Chapter 2: Golden Cage
1584 Words
Mireya's POV
He flinched.
Barely.
But I saw it.
The twitch in his jaw. The faint narrowing of his eyes. Like my words had slapped him before he could stop himself from feeling anything.
But whatever weakness had surfaced—it vanished in the next breath.
He stepped forward.
Too close. Too fast.
And then—pain exploded across my cheek.
I didn’t even see it coming.
The back of his hand connected with my face so hard I stumbled sideways and hit the wall. My vision blurred. A warm, wet trail slid down from my nose, over my lips. Blood.
The sharp taste filled my mouth like copper and shame.
“You don’t ask questions,” he said, his voice low and cutting. “You don’t speak unless I say so.”
His hand gripped my chin—fingers digging in, tilting my face toward his.
My heart pounded against my ribs. My wolf trembled.
“You may be my mate, but that doesn't mean you're anything more than what I paid for.”
His silver eyes were fire and frost all at once. Controlled rage. I wanted to look away—but I couldn’t. The bond wouldn’t let me. But I did grant him one thing. He had acknowledged me as his mate and that meant a lot, even if it was in those circumstance.
“Consider this your first and only warning,” he said.
Then he shoved me back.
I hit the edge of the bed, barely catching myself before I crumpled to the floor.
He stood over me like a shadow that never left, staring for one long second more.
“Next time, don’t speak out of turn.”
And just like that—he was gone.
The door slammed shut behind him.
The echo stayed longer than he did.
I sat there, blood dripping from my nose onto the floor, the sting still hot on my cheek. But the pain in my chest?
That was worse.
This was my mate.
The one the Moon had chosen for me.
And he had looked me in the eye… and broken me without a second thought.
My wolf curled inside me, silent and still.
Not out of fear.
But because it finally understood.
We were not safe here.
Time stopped meaning anything in the dark.
I had no sunlight. No moon. No clock. No way to count the hours slipping away except by the growl of my stomach or the aching tightness in my throat after another night crying without sound.
Several days passed—of that, I was sure.
How many? I couldn’t say.
The guards came only once a day. Bread. Water. Silence. No words. No faces. Just footsteps, keys, food. Then gone.
My world shrank to stone walls, blood-stained dreams, and the echo of his voice telling me I was nothing but what he paid for.
Until today.
---
The door swung open with force. A shaft of light sliced into the room, and I blinked hard against it.
A guard entered. Tall. Silent. His hand wrapped around my arm without a word.
I didn’t resist. What was the point?
He dragged me from the cell and down corridors I didn’t know. My bare feet slapped against the cold stone floor. We turned a corner, then another, then passed a pair of warriors standing like statues—heads bowed.
And finally, he pushed open a massive set of oak doors.
I was led into a room that didn’t belong in this fortress.
Tall ceilings. Velvet curtains. Fireplaces roaring. A polished stone floor so clean I saw the outline of my broken face reflected in it.
And him.
Damon Blackvale.
Casually seated on a raised platform, draped in black, one leg resting over the other, like a king on a throne built from blood and conquest.
His eyes met mine—but I didn’t lift my head.
“Bow before the Warlord Alpha, Damon Blackvale,” the guard said solemnly.
Then he shoved me to the ground, hard enough to send pain shooting up my knees.
He dropped to his own knees behind me, head low.
I stayed where I’d fallen—hands on the cold floor, my forehead nearly touching it, my wolf howling in silence somewhere deep inside.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she understood the power in this room.
“Leave us.” Damon’s voice was harp. Imposing.
The guard obeyed immediately. I heard the door close behind me.
Then silence, heavy, dense and dangerous.
He stood. I could hear the soft rustle of fabric, the slow pace of his boots across the stone as he circled me like a predator.
“You may walk freely within the fortress from now on,” he said. “You will be fed, clothed, guarded. You will not be locked in chains again—unless you force my hand. And you won't talk to anyone but me.”
He paused.
I didn’t dare to speak or move.
“In the coming days,” he continued, “you will carry my son. And possibly my heir.”
The words echoed like thunder in my skull.
Not a request, nor a hope, but a command.
He stopped behind me.
“If you fail to fulfill your purpose,” he said softly, “you will suffer. Just as others have suffered before you. Do not think you will be spared because the Moon tied you to me. Your blood won’t protect you. Your title as ‘mate’ means nothing in this house without obedience.”
My mouth was dry. My heart was a stone in my chest. My body felt hollow.
But I spoke, my voice steady, cold and careful.
“As you please, Warlord Alpha Damon.”
I still didn’t lift my head.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, on the cold floor, knees aching, head down.
But when the door opened again, I hadn’t moved.
Three women came in. Omegas. Like me.
They didn’t speak. Just took me by the arms and led me to another room. There was steam, hot water, and scents that made me dizzy. Rose. Mint. Bloodroot.
They undressed me like I wasn’t a person. Just a body to prepare.
Their hands were fast, firm, not cruel, but not gentle either.
I said nothing.
Even when they scrubbed me until my skin stung. Even when they combed through the tangles in my hair like I wasn’t even there.
When I looked down into the water, I barely recognized myself.
Pale, hollow, and empty.
When I was clean, they dressed me in red. A deep, rich red. The dress hugged my body like it belonged to someone else. Too tight. Too perfect.
Then came the makeup. The hair.
By the end, I didn’t look like a prisoner anymore.
I looked like something else.
A gift.
A vessel.
A girl made ready for use.
---
They didn’t return me to the cell.
This time, they let me walk the palace.
But I wasn’t free.
The guard followed me everywhere.
Every step. Every turn.
Even when I asked to use the bathroom, he followed. Stopped only at the door, eyes still on me.
It was like being in a cage with golden bars.
Beautiful on the outside. Still a prison inside.
---
Down one quiet hallway, I saw an old woman. On her knees, scrubbing the floors.
Her hair was white and thin. Her back hunched. Her hands were raw from work.
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
Something passed between us. Silent. Familiar.
She was one of us.
An omega.
The guard had stepped away. Someone had called his name.
That’s when she moved.
She crossed the hall fast—faster than I thought she could—and grabbed my hand.
Her voice was a whisper, like wind through trees.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Just listen.”
I didn’t move.
“He’s cursed,” she whispered. “The Moon won’t give him children. Every one of us who tried… didn’t live long after.”
My heart stopped.
“The seer said only one girl could carry his child. Just one. He thinks it might be you.”
“The others… they didn’t survive. They bled. They drowned. They vanished.”
Her hand tightened on mine.
“If you are the one… you’ll live. You’ll matter.”
"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.
The old woman’s voice trembled. "Because you remind me of someone. My daughter." She paused, her eyes shining. "She died because of Damon. Because of his cruelty that never ends..."
She didn’t get to finish.
The guard’s voice barked my name from down the hall.
She flinched. Her hand slipped from mine.
"If I disappear after this," she said quickly, voice low, "know it’s because of what I told you. But I don’t regret it. I’ll see my daughter again soon."
Then she turned away, knelt beside her bucket, and went back to scrubbing the floor like nothing had happened.
Like our moment had never existed.
I said nothing the rest of the way.
But inside, my mind was racing.
If I could give h
im what he wanted… if I really could carry his child… maybe I could live.
Not as his mate.
Not as his slave.
But as something harder to throw away.
The mother of his heir.
Maybe that was the only way I’d survive him.
And for now… survival was enough.
- Writer
