Chapter 3 Remember your place

The rooms they gave her were larger than the entire cabin she had shared with her mother.

Ivy stood in the sitting room, taking in the pale gold walls, heavy silk curtains, low couches upholstered in cream fabric that looked too clean to sit on. An arched doorway led to a bedroom with a four poster bed draped in dark green, another to a bathing chamber smelling of rose oil and steam. Everything was beautiful. Everything was cold.

A young maid with tightly pulled back hair waited near the entrance, eyes flicking over Ivy's body once, then away, the same quick dismissive glance she'd received all her life.

"These are your quarters for the duration of the contract," the maid said. "Meals will be brought unless the King requests your presence. You are not to leave this wing without an escort. Pull the cord by the bed if you need anything. Do not wander."

"What's your name?"

The maid hesitated. "Mira."

"Thank you, Mira."

Mira's expression did not soften. She gave a short curtsy, more obligation than respect, and left.

Ivy sat on the couch, running her palm once over the smoothest fabric she'd ever touched, then pulling her hand back. The silence pressed in. No pack noise. No creaking floorboards. No sound of her mother in the kitchen.

She was the Alpha King's breeder now, signed and sealed. It still didn't feel real.

An hour later, Mira returned with a folded green silk dress and low heels. "The King has ordered a formal presentation this evening. The council and the royal fiancée will be present. You are to wear this."

Royal fiancée. Ivy's stomach tightened. She'd almost forgotten. The contract made clear she was not a mate and never would be, but somewhere in this palace lived the woman Damian was expected to marry.

The green dress fit too well, following the curve of her waist and hips, the neckline lower than she preferred. She barely recognized her reflection. It made her look richer, not like she belonged.

As Mira fastened the last clasp, she said quietly, "You should know the servants are already talking. They call you the plump breeder. They say the King must have lost his mind."

Ivy met her eyes in the mirror. "I've been called worse."

Mira looked startled, then lowered her gaze and left.

The formal presentation took place in a long gallery lined with portraits of past Alpha Kings. Council members spoke in low voices near a raised dais, where a woman in silver and white waited with perfect posture.

Selene Virelle. Ivy knew the name from the contract paperwork, daughter of a powerful northern Alpha, tall and slender, golden hair swept into a knot, features sharp and cold, an awakened wolf of strong bloodline, the woman the kingdom expected Damian to take as Luna.

Selene's blue eyes found Ivy and stayed there.

"Miss Carter. Approach," a councilor said.

Ivy walked forward, conversations fading as she passed. Damian stood apart, wearing black again. He glanced at her once, unreadable, then looked away as if she were a minor detail already handled.

Selene stepped forward first. "So this is the one." Her voice carried through the gallery. "I expected something else." Selene circled Ivy, a predator examining something it didn't consider a threat. "Soft. Quiet. Dormant. One wonders what the King was thinking."

"I was selected according to the terms of the contract," Ivy said.

"The contract. Yes. A temporary arrangement. Remember your place. This palace is not accustomed to women of your sort."

The insult landed cleanly. Damian's jaw tightened, barely noticeable, but he said nothing.

The old familiar heat rose in Ivy's chest, the heat from the night the pack laughed. She pushed it down. "I know exactly what I'm here for. I signed the papers. I will fulfill the agreement. Beyond that, my place is none of your concern."

Selene's smile thinned. "Brave words for a woman who cannot even shift." She leaned in. "Enjoy the rooms while you have them. When the child is born you'll be gone, and I will still be here."

She returned to Damian's side without waiting for a reply. He offered no defense. The message was clear. Ivy was a tool. Selene was the future.

The rest of the presentation passed in formal language, dates confirmed, medical schedules outlined. When it ended, Damian left first without looking at her again, Selene following, skirts whispering across the floor.

Mira guided Ivy back to the royal wing. Servants paused to watch her pass; one older woman muttered something that made the younger maids stifle laughter.

Halfway down a quieter hallway, a tray of crystal glasses slipped from a young servant girl's hands and shattered. She dropped to her knees, scrambling for the pieces with bare fingers.

"Clumsy little fool," a senior maid snapped, appearing from a side door. "That set was imported. You'll pay for it from your wages."

Blood welled on the girl's finger. "It was an accident," Ivy said.

The senior maid's expression hardened. "This does not concern you."

"She's bleeding." Ivy crouched, pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket, and held it out. "Wrap it before you keep picking up glass." She helped gather the larger pieces, then stood. "Dock her pay if you must, but don't make her crawl for it."

The senior maid gave a stiff nod and stalked off. The young servant whispered a shaky thank you and fled.

Ivy continued toward her rooms alone, not noticing the figure in the shadowed archway until she'd nearly passed it.

Damian watched her in silence, golden eyes half lidded, having seen the entire exchange.

"You defended a servant," he said finally, quiet, almost thoughtful.

"She was being treated unfairly."

"This palace runs on order. Interference creates problems."

"Then perhaps the hierarchy needs adjusting."

Something flickered behind his eyes and vanished. He stepped from the shadows. "You signed a contract, not a license to rearrange my household. Do your duty. Stay in your rooms. Do not make yourself a disruption."

He walked past her without another word. His scent lingered after he was gone.

Ivy returned to her suite and changed into a nightgown. Sleep did not come easily. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Selene's cold smile, the council's staring faces, Damian's golden stare when he'd called her the one.

Sometime after midnight, Mira entered carrying a sealed envelope. "From the High Priestess. You're required at the Moon Temple tomorrow at dawn. The formal binding of the contract must be witnessed by the sacred flame."

The wax seal bore a crescent moon. At the door, Mira hesitated. "Miss Carter, be careful tomorrow. The flame doesn't always behave as expected." Then she was gone.

Ivy broke the seal. The message was brief: attendance mandatory, formal dress required, the King would be present.

She looked toward the window. The moon hung high and clear over the palace grounds, silver light spilling across the stone.

Somewhere in this place, an ancient flame waited. And for reasons she could not name, the wolf that had never woken stirred again, as if it already knew the flame would not remain ordinary.