Chapter 15 CHAPTER 15
Tessa's POV
Thirty Minutes Prior
My legs felt like water as I followed Kastiel through the winding corridors of the palace.
Each step echoed too loudly in the marble hallway, a reminder that I didn't belong here—that I would never belong in a place where even the floors were worth more than my entire village.
The Beta moved ahead of me with the easy confidence of someone born to power, his dark cloak billowing behind him like shadows given form. He hadn't spoken since we'd left the throne room, and I was grateful for the silence.
I needed it.
Needed the space to try to understand what had just happened.
My mind kept circling back to the throne room, replaying every moment like a wound I couldn't stop pressing.
On one hand, the Lycan King—Dmitri—had defended me.
Me.
The peasant girl, a nobody who should have meant nothing to a man like him.
But when Kira had stood there, beautiful and powerful and lying—saying I'd refused to come when summoned, that she'd been forced to discipline me—Dmitri had looked at me with those terrible black eyes and asked for my side.
He'd listened.
And then he'd turned his wrath on her.
The memory should have filled me with relief. With gratitude. With something resembling hope that maybe, just maybe, I could survive this place.
Instead, all I felt was terror.
Because I'd seen Kira's face when Dmitri had dismissed her.
Seen the way her entire body had gone rigid, the way her hands had clenched into fists at her sides. Seen the rage burning in her amber eyes as she'd looked at me—not just anger, but hatred. Pure, incandescent, soul-deep loathing that promised retribution.
And I didn't even understand why.
I hadn't done anything to her. Hadn't spoken to her before today. Hadn't even seen her until she'd appeared in that corridor outside the King's chambers and struck me hard enough to make my ears ring.
She'd lied about me refusing to come. Lied about needing to discipline me.
But why?
What had I done to make her hate me so much?
The thought made my chest tight, made it hard to breathe.
I'd been here less than two weeks, and I'd somehow made an enemy of someone powerful enough to stand in the Lycan King's presence without flinching. Someone beautiful and dangerous and clearly important to Dmitri.
Someone who now wanted me dead.
I could feel it. In the way she'd looked at me. In the venom in her voice when she'd called me a liar.
She wanted me gone.
And people like her—people with power and position—they got what they wanted.
The pressure of it built in my chest like a physical weight—the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming sense that I was drowning in a world I didn't understand.
I felt the tears before I could stop them.
Hot and shameful, they spilled down my cheeks as I walked, blurring my vision until the corridor became nothing but smears of gold and white.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Not here. Not now.
But I couldn't stop.
The sobs came quietly at first—small, choked sounds I tried desperately to swallow—but they grew stronger with each step until my shoulders were shaking and my breath was coming in ragged gasps.
I was going to die here.
One way or another, Kira would find a way to hurt me, to destroy me, and there would be nothing I could do to stop her.
The footsteps ahead of me stopped.
I nearly collided with Kastiel's back, stumbling to a halt as he turned to face me.
His ice-blue eyes swept over my face, taking in the tears, the trembling, the complete and utter breakdown I was trying and failing to hide.
"Stop crying." His voice was firm. Not cruel, but not gentle either. A command.
I tried my best.
I pressed my hands to my face, trying to physically hold the tears back, but they kept coming. My chest hitched with another sob, and shame burned through me like acid.
"I'm s-sorry," I managed, the words broken and pathetic. "I'm sorry, I just—I can't—"
Another sob cut me off.
Kastiel exhaled slowly, and I heard the rustle of fabric. When I dared to look up through my tears, he was holding out a square of white cloth—a handkerchief, embroidered with silver thread.
"Here."
The word was gruff, but there was something almost... kind in it.
I stared at the handkerchief, then up at his face.
He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not pity, exactly. Not sympathy either. Something more complex. Something that looked almost like understanding.
"Take it," he said, more gently this time. "Before you drown yourself."
My hands shook as I reached for the cloth, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. His skin was warm, and the contact made me flinch—not from fear, but from the sheer strangeness of kindness in this place.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
I pressed the handkerchief to my face, letting the soft fabric absorb the tears I couldn't seem to stop. It smelled faintly of pine and something else—something clean and masculine that reminded me of the forest back home.
The thought made my chest ache.
Home.
Would I ever see it again?
"I didn't do anything wrong," I said suddenly, the words muffled by the handkerchief. "I swear I didn't. When I was coming to the throne room with Meira, we met her in the corridor. I didn't argue. I didn't refuse. I just—" My voice broke. "I don't know why she lied about me. I don't know what I did to make her hate me."
Kastiel was quiet for a long moment.
When I finally lowered the handkerchief and looked up at him, his expression had shifted into something harder. More guarded.
"You didn't do anything," he said quietly. "That's the problem."
I blinked, confused. "What?"
"Kira's hatred has nothing to do with you." His jaw tightened. "And everything to do with him."
Him.
He meant Dmitri.
The King who'd defended me. Who'd looked at Kira with such cold fury that even I had felt the temperature drop.
"I don't understand," I whispered.
"You don't need to." Kastiel's voice was firm. "What you need to do is stay away from her. Keep your head down. Do your job. And for the love of the Goddess, don't give her any more reasons to notice you."
His words sent a chill down my spine.
Don't give her any more reasons to notice you.
But I'd been made the King's personal maid. I would be in his chambers every day. Visible. Close to him.
How was I supposed to be invisible when I'd been placed directly in the line of fire?
"She's going to hurt me, isn't she?" The words came out small. Frightened. "Kira. She's going to find a way to—"
"Not if you're smart." Kastiel cut me off, but his expression had softened slightly. "Dmitri has made his position clear. She touches you again, and he'll end her. She knows that."
But that won't stop her.
I didn't say the words aloud, but I knew Kastiel could see them in my face.
Because we both knew the truth.
People like Kira—powerful, connected, desperate—they didn't stop just because someone told them to.
They got creative.
Kastiel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Come on. We need to keep moving."
He turned and continued down the corridor, and after a moment, I followed.
My tears had slowed, but the fear remained—a cold, heavy weight in my chest that I knew wouldn't leave.
I clutched the handkerchief in my hand like a lifeline, the fabric already damp from my crying.
Kastiel glanced back at me once, his expression unreadable.
"Keep that," he said gruffly, nodding at the handkerchief. "Something tells me you're going to need it."
The words settled over me like a shroud, but I didn't respond. What could I say? That I was terrified? That every step deeper into this palace felt like walking toward my own grave?
He already knew.
We walked in silence after that, moving through corridors that grew progressively less grand. The marble gave way to stone, the gilded sconces to simple iron fixtures. The air changed too—less perfume and polish, more soap and sweat and the faint smell of cooking bread.
The servants' quarters.
Kastiel stopped before a heavy wooden door set into the stone wall, separate from the dormitories. He knocked twice—firm, authoritative raps that echoed in the narrow hallway.
"Enter." The voice from inside was sharp and feminine, carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed.
Kastiel pushed the door open and gestured for me to follow.
The room beyond was small but tidy—clearly an office of sorts. A desk sat against one wall, covered in ledgers and lists written in precise handwriting. Shelves lined another wall, stocked with linens, soap, and various supplies. A single window let in pale afternoon light that made the dust motes dance.
And standing behind the desk, reviewing what looked like a schedule, was a woman who could only be the head maid.
She was older—perhaps in her fifth decade—with steel-gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her dress was simple but well-made, dark gray with a white apron that was spotless despite the hour. Sharp brown eyes lifted from the parchment to assess us, her expression one of practiced neutrality.
"Beta Kastiel." She inclined her head respectfully, but there was no warmth in the gesture. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Marta." He returned the nod. "I apologize for the interruption. I need a moment of your time."
"Of course." Her gaze flicked to me, and I saw her eyes narrow slightly. Taking in my borrowed dress—too fine for a servant. The healing bruise on my cheek. The tear-stained face I hadn't quite managed to compose.
I dropped my gaze immediately, staring at the floor.
"This is Thea," Kastiel said, and the use of my false name made my stomach twist. Another reminder that even my identity here was a lie. "She'll be joining the household staff."
"I see." Marta's tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the question beneath it. Why are you bringing me a new servant personally? Why does she look like she's been crying? Why does the Beta of the Lycan King care about the placement of a single maid?
Kastiel seemed to sense her curiosity—and her caution.
"Actually," he said, his voice taking on a more formal quality, "her placement has already been determined. By the King himself."
The room went very, very quiet.
I risked a glance up and saw Marta's expression had frozen, her hand still holding the quill she'd been using to make notes.
"The... Alpha?" She said the word carefully, like she was testing its weight.
"Yes." Kastiel's tone left no room for argument. "As of today, Thea will serve as King Dmitri's personal maid."
The quill slipped from Marta's fingers.
It clattered against the desk, rolling once before falling still, but the head maid didn't seem to notice. She was staring at Kastiel like he'd just announced the sky was falling.
"His... personal..." She couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Her eyes darted to me, then back to Kastiel, then to me again. "Beta Kastiel, surely there's been some mistake—"
"No mistake." His voice was firm. "The King has made his decision."
"But—" Marta seemed to be struggling to find words, her composure cracking for the first time. "But the King hasn't had a personal maid in... in decades. Not since—"
She stopped herself abruptly, her mouth snapping shut.
Not since what?
The unfinished sentence hung in the air like smoke, and I saw something flicker across Kastiel's face. Pain, maybe. Or memory.
"That's precisely why he's chosen to have one now," Kastiel said, his tone brooking no argument. "Thea will attend to his chambers, his meals, and any other needs he requires. She'll start immediately."
Marta's face had gone pale. She looked at me again, and this time there was something different in her expression. Not just surprise, but... concern? Fear?
"She's very young," Marta said quietly, and I realized with a jolt that she was trying to protect me. Trying to argue without directly defying a Beta's orders. "Inexperienced. Surely someone with more training, someone who understands the King's... particular requirements—"
"The decision has been made." Kastiel's voice had turned to ice. "Are you questioning the Alpha's judgment, Marta?"
The head maid's spine went rigid. "Of course not, Beta. I would never—" She swallowed hard. "I simply want to ensure the girl understands what this position entails."
"Then explain it to her." Kastiel turned toward the door. "She'll need uniforms, supplies, and instruction on the King's schedule. I trust you'll see to it personally."
"Yes, Beta." Marta's voice was hollow.
Kastiel paused at the threshold, glancing back at me one last time. His ice-blue eyes held mine for a long moment, and I saw something there that might have been warning. Or sympathy.
"Thea," he said quietly. "Remember what I told you."
Keep your head down. Stay away from Kira. Don't give her reasons to notice you.
I nodded mutely, clutching his handkerchief so tightly my knuckles went white.
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and I was alone with the head maid who looked like she'd just been ordered to send a lamb into a wolf's den.
Marta stared at the closed door for a long moment, then exhaled slowly and sank into her chair.
"Personal maid," she muttered, almost to herself. "To the King."
She looked up at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine emotion break through her stern facade.
Pity.
Deep, profound, heartbreaking pity.
"Child," she said softly, and the gentleness in her voice made my eyes burn with fresh tears. "Do you have any idea what you've just been given?"
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
Marta's expression grew heavy with something that looked like grief.
"A death sentence," she whispered. "The gods help you, girl. You've just been handed a death sentence."