Chapter 10 Livestock - Amelia’s POV
I woke to sunlight streaming through actual curtains, not the dingy window well that barely let in light. For a moment, I forgot where I was, my body sinking into a mattress so soft it felt like drowning. Then the pain across my back yanked me back to reality—silver burns that refused to heal, a parting gift from Beta Dominic. I wasn't safe. I was in the Royal Castle, waiting to be inspected like livestock by the Alpha King. Waiting to see if I'd be the next bride to disappear.
'You awake?' Kaela's voice filled my head, alert and tense.
"Unfortunately," I whispered, staring up at the ornate ceiling. Even the paint looked expensive, deep blue with flecks of gold like stars.
'What time is it?'
I turned my head toward a carved wooden clock on the bedside table. "Eight-fifteen."
'Plenty of time to run,' she suggested, not for the first time since we'd arrived.
"And go where?" I pushed myself up, wincing as the silk sheets dragged across my wounded back. "Even if we got past the guards, what then? Live in the woods until we starve? Get caught and dragged back for a public execution?"
'At least we'd die on our terms,' Kaela muttered, but there was resignation in her mental voice. We'd had this argument three times since midnight.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet touching plush carpet instead of cold stone. The contrast between this room and my basement cell was so stark it made my chest ache. One night of comfort before they fed me to the monster.
The black dress still lay across the foot of the bed, silver embroidery catching the morning light. I approached it cautiously, as if it might bite. Up close, the craftsmanship was even more apparent—tiny wolf silhouettes stitched in silver thread along the hem and sleeves, the bodice inlaid with what looked like actual silver thread woven into a complex pack symbol.
'It's the royal insignia,' Kaela observed. 'You're being branded before you even meet him.'
I ran my fingers over the embroidery. "At least it's beautiful. Better than dying in servant's rags."
'You're not going to die,' Kaela insisted, but her confidence felt hollow.
The bathroom attached to my room was larger than my entire basement quarters had been. Marble floors, a shower with multiple heads, a tub big enough to swim in. Bottles of expensive-looking products lined glass shelves—shampoos, conditioners, oils, and things I couldn't even identify.
I undressed carefully, avoiding my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I knew what I'd see—too-thin limbs, protruding ribs, scars mapping years of abuse across my skin. Instead, I stepped into the shower, gasping as hot water hit my back. The silver burns flared with fresh pain, but I gritted my teeth and endured it. If I was going to die today, at least I'd be clean.
I used the products sparingly, afraid of using too much of something that wasn't mine. The shampoo smelled like lavender and something else—vanilla, maybe—and left my hair softer than I could ever remember it being. I stayed under the water until my fingers pruned, savouring what might be my last hot shower.
When I finally emerged, a towel wrapped around my body, I found a first aid kit on the counter that hadn't been there before. A note beside it read simply: "For your back. –C.K."
'Councillor Kane?' Kaela guessed. 'Why would he care about your back?'
"Maybe he doesn't want me bleeding on the dress," I said, opening the kit. Inside was a silver salve—the expensive kind that helped werewolves heal from silver wounds. The kind I'd never been allowed to use at the Frozen Mountain Pack.
I applied it gingerly to the cuts on my back, the cool gel immediately soothing the worst of the burning sensation. The relief was so intense I had to blink back tears.
'Don't get sentimental over basic decency,' Kaela warned. 'They're still delivering you to a murderer.'
She was right, of course. I dried my hair with a fluffy towel, then surveyed the array of styling tools laid out on the vanity—a dryer, curling iron, straighteners, and various products. Someone had thought of everything for the lamb being led to slaughter.
I opted for simplicity, blow-drying my hair and letting it fall in its natural waves. The less time I spent on it, the less attached I'd be when—if—it was all over. Still, I couldn't help running my fingers through the silky strands, marvelling at how different it felt when properly washed and conditioned.
The makeup was trickier. I'd never had much practice—servants weren't allowed such luxuries—but I understood the basics from watching Luna Elena prepare for pack functions. I focused on concealing the bruises on my neck, layering foundation and powder until the finger marks were barely visible. A touch of mascara made my unusual eyes stand out more—one green, one blue, the only thing I liked about my appearance.
'You look good,' Kaela admitted grudgingly. 'Too good for him.'
I snorted. "I look like what I am—a half-starved servant playing dress-up." I stepped back, examining my work critically. "But at least the bruises don't show."
Dressing was the final challenge. The black gown was heavier than it looked, the silver embroidery adding substantial weight. I slipped it over my head carefully, avoiding my tender back. The fabric settled against my skin like water, cool and smooth. I'd expected it to hang like a sack on my thin frame, but to my surprise, it fit remarkably well—snug at the waist, flowing over my hips, the length just brushing the floor.
'They knew your measurements,' Kaela observed uneasily. 'How?'
I didn't want to think about that. Instead, I turned slowly before the mirror, hardly recognising myself. The dress was both elegant and slightly sinister, the silver wolves seeming to run along the fabric when I moved. My pale skin looked almost translucent against the black, my collarbone and shoulders too prominent, but the overall effect wasn't as horrible as I'd feared.
A glance at the clock showed 9:47. Almost time.
'You don't have to do this,' Kaela said, a last desperate plea. 'We could barricade the door. Break the window.'
"And then what?" I whispered, straightening the dress one final time. "You know there's no choice. Not really.”
I slipped on the black shoes that had been left beside the dress—simple flats, thankfully, not heels I would have stumbled in—and moved to the door. My hand hovered over the knob for a moment, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Here we go," I murmured, and stepped out into the suite's living area.
Alpha Marcus sat at the dining table, dressed in what had to be his finest clothes—a tailored navy suit that made him look more businessman than werewolf. He was nursing a cup of coffee, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. He didn't look up when I entered.
I kept to the far side of the room, pretending to admire a painting on the wall. The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the occasional clink of his cup against the saucer. In my head, Kaela radiated hatred so intense it gave me a headache.
'Smug bastard,' she seethed. 'Sitting there like he's not selling you to save his own skin.'
I didn't respond, just kept my eyes on the painting—some forest scene with wolves running through moonlight. A clock somewhere in the room ticked loudly, counting down the seconds.