BLOOD AND SCALES

Seraphina's POV The first thing I learned about cruelty was that it did not always come with a raised voice. Sometimes, it came with a smile. Sometimes, it came from people who had once sat at your father's table, eaten his food, and called him brother. And sometimes, it came from a little boy who watched his mother pour your breakfast into the dirt and laughed as you knelt to collect what remained. I was ten years old when I learned that being born into a powerful family did not guarantee that anyone would treat you with kindness. "Faster, Seraphina!" My mother's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I tightened my grip on the wooden bucket and hurried across the servants' courtyard, careful not to spill the water. My bare feet slapped against the cold stone, and the hem of my faded dress brushed my ankles. The dress had once belonged to my mother. She had shortened it twice, but the fabric was thinning, and a tear near the waist grew larger whenever I moved. I hated that dress. Not because it was ugly, but because I knew what people saw whenever they looked at it. A reminder that the Vale family had fallen. A reminder that the daughter of the man who had once stood beside the Alpha now scrubbed floors in the very house where she had once been welcomed as family. And a reminder that no matter how hard my mother and I worked, the people of Crystal Moon Pack would never allow us to forget what they believed we had done. I reached the kitchen door and lowered the bucket. "You're late," Morgan Vex announced. The head cook stood beside the preparation table, her thick arms folded across her chest. Her flour-stained apron stretched over her stomach, and her sharp eyes traveled from my face to the bucket. "I apologize, ma'am. The well was crowded." "Excuses." She clicked her tongue. "Do you think the Alpha's household waits because a little girl has trouble carrying water?" "No, ma'am." "Then stop standing there and get to work." I lowered my head. "Yes, ma'am." Morgan pointed toward a mountain of dirty dishes. "Those need washing. The eastern corridor needs scrubbing, and someone spilled stew in the dining room. Everything must be clean before the next meal." I stared at the dishes. There were enough to keep me occupied until midday. "But, ma'am, Mother said I should help her with the laundry this morning." The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could swallow them. Morgan's expression hardened. "Your mother does not give orders in this house." "I didn't mean—" "Then learn to keep your mouth shut." She struck the counter with a wooden spoon. I flinched. "Perhaps I should remind the Alpha that his little charity cases are becoming too comfortable." "No!" I blurted. She raised an eyebrow. I swallowed the fear rising in my throat. "Please, ma'am. I'll finish everything." Morgan studied me before pushing the bucket toward my feet. "See that you do." I bent to pick it up. As I turned away, I heard her mutter, "Blood traitors. That's all the Vales are." I pretended not to hear. I had become very good at pretending. Pretending the insults did not hurt. Pretending I did not notice when other children received new clothes while I wore patched ones. Pretending I was not hungry when the servants scraped leftovers into the bins. Most importantly, pretending I could not remember the girl I had been before everything changed. Before my father died. Before the pack began treating my mother and me like something that should have been buried alongside him. I returned to the dishes and began washing. One plate. Then another. Then another. I scrubbed until my fingers became wrinkled, working quickly because I knew what would happen if I failed to finish. Morgan would find something wrong with my work and send me back to do it again. The kitchen grew busier as the morning advanced. Servants hurried between the counters, carrying food and arranging silver cutlery. The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat made my stomach ache. I had eaten nothing since the previous evening. My mother and I had learned not to ask for food unless it was offered. Asking only gave people another opportunity to humiliate us. I was reaching for another plate when a familiar voice stopped me. "Why are you still here?" My fingers froze. Kael Blackthorn stood in the kitchen doorway. He was the Alpha's son, the boy everyone said would one day inherit the Crystal Moon Pack. Even at his age, people treated his words as though they were already commands from an Alpha. His shirt was spotless, his shoes polished, and his dark hair neatly combed. He had everything I no longer had. And whenever he looked at me, his face carried the same expression. Disgust. "I'm working," I answered quietly. He glanced at the dishes. "Obviously." Two servants laughed. Kael approached the table and picked up a plate from the clean stack. He examined it, ran a finger across its surface, and frowned. "This is dirty." I stared at it. The plate was spotless. "Please, I washed it already." His eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a liar?" "No." "Then why are you arguing?" "I'm not arguing. I'm sorry." He dropped the plate into the basin. Water splashed across my dress. "Wash it again." I looked at the plate floating among the others. Something inside me wanted to scream. I wanted to ask why he hated me so much. I wanted to know why my father's death had become a reason to punish a child who barely understood what death meant. But I knew better. My mother had warned me never to give Kael a reason to become angrier. So I reached for the plate. "Yes, Kael." He smiled. "That's better." He walked away, leaving the servants to laugh behind him. I waited until he disappeared before wiping the tears gathering in my eyes. Only two escaped. I brushed them away quickly. I could not afford to cry. There was still a corridor to scrub. --- By the time breakfast ended, my arms ached. I was kneeling in the eastern corridor, scrubbing a stain from the polished floor, when my mother appeared at the far end. For one brief moment, the mansion seemed less terrible. Elera Vale was carrying a basket of freshly washed linens against her hip. Her dark hair had been gathered into a loose bun, though several strands had escaped around her face. Her dress was as faded as mine, and exhaustion had settled beneath her eyes. But when she saw me, she smiled. My mother always smiled at me. Even when she was tired. Even when she was hungry. Even when she thought I wasn't looking and pressed a hand against her stomach to quiet the emptiness there. "Seraphina." I dropped the rag and hurried toward her. "Mother!" She placed the basket on a nearby bench and brushed a damp strand of hair from my forehead. "Have you eaten anything?" I shook my head. Her smile faltered. "Not even a piece of bread?" I shook my head again. For a moment, she looked as though she might cry. Then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching and slipped something into my palm. A small piece of bread. It was hard around the edges and slightly stale, but I stared at it as though she had handed me a treasure. "Eat it quickly," she whispered. "Before anyone sees." I looked at the bread, then back at her. "What about you?" "I ate earlier." I knew she was lying. My mother had a particular way of touching her lips whenever she lied to protect me. She had done it so often that I recognized the movement before she realized she was making it. I broke the bread in half. "Then we can both eat." Her eyes softened. "Oh, my sweet girl." She accepted the smaller piece, and we stood together in the quiet corridor, sharing a piece of bread barely large enough for one person. It was the best breakfast I had eaten in days. Not because it tasted good. Because I had eaten it with her. For a few precious seconds, I could almost pretend we were back in our old home, where my father would sit at the table and complain that Mother always gave me the biggest portion. I remembered his laughter. The warmth of his hands when he lifted me onto his shoulders. The way he called me his little star. I remembered believing that nothing could ever happen to our family because my father was strong, respected, and loved by the Alpha. Then I remembered his funeral. The whispers. The coldness in people's eyes. And the way my mother had held me so tightly that night that I could barely breathe. I swallowed the last bite of bread. "Mother?" "Hmm?" "Did Father do something bad?" Her hand stopped against my cheek. The question had been living inside me for months. I had tried to bury it, but it always returned whenever I heard people whispering about our family. My mother studied my face. "Why would you ask me that?" "Because everyone hates us." Pain crossed her face so quickly that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching. "Not everyone, darling." "Kael does." She sighed. "Kael is a boy who has been taught that power makes him important. He hasn't learned that being powerful and being good are two different things." "But why does he hate us?" My mother glanced toward the servants' quarters. "Some questions are dangerous, Seraphina." "Even questions about Father?" She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she knelt before me and took both my hands. "Listen to me carefully. Whatever people tell you about your father, never believe that his death makes you worthless." My throat tightened. "I don't think I'm worthless." "Good." She squeezed my fingers. "Because you are not." Her voice trembled. "You are my daughter. You are the child of a man who loved you more than anything in this world. No matter what happens, you must remember that." I nodded, although I didn't understand why she sounded as though she was preparing me for something terrible. She kissed my forehead. "Now, go finish your work before Morgan comes looking for you." I caught her wrist before she could stand. "Will you be here when I finish?" Something changed in her expression. For a moment, a shadow passed through her eyes. Then she smiled again. "Of course." "Promise?" She looked at me as though the question had broken something inside her. "I promise, my little star." I released her hand. She picked up the basket and continued down the corridor. I watched until she disappeared around the corner. Then I returned to my work, unaware of how much pain a promise could one day hold. --- By late afternoon, the mansion had grown quieter. I was carrying a bundle of dirty linens toward the laundry room when laughter drifted from the garden. I slowed beside the open doorway. Kael stood beneath the stone archway with two boys from the pack. One pointed toward the servants' courtyard. "Is that the Vale girl?" Kael followed his gaze. I immediately looked away. "Yes," he replied. "Why does she still live here?" "Because the Alpha allows it." The other boy laughed. "I heard her father betrayed the pack." My fingers tightened around the linens. Kael's expression became unreadable. "People say many things." "Is it true?" He shrugged. "Does it matter?" The boys laughed again. I continued walking, forcing myself not to run. Then Kael spoke once more. "Her family should be grateful they're allowed to remain here at all." I stopped. I didn't know why those words hurt more than the other insults. Perhaps because they reminded me that my mother and I weren't being treated with kindness. We were being tolerated because someone had decided we deserved to suffer. I hurried into the laundry room before anyone could see my face. That evening, Morgan gave us the remains of the servants' meal. Mother and I sat together on a low wooden bench behind the laundry building. The air smelled of damp clothes and woodsmoke. Somewhere beyond the pack's borders, wolves howled beneath the darkening sky. I leaned against her shoulder. "Mother?" "Yes, darling?" "When I grow up, will we leave this place?" Her hand paused over my hair. "Why do you want to leave?" "Because I don't want people to hate us anymore." She was silent for so long that I lifted my head. Her eyes were fixed on the darkness beyond the courtyard. "Sometimes," she whispered, "leaving a place isn't as simple as walking away." "Why?" She looked at me, and for the first time that day, I saw fear in her eyes. Not fear of Morgan. Not fear of Kael. Something deeper. Something that made my stomach twist. "Mother, what's wrong?" She immediately drew me into her arms. "Nothing, my love." "But—" "Nothing." She kissed the top of my head. "I am here. That's all you need to remember." I wrapped my arms around her waist. She held me tighter than usual. For reasons I couldn't explain, I wished I could stay in that moment forever. I wished the night would never end. I wished the morning would never come. Because somewhere deep inside me, beneath the exhaustion and hunger, I sensed that something was terribly wrong. Something my mother was too afraid to tell me. --- That night, I woke to the sound of my mother crying. At first, I thought I had dreamed it. Our room was dark, illuminated only by moonlight slipping through the broken window. The old blanket covered my legs, and the wind made the wooden frame creak. I turned toward her. She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to me. "Mother?" She stiffened before wiping her face and turning around. "Go back to sleep, darling." I pushed myself up. "Why are you crying?" "I'm not." "You are." She stared at me, and the fragile smile she tried to summon made my chest ache. Sometimes, I thought being poor was the worst thing that had ever happened to us. Sometimes, I thought it was the way people looked at us. But watching my mother struggle to hide her tears, I realized there was something worse than hunger and humiliation. It was knowing that the person who loved you most in the world was hurting and being too small to help. I climbed out of bed and wrapped my arms around her. She held me immediately. For a long time, neither of us spoke. Then she whispered my name. "Seraphina." "Yes, Mother?" "If anything ever happens to me, I need you to remember something." I pulled away to look at her. "Nothing is going to happen to you." Her lips trembled. "Listen to me." I shook my head. "No. I don't want to." "Seraphina—" "I don't want you to talk like that!" My voice broke, and tears blurred my vision. "You promised you would stay with me." Her face crumpled. She gathered me into her arms, pressing my head against her chest. "I know, my love. I know." She rocked me gently, the way she had when I was little. "I'm sorry." I didn't understand what she was apologizing for. I only knew that I wanted her to stop crying. I wanted my father back. I wanted our home back. I wanted to be a little girl who worried about scraped knees and broken toys instead of whether the people who hated her would take away the only person she had left. Eventually, my mother laid me down and tucked the blanket around my shoulders. She remained beside me, stroking my hair until my eyes grew heavy. Just before sleep claimed me, I felt her lips touch my forehead. "Whatever happens, remember that your father loved you." I wanted to ask why she was speaking as though she was afraid of losing me. I wanted to ask why her hands trembled whenever footsteps approached our door. I wanted to ask why she sometimes stared into the darkness as though she could see something waiting there. But I was tired. So I closed my eyes. I fell asleep believing that when morning came, my mother would still be there. I didn't understand why the people of Crystal Moon Pack hated us. I didn't know what my father had supposedly done, or why his death had turned our lives into an endless punishment. I only knew that I was ten years old, that my mother was the only person who had never made me feel ashamed of being alive, and that I loved her more than anything in this world. As I drifted into sleep, I held on to that love. Outside our little room, the wind swept through the courtyard, rattling the windows and carrying distant voices through the darkness. I heard my mother's quiet footsteps move toward the door. Then came a knock. Three sharp strikes. My eyes opened. Mother went completely still. For several seconds, neither of us moved. Then another knock sounded, louder than the first. "Open the door," a man's voice commanded. My mother's face lost its color. And for the first time in my life, I saw her look at our door as though whatever stood on the other side was more frightening than anything the world could do to her.