
Marco was staring at her.
His gray eyes held something she didn't recognize at first. Pity? No, it was more than that. Understanding.
He had heard.
For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something. Then his gaze darted to his father. Alpha Sirus was too busy talking to another warrior to notice. Marco's hand twitched near his plate. Regina saw the way his fingers brushed over a piece of bread, almost as if he wanted to grab it, to offer it to her.
But he didn't.
Because he knew.
If he helped her, she would be punished.
Regina quickly turned away, finishing her task and leaving the dining hall before anyone could call her back.
That night, she lay on the cold floor of the slave quarters, curling into herself. Her stomach ached, but she was used to it at that point. Hunger was an old companion. She would just sleep and pretend it wasn't there.
Tomorrow, the slave trainer had said they would get soup. She held onto that promise, even if she didn't believe it.
"Survive...for us," she kept hearing her mother's voice.
Then, she heard it. Footsteps. Soft, careful footsteps near the entrance of the slave quarters.
Regina's eyes snapped open, her body tense. The other slaves were asleep, their quiet breathing filling the room. She turned her head slightly—just enough to see the shadow standing at the entrance.
Marco.
He held something wrapped in cloth. Even in the dark, she could see the outline of food in his hands. Her breath caught. He wasn't supposed to be here. If someone saw him—if his father found out—
Marco took a step forward. Then another. He crouched beside her, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Here. Take it."
Regina hesitated. Her fingers trembled as she reached out. The cloth was warm, and when she unwrapped it, the scent of bread filled her nose. Her stomach clenched painfully.
She looked up at Marco, confusion swirling inside her.
"Why?" she whispered.
Marco didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, finally, he spoke.
"Just take it." And then he left.