Chapter 2
1599 Words
Elvanya's POV
—-----
The carriage reeks of sweat and terror.
Five of us. Crammed into a space barely big enough for three. No windows—just thick wooden walls and a single oil lamp swinging from a hook above our heads, casting shadows that make everything feel smaller, darker and suffocated.
No one speaks.
The girl across from me—blonde hair, maybe sixteen—hasn't stopped crying since we left the Selection Hall. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, tears streaming down her face in endless rivers. Another girl stares blankly at the floor, her lips moving in what might be a prayer. I don't know if the gods listen to humans anymore. I'm not sure they ever did.
I press my back against the wall and try to steady my breathing. My hands won't stop shaking.
You're going to the palace.
Mrs. Vera's words loop in my head like a curse.
The palace. Where the King lives. Where the strongest, most dangerous beasts gather. Where humans are brought to serve, to bleed, to break.
I don't know what they'll do to us.
I don't want to know.
But I'll find out soon enough.
The carriage jerks to a stop, and my stomach lurches. The blonde girl lets out a whimper. The one who was praying squeezes her eyes shut tighter.
Heavy footsteps approach from outside.
The door swings open, and cold night air rushes in, sharp and biting. A guard stands in the doorway—a wolf, judging by the way his eyes gleam amber in the lamplight. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar running from his temple to his jaw.
"Out."
His voice is flat and authoritatively bored
We scramble out of the carriage one by one, stumbling over each other in our haste to obey. I'm the last to step down, and the moment my feet hit the ground, I freeze.
The palace looms before us.
I've never seen anything like it.
It's massive—stone walls that stretch up into the darkness, towers that pierce the sky, windows glowing with firelight from within. Torches line the pathway leading to the entrance, casting flickering shadows across the courtyard. Everything about it screams Power Dominance and Control.
This is where they rule from.
This is where we're expected to survive.
"Move."
The guard's hand shoves against my shoulder, and I stumble forward, barely catching myself. The other girls are already walking toward the entrance, heads down, arms wrapped around themselves like they're trying to disappear.
I follow.
The doors are enormous—twice the height of any man, carved with images of wolves mid-hunt, jaws open, claws extended. They swing open as we approach, groaning on ancient hinges, and the sound makes my skin crawl.
Inside, the air is Different warmer and heavier.
It smells like smoke and stone and something else—something wild and sharp that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
We're led through a long corridor lined with more torches. Shadows dance along the walls. Somewhere in the distance, I hear voices—low, rumbling, distinctly not human. My pulse quickens.
The guard stops in front of a heavy wooden door and pushes it open.
"Wait here."
He doesn't wait for a response. Just turns and walks away, his boots echoing down the hall until the sound fades into nothing.
The room we're left in is small. Stone walls. A single bench. No windows.
A holding cell.
The blonde girl sinks onto the bench and buries her face in her hands. The others stand frozen near the door, like they're debating whether to run.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes.
Lily I exclaimed.
I wonder where she is right now. If she's safe. If the Gamma is treating her well or if—
No.
I can't think like that. I can't let myself imagine the worst because if I do, I'll break, and I can't afford to break. Not here. Not now.
The door opens.
We all jump.
A woman steps inside. She's older—maybe fifty—with grey-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun and sharp, calculating eyes. She's human, I realize with a jolt. The first human I've seen since we arrived.
"Line up."
Her voice is clipped, efficient. We obey without question, forming a row in front of her. She walks down the line slowly, studying each of us like we're livestock at the market.
She stops in front of the blonde girl.
"Look at me."
The girl lifts her head, tears still streaming down her face.
The woman grabs her chin, tilting her head left, then right. She checks her teeth snd her hair. Runs a hand down her arm, squeezing the muscle there.
"Too soft," she mutters. "But pretty enough. You'll go to the kitchens. If you work hard, you might last a year."
The girl's face crumples, but she nods.
The woman moves to the next girl. Then the next.
"Laundry."
"Stables."
"Cleaning crew."
And then she's standing in front of me.
Her eyes narrow.
She doesn't touch me right away. Just stares, like she's trying to figure something out.
"What's your name?"
"Elvanya."
"Speak up."
"Elvanya," I say louder, forcing myself to meet her gaze.
She circles me slowly. I feel her eyes on every inch of me—my face, my hair, my hands, my posture. It takes everything I have not to flinch.
Finally, she stops in front of me again.
"You're different."
My heart skips. "I don't—"
"Quiet." She tilts her head, still studying me. "You don't cower like the others. You're scared, but you're holding it together. That's unusual."
I don't know if that's a compliment or a death sentence.
She steps back and crosses her arms.
"You'll serve the High Hall."
The other girls gasp.
I don't understand. "The High Hall?"
Her expression doesn't change. "Where the King and his commanders dine. Where they hold council. Where they entertain guests." She pauses. "It's the most dangerous assignment in the palace. One mistake, and you're dead. Understand?"
My mouth goes dry.
"I... yes. I understand."
"Good." She turns toward the door. "Someone will come for you in the morning. Don't embarrass me."
And then she's gone.
The door closes behind her, and the room falls silent.
The blonde girl is staring at me, her eyes wide with something like pity.
"The High Hall," she whispers. "You're not going to last a week."
I don't answer.
Because she might be right.
---
The night is endless.
They bring us thin blankets and stale bread, but no one eats. No one sleeps. We just sit in that cold, dark room, waiting for morning to come and seal our fates.
I lie on the floor with my blanket pulled up to my chin, staring at the ceiling.
I think about my parents. My siblings. The life I'll never get back.
I think about Lily, wherever she is.
And I think about tomorrow.
The High Hall.
The King.
“One mistake, and you're dead.”
I close my eyes and try to breathe.
But all I can smell is smoke and stone and the sharp, wild scent of wolves.
---
Morning comes too soon.
The door opens, and a different guard appears—older, grizzled, with a scar across his throat that looks like someone tried to rip it out once and failed.
"Elvanya."
I stand on shaking legs.
"Come with me."
I glance back at the other girls. They're watching me with expressions I can't read. Fear. Relief that it's not them. Maybe a little bit of both.
I follow the guard out into the corridor.
We walk in silence. The palace is awake now—I hear voices, footsteps, the clatter of dishes from somewhere far off. The deeper we go, the grander it becomes. Tapestries hang from the walls. Chandeliers drip with crystals. Everything is designed to remind you of one thing:
“You are nothing here.”
We stop in front of a set of double doors, taller and more ornate than any I've seen so far.
The guard looks at me.
"The High Hall is through those doors. You'll be briefed inside. Do exactly as you're told, and you might survive." He pauses. "Probably not, though."
And then he walks away.
I stand there, staring at the doors.
My hands are shaking again.
I take a breath then another.
And then I push the doors open.
---
The High Hall it is enormous.
A long table stretches down the center of the room, big enough to seat thirty people. The walls are lined with weapons—swords, axes, shields—and mounted heads of creatures I don't recognize. The ceiling is vaulted, supported by massive stone pillars carved with wolves in mid-leap.
But it's not the room that makes me freeze.
It's the man standing at the far end of it.
He's tall. Taller than any man I've ever seen. Broad-shouldered, with dark hair that falls just past his collar and eyes that—
My breath catches.
His eyes are “silver”.
“Not grey, not blue but Silver.”
Like moonlight, like molten metal.
And they're staring directly at me.
I feel pinned in place, like prey caught in a predator's gaze. Every instinct I have screams at me to run, but I can't move nor can't breathe.
He doesn't speak, he Just watches me.
And I realize, with a cold, creeping certainty that sinks into my bones That —
This is him, The King.
- Writer
