"Lower your eyes."
Regina immediately cast her gaze to the floor, her fingers tightening around the soft fabric of Alpha Sirus's cloak. She had been folding it, making sure there wasn't a single crease, when she had accidentally lifted her head too high.
A sharp slap echoed through the chamber.
Pain stung her cheek, but she didn't flinch. She had learned long ago that showing pain only invited more.
"How many times must I remind you?" Alpha Sirus's voice was cold, impassive. "A slave does not look their Alpha in the eye."
"I-I'm sorry, Alpha," Regina whispered, her head bowed.
Sirus let out a huff, his heavy boots echoing as he moved toward his chair. Regina swallowed her anger and continued folding the cloak as if nothing had happened.
At fifteen, she had mastered the art of obedience. She had learned how to move without being noticed, how to serve without making a sound. She was no longer the small, trembling girl who had been dragged into this pack years ago. She had grown.
Her silver hair, long and thick, shone even in the dim light of the Alpha's chamber. Despite the dull, ragged slave uniform she wore, there was no hiding the way she had blossomed into a young woman. Some of the warriors had noticed. She had seen the way their eyes lingered. It made her skin crawl.
But none of them were foolish enough to act on it. Because no one could touch what belonged to the Alpha's household. And she belonged to him. Not as a daughter. Not as a person. As a possession.
She polished his shoes, prepared his baths, laid out his clothes, and made sure his bed was perfect before nightfall. She did it all without question, without complaint, because that was what a slave did.
And because it meant she got to see Marco more.
Marco.
The only good thing in this hell.
His presence commanded respect, but his gray eyes had not hardened like his father's. They were still full of fire, of rebellion. He hated Sirus. And Sirus knew it.
Regina watched, silent and unnoticed in the background, as father and son clashed again and again. Marco was being trained to take over the pack, to become the next Alpha, but he despised everything his father stood for.
One night, that hatred finally exploded.
A slave had been caught stealing food from the kitchen. A young boy, no older than ten. Thin, starving, desperate.
Sirus had ordered Marco to execute him.
"A lesson must be taught," the Alpha had said, tossing a sword at Marco's feet. "Execute him."
The boy sobbed, trembling on the cold stone floor. Regina held her breath, gripping the tray in her hands so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Marco didn't pick up the sword.
"No."
The hall fell silent.
Sirus's face darkened. "What did you say?"
"I said no." Marco's voice was steady, but Regina could see the tension in his jaw. "I won't kill a child just to prove a point."
Sirus rose from his chair, his presence towering. "You are my son. You will do as I command."
"I am not a murderer," Marco spat. "Not like you."
Regina saw the rage in the Alpha's eyes before he even moved. She wanted to call out, to warn Marco, but it was too late.
Sirus struck him.
A brutal backhand that sent Marco stumbling to the side. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip, but he didn't react. He didn't cower. He just glared at his father with burning defiance.
"You're weak," Sirus sneered. "You will never be an Alpha if you refuse to show strength."
Marco wiped the blood from his mouth. His voice was sharp as a blade.
"What would Mother say to you if she were alive?"
Sirus stilled.
The entire room seemed to hold its breath.
"I know," Marco continued, his voice breaking just slightly. "She'd tell you that you've become a monster."
Regina saw it then. A flicker of something in Sirus's cold eyes. A shadow of pain. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
Sirus turned away, his expression like stone. "Take the boy back to the slave quarters," he ordered the guards. "Let him starve instead."