CROWN OF CLAWS

chapter six:THE GIRL WITH EMPTY EYES

Kaelith's POV

The moment I stepped into the Blue Moon Pack, my wolf was unusually quiet.

He hated gatherings like this.

Too many scents.

Too many strangers.

Too many Alphas trying to prove themselves.

I ignored Alpha Cedric's welcoming speech as I walked through the entrance hall with Tristan, my Beta, on my right and Gareth, my Gamma, on my left.

The hall was exactly what I'd expected.

Lavish decorations.

Expensive chandeliers.

Silver cutlery polished until it reflected the candlelight.

A kingdom trying far too hard to impress its guests.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then...

Everything stopped.

A scent drifted through the hall.

Warm.

Sweet.

Like vanilla kissed by fresh rain... with the faintest trace of jasmine beneath it.

My footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

The scent wrapped itself around me, drowning out every other smell in the room.

My wolf surged forward so violently that I almost lost control.

Mate.

The word echoed inside my head.

My heart skipped.

Mate?

For twenty-eight years...

Nothing.

Not once had my wolf reacted to another woman.

Yet now...

He was practically clawing at my mind.

Mine.

I slowly lifted my head.

My eyes searched the crowded hall until they landed on her.

She stood among the servants with a silver tray balanced carefully in her hands.

A simple servant's dress hung loosely from her body.

Too loosely.

She was painfully thin.

Her collarbones showed beneath the fabric.

Her cheeks had lost the softness they should have had.

Even from where I stood, I could see the signs of malnutrition.

Someone hadn't simply neglected to feed her.

Someone had chosen not to.

My gaze traveled upward.

Long raven-black hair flowed down her back, reaching almost to her waist. It had been tied back in a simple style, but loose strands framed her face, softening her delicate features.

She wasn't dressed like the noblewomen surrounding me.

Yet somehow...

She drew my attention more than any of them.

Her skin was pale beneath the candlelight.

Not naturally pale.

The kind of pale that came from exhaustion.

There were faint shadows beneath her amber eyes.

She looked tired.

No...

Not tired.

Drained.

As though life itself had been slowly stolen from her.

Then she looked up.

For one brief moment...

Our eyes met.

Everything else disappeared.

She was beautiful.

Effortlessly so.

She wasn't adorned with jewels or expensive gowns.

She wore no paint on her face.

No elaborate hairstyle.

Yet none of the women in this hall came close.

Long dark lashes framed striking amber eyes.

A small, delicately shaped nose.

Soft naturally rosy lips that contrasted against her pale complexion.

She looked fragile.

Almost as though the slightest touch would break her.

But then...

I saw her eyes.

Not their color.

What lay inside them.

Coldness.

Not the coldness of someone without emotions.

The coldness of someone who had buried them.

Hatred.

Pain.

Determination.

For only a heartbeat...

Those emotions surfaced before she lowered her head.

Immediately.

Almost instinctively.

Not out of respect.

Out of habit.

My eyes narrowed.

Fear leaves traces.

The slight flinch when footsteps grow too close.

The tense shoulders that never truly relax.

Hands gripping a tray tighter than necessary.

Eyes trained toward the floor.

She carried every one of them.

She had learned long ago that being noticed invited suffering.

My gaze drifted lower.

Her wrists.

There...

Just beneath the sleeves of her dress...

Old scars.

Thin.

Faded.

Not one.

Several.

The kind left behind over months.

Perhaps years.

My jaw clenched.

She shifted her weight ever so slightly.

Even that tiny movement told me enough.

She was forcing herself to remain standing.

Her body was weak.

Not because she was naturally frail.

Because she hadn't been cared for.

Because someone had slowly starved her.

My wolf growled.

She is starving.

"I know."

She is ours.

"I know."

Take her.

"Not yet."

Nothing about this made sense.

How does a woman carrying the scent of my mate...

End up serving wine as a slave?

"Your Majesty?"

Cedric's voice pulled me back.

I hadn't realized I'd stopped walking.

Every eye in the hall was now on me.

I ignored them.

My gaze never left the girl.

She looked up again.

This time our eyes met for only a second.

Confusion.

Curiosity.

Caution.

No recognition.

Her wolf hadn't awakened.

That explained why she couldn't feel the bond.

But it didn't explain the rest.

Tristan leaned slightly toward me.

"My King?"

Without taking my eyes off her, I spoke quietly.

"Tell me what you see."

He looked at the girl.

"A servant."

"Look again."

He studied her more carefully.

His expression slowly changed.

"...She's underfed."

"Continue."

"Her hands."

He frowned.

"They're rough. Calloused."

I nodded.

"They're not the hands of someone who only serves food."

"No."

"They're the hands of someone who trains."

A flicker of surprise crossed Tristan's face.

"I didn't notice."

"Most wouldn't."

I looked at her again.

The callouses weren't from kitchen work.

Nor from scrubbing floors.

They sat across the center of her palms and along the base of her fingers.

Sword callouses.

Old ones.

Someone had trained with a weapon.

Often.

Then stopped.

Or...

Continued in secret.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

"The girl," I said calmly.

Cedric followed my gaze before chuckling.

"Her?"

He smiled dismissively.

"She's only a slave."

Only.

The word settled heavily in the hall.

I looked back at her.

No.

She wasn't "only" anything.

She carried herself too well.

She observed too much.

Even now, pretending not to listen, she was subtly tracking every voice in the room.

Like a soldier.

Or...

A survivor.

There was something about her that didn't belong here.

Something hidden beneath the worn servant's dress...

The hollow cheeks...

The frightened posture...

And those eyes.

Those weren't the eyes of someone waiting to be rescued.

They were the eyes of someone waiting for the right moment to strike.

"What is her name?"

For the first time since my arrival...

Alpha Cedric hesitated....

The hesitation lasted only a second.

But I noticed it.

Alpha Cedric forced a smile onto his face before bowing slightly.

"Your Majesty... she's merely a slave."

I didn't respond.

I had asked for her name.

Not her status.

"My King..." Tristan murmured beside me.

I raised a hand, silencing him.

Cedric swallowed.

"Her name is... Amara."

Amara.

The name suited her.

Simple.

Yet elegant.

I repeated it silently.

Amara.

My wolf rumbled with satisfaction.

Amara. Ours.

Before I could speak again, a young woman hurried forward from the line of servants.

She wore a smug smile that immediately irritated me.

"Your Majesty," she said, bowing deeply. "Please don't let her appearance deceive you."

I looked at her without expression.

"And you are?"

"E-Emily, Your Majesty."

She smiled nervously.

"Amara isn't as innocent as she looks."

She pointed toward my mate.

"She's lazy."

I glanced at Amara.

She didn't react.

"She talks back."

Still nothing.

"She steals food from the kitchens."

Not even a flicker crossed Amara's face.

She simply stood there with her head lowered, holding the tray as if none of this concerned her.

Interesting.

Most people would rush to defend themselves.

She didn't.

Either she had grown used to being falsely accused...

Or she had learned that defending herself only made things worse.

Another man stepped forward.

Judging by the resemblance, he was Cedric's nephew.

"My King," he said with a grin, "she's caused us nothing but trouble since the day she arrived."

Trouble.

I studied Amara again.

No.

Everything about her screamed restraint.

This wasn't a woman who sought trouble.

She avoided attention whenever possible.

A servant suddenly dropped to her knees.

Unlike the others, she was much older.

Grey streaks ran through her hair, and years of labor had bent her back.

"Your Majesty..."

Her voice trembled.

"Please forgive them."

Emily turned sharply.

"Mama Maria!"

The older woman ignored her.

"Amara is a good child."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"She works harder than anyone here."

"She has never stolen."

"She has never complained."

"She simply endures."

Simply endures.

Those words lingered in my mind.

My gaze shifted back to Amara.

She still hadn't spoken.

Not once.

Not even to defend herself.

Her fingers tightened around the silver tray until her knuckles turned white.

Only then did I realize...

She wasn't afraid for herself.

She kept glancing toward the older woman.

She was worried the woman would be punished for speaking.

Even now...

She was thinking about someone else.

Emily scoffed.

"Of course she'd defend her. They're practically family."

"Enough."

I didn't raise my voice.

I didn't need to.

The entire hall fell silent.

Emily immediately lowered her head.

Even Cedric straightened.

"I wasn't asking for opinions."

No one dared answer.

My gaze swept across the room.

Every servant looked frightened.

Every guard remained expressionless.

Yet...

Not a single one looked surprised.

That told me everything.

This wasn't unusual.

This girl had been treated this way for a long time.

I looked at Cedric.

"You said she's a slave."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"How long?"

He hesitated again.

"...Two years."

Two years.

Two years of starvation.

Two years of scars.

Two years of fear.

My jaw tightened.

"What crime did she commit?"

Cedric blinked.

"My King?"

"What did she do to deserve becoming a slave?"

Silence.

No answer.

Because there wasn't one.

Finally, Cedric cleared his throat.

"She... was purchased from another pack."

Purchased.

The word tasted bitter.

I looked at Amara again.

Purchased.

Someone had sold my mate.

My wolf snarled so loudly inside my head that I almost shifted.

Kill them.

"Not here."

Now.

"Control yourself."

I took a slow breath.

There were too many unanswered questions.

Why was she sold?

Who had sold her?

Why did she carry herself like nobility despite wearing servant's clothes?

Why did she have sword callouses?

Why were her eyes filled with grief instead of defeat?

None of it fit together.

The pieces belonged to different puzzles.

And I intended to solve every one of them.

I met Cedric's eyes.

"I'll take her."

The hall froze.

Cedric's smile disappeared.

"...Your Majesty?"

"I said..."

I kept my gaze on Amara.

"I'll take the girl."

A wave of panic swept through the room.

Emily's face turned white.

Collin looked as though he'd swallowed poison.

Mama Maria covered her mouth in shock.

Only Amara remained still.

Too still.

She didn't look relieved.

She didn't look excited.

She looked...

Conflicted.

That surprised me.

Most slaves would beg to leave.

She didn't.

Instead...

For the first time since I'd noticed her...

She slowly lifted her head.

Those amber eyes met mine once more.

The sadness was still there.

The hatred too.

But now...

There was something else.

Resistance.

She didn't want to come with me.

Why?