Chapter 3 – First Clash
825 Words
“Wake up, Hart! You've got an audience today."
Stella jolted upright. Greta stood in the doorway, scowling. “Alpha wants the ceremonial swords polished again. He says they weren't gleaming enough yesterday."
“They were spotless," Stella muttered, sitting up.
Greta folded her arms. “Tell that to him."
---
The grand hall shimmered with morning light. Alphas from neighboring packs lounged near the long table, dressed in silk and wolfhide. The blades glinted in their mounts along the wall—symbols of pride, legacy, power.
Stella knelt in silence, cloth in hand, her every movement watched.
“Is that the prisoner girl?" one of the guests asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“The killer maid," another snickered.
Joseph's voice rang out above the murmurs. “Indeed. Rehabilitated, apparently. Let's see if she remembers how to clean."
Stella's jaw tightened. She wiped down the silver hilt of the largest blade. Her fingers trembled—but only slightly.
Then it slipped. The hilt spun in her palm, knocking against the marble base with a sharp clang.
Everyone froze.
Joseph stood slowly. He walked over and snatched the blade from her hands.
“You think this is a game?" he snapped.
“No," she said.
He slammed the sword down on the table. “My father died clutching his chest, and you walked out alive. And now you want to polish his legacy like nothing happened?"
She met his gaze. Her voice was soft but unwavering. “I didn't kill him."
“Really?" Joseph sneered. “Then explain the silence. Explain the bruises. The way you ran."
“I ran because no one would believe me," she said.
“Believe what?" His voice was sharp, but something beneath it faltered. “That he attacked you? That the mighty Alpha Greenman lost control over some maid?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't. The room spun with heat and shame.
Laughter broke the tension—cruel, echoing.
“Looks like she can't speak after all," someone muttered.
Joseph looked around, face unreadable.
“She's just a servant," Rebecca called out from the corner. “Let her clean and leave the talking to real wolves."
That stung more than expected. Stella stood, eyes glassy.
“I may be a servant," she said quietly, “but I remember who I am. And I won't forget what your father did."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Joseph's hand tightened around the blade's hilt.
“You're dismissed," he said through gritted teeth.
“I haven't finished," she replied.
“I said dismissed."
She bowed stiffly, turned, and walked out.
---
Back in the hall, silence lingered.
One of the older Alphas leaned toward Joseph. “You're handling this all wrong."
Joseph's voice was low. “I'm handling a murderer with too much pride."
“Or a witness with too much silence," the elder said.
Joseph said nothing.
---
Later that afternoon, Stella was sweeping petals in the garden. The banquet had ended. The guests were gone. Her hands still shook.
Luna Victoria appeared without warning.
“You humiliated my son," she said.
“He humiliated me first."
Victoria studied her. “You're not entirely wrong. But Joseph is grieving in his own way."
“Grief doesn't excuse cruelty."
“No, but it explains it."
Stella kept sweeping.
“You don't trust me," Victoria said finally.
Stella looked up. “Should I?"
“No," Victoria admitted. “But I'm asking you to be patient. Joseph... isn't as unshakable as he pretends."
“Then maybe he shouldn't be Alpha."
Victoria's face hardened. “He didn't ask for the title. He inherited it with the body."
That silenced Stella.
Victoria stepped closer. “You were brave today. But this pack isn't ready for the truth. Not yet."
“I'm not here to tell it," Stella said. “I'm here to survive."
Victoria nodded once. “Then survive smart. Don't provoke him again."
Stella returned to sweeping as Victoria disappeared among the hedges.
---
That evening, Joseph stared at the sword still lying on the long table.
Rebecca approached, wine in hand.
“Still thinking about her?" she asked lightly.
“She embarrassed me."
“She challenged you."
“Same thing," he snapped.
Rebecca tilted her head. “If she bothers you that much, send her away."
“She's a liability."
“Then get rid of her."
Joseph's jaw flexed. “Not yet."
Rebecca frowned. “Why not?"
“I want the truth."
Rebecca's smile twitched. “And what if you don't like it?"
He didn't answer.
---
In the servant quarters, Stella curled up on her cot, pressing the photo of her mother against her chest.
She'd spoken out. Not all of it, not yet—but more than she had in years.
Her body ached, but her spirit hadn't shattered.
Outside, footsteps passed.
They paused by her door.
Joseph's voice—barely audible—whispered to no one.
“She's not lying."
Then silence.
- Writer
