Reborn to Reign

Chapter 7: A Cage With Silk Sheets

Pandora's POV

"I have already picked your rooms," he continued, ignoring my question completely. "In the lower stone level of the main packhouse, right under the private garden. It is quiet. It has soft beds and fine rugs. No servants or pack leaders are allowed on that floor. Only me."

"A dark basement," I whispered.

Bastian's eyebrows pulled together in anger, his fingers digging harder into my jaw. "A safe shelter! The pack council would have your head cut off within a week if they saw your split hair! This pack has already been doing you a favor by not ratting you out. I am saving your life!"

"By locking me under the ground?"

"By keeping you safe from the world!" he hissed, his voice dropping into a sharp, angry whisper. "Do you really think anyone else would look at a split-haired monster and want to keep you? Do you think any strong Alpha would ever claim you as a mate? I am giving you safety. I am giving you a life. All I want is your complete obedience."

The mate bond was burning hot in my veins. It was a heavy, warm pull, trying to trick my tired, hurting body into resting against his chest. It tried to make me believe that his hands were safe, and that being his hidden secret in a basement was better than dying alone in the cold snow. It was a total lie.

The mate bond was supposed to be a sweet blessing between two wolves. But in Bastian's hands, it was nothing more than an iron collar covered in soft velvet. He did not love me. He did not even see me as a real person. He was just addicted to the smell of my skin and the excitement of owning something he was not allowed to have.

I swallowed the sick feeling in my throat and slowly lowered my eyes to the floor. I let my shoulders drop, making myself look small, weak, and completely beaten.

"I understand, Bastian," I whispered softly, making my voice sound very humble. "I am sorry."

The anger left his face right away. A proud, winning smile spread across his lips.

"Good girl," he whispered.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth hard against the side of my neck, right over the fast heartbeat under my jaw. His lips were hot against my cold skin. A hard shiver went through my whole body—not from love, but from how hard I had to fight to stop myself from stabbing my fingers into his eyes. Think, I told myself. Use him. If he wants to act like your master, make him give you what you need.

"The packhouse is so loud tonight," I whispered, trembling a little against his chest so he thought I was scared. "Silas brought big hunting dogs into the lower yard. There are guards everywhere. I was terrified just walking down the hallway with the ash buckets."

Bastian pulled his mouth back from my neck, looking down at me with a pitying smile.

"Silas is scared of his own shadow," Bastian chuckled, rubbing the side of my neck with two fingers. "The high priests sent a message about bad signs at the border, so your father is acting like a nervous old fool. He put eighty fully armored guards along the lower gates and the main yard."

"Eighty guards?" I asked, opening my eyes wide to look impressed. "Are the high stone walls heavily guarded too?"

"Hardly," Bastian laughed quietly, letting his hand drop down onto my shoulder. "All the upper wall guards were pulled down to form the special honor guard for my midnight entrance. Roman wanted three thick rows of shining iron armor lining the big courtyard when my carriage rolls in. The high rooftops will not have more than two guards between ten o'clock and midnight."

Two guards. Between ten o'clock and midnight. My mind grabbed onto those words like an iron trap.

The grand midnight entrance was planned for twelve o'clock. That meant from ten until twelve, the high rooftops by the big grain storehouse would be almost completely empty. The whole guard force would be standing in the yard far below, their backs turned to the high roofs.

"That sounds... amazing," I whispered, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

"It will be amazing," Bastian said proudly, puffing out his wide chest. "Before this month is over, every pack in this land will bow down to my family. And you will be there in my packhouse to watch me lead."

He leaned down one last time, pressing a hard, possessive kiss against my forehead right above my cloth wrap.

"Go back to the kitchens," he ordered in a soft voice, finally letting go of my jaw. "Stay out of Aurelia's sight for the rest of the night. When the feast ends—around three in the morning—I will come down to the wine cellar. Be there waiting for me."

"Yes, Bastian," I whispered.

He gave me one last proud look, then turned around and pushed past the heavy velvet curtain, disappearing back into the bright golden light, loud music, and cheering crowds of the Great Hall. I stood totally still in the dark space for three long breaths. Then, I lifted my right arm and used the rough brown cloth of my sleeve to scrub my neck and forehead, rubbing my skin until it was bright red and burning. He thinks I will sit in a dark cellar waiting for him like a good little dog, I thought, glaring at the back of the curtain. He thinks he owns my life.

I grabbed the iron handles of the two spilled ash buckets. I stepped out into the dark servant hallway and walked fast toward the lower side rooms. The big bell rang eight times, echoing through the heavy stone hallways.

Above my head, the packhouse was shaking with the giant party. The Great Hall was at the loudest part of the night. The heavy wooden ceiling vibrated from hundreds of boots stomping on the floor, the loud clinking of metal cups, and the blaring tunes of drinking songs played by the pack musicians. This was my only chance. I slipped into the dark servant hallway beneath the western guard rooms.

The hall was narrow, wet, and lit only by a single small candle burning on a rusty iron wall holder. Every single servant in the whole building had been dragged upstairs to roast big chunks of meat, carry heavy trays of ale, or mop up spilled wine. The hallway was completely empty. I moved quickly, stopping outside the heavy wooden door of the old tool room behind the laundry racks.

The iron door latch was freezing cold against my fingers. I lifted it without making a sound and slipped inside the dark room. The small room smelled like damp stone, rusty iron tools, and dry hay. I closed the heavy door tight behind me and dropped the thick wooden security bar into place across the iron brackets.

I walked across the room to the far back corner, where the big stone foundation met the hard rock of the mountain. I dropped to my knees on the cold dirt floor, ignoring the sharp ache in my bones, and reached my arm deep into the dark hole between two giant foundation stones. My fingers touched the rough cloth of my hidden pack. I pulled the canvas bundle out into my lap.

My hands were shaking a little, but I forced my chest to take slow, steady breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. I opened the cloth bundle on the dirt floor. Everything was still there, exactly where I had hidden it.

The leather bag holding forty-two silver coins. The small, sharp kitchen knife with the handle wrapped in rough string. The small iron file. The long roll of thick string. The flat sharpening stone. Three pieces of salted dry beef wrapped in clean paper.

And my charcoal map. I unrolled the paper map across my knees, holding it close to my face in the faint light coming through the wall cracks.