Ashes beneath the alpha's throne

CHAPTER ONE They made her kneel so everyone could see. Elara Vale lowered herself onto the cold stone floor of the great hall. Her knees ached as soon as they touched the ground. The chill soaked through the thin fabric of her dress and bit at her skin, but she didn’t flinch. Omegas weren’t allowed to show discomfort, especially not omegas like her. Above her, the banners of the Vale Pack hung from the high beams, silver wolf sigils catching the torchlight. The hall smelled of smoke, wine, roasted meat, and something heavier underneath it all: power. Laughter rolled from the long tables where the high-ranking wolves feasted, their voices loud, relaxed, uncaring. Elara kept her eyes down. “Lift your head.” The command cut through the noise, sharp and feminine, wrapped in practiced sweetness. Elara knew that voice. She drew in a slow breath, steeled herself, and obeyed. Her stepsister stood in front of her. Lyra Vale was everything Elara wasn’t. Beautiful. Confident. Untouchable. Her dark hair had been braided into an intricate pattern, pearls threaded through each strand, a glittering reminder of her status as a favored beta and the future pride of the pack. Her crimson dress, the shade reserved for wolves of rank, hugged her figure like it had been tailored by the moon itself. Lyra smiled down at her. “There you are,” she said softly, though her eyes gleamed with cruelty. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten where you belong.” A low wave of laughter moved through the hall. Elara swallowed. “I’m here,” she said. Her voice sounded calm and even. Too calm. She had learned a long time ago that showing emotion only made things worse. Lyra began to circle her, heels tapping against the stone. “Do you all see her?” she called to the room. “This is what happens when an omega forgets her place and her gratitude.” Elara’s fingers curled in her skirts, nails digging into her palms. She focused on her breathing. In. Out. Do not react. “You spilled wine on my dress earlier,” Lyra went on, stopping in front of her again. “Do you deny it?” Elara parted her lips, then closed them. Denying it wouldn’t change a thing. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t.” Lyra’s smile widened. “Good. At least you know when to tell the truth.” She turned toward the high table, where Elara’s father sat beside his new wife. “Mother,” Lyra called, her voice sickeningly sweet, “what do you think should be done with an omega who forgets her duties?” Lady Seraphina Vale didn’t bother to stand. She didn’t need to. The hall quieted around her anyway. She regarded Elara the way someone might look at a stain. Annoying. Unwanted. Easy enough to scrub away. “Omegas exist to serve,” Seraphina said, cool and precise. “If she cannot even manage that, then she deserves correction.” Correction. The word landed in Elara’s chest like a stone. Her father said nothing. He sat rigid, staring into his goblet as if he could drown in the dark red inside it. His fingers were tight around the stem. Once, a lifetime ago, he would have met Elara’s gaze. He would have spoken up. But that man had died the night her mother did. Lyra clapped her hands lightly. “Then let this be a lesson.” She picked up a cup of wine from a nearby table and tipped it over. The dark red liquid spilled over Elara’s hair, soaking into her scalp, sliding down her face and neck. Cold rivulets ran under her dress, staining the pale fabric as they went. The hall erupted in laughter. Elara didn’t move. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted iron, forcing herself not to flinch, not to cry out. Omegas cried. She refused to give them that. “Clean it up,” Lyra said, nudging the overturned cup toward her with the tip of her shoe. Elara bowed her head. She reached for a cloth and began to wipe the floor, slow and methodical. Each scrape of the fabric over the stone felt like something being rubbed away. Her name. Her past. Her worth. As she scrubbed, the feeling came back. That tightness in her chest. That small, burning question she never dared to speak out loud. Why am I still alive if this is all I’m allowed to be? When she finished, Lyra leaned down, her voice barely above a breath. “Remember this feeling,” she murmured. “It’s the only thing you’re good for.” Elara looked up and met her gaze. Just for a heartbeat. For that single moment, something flickered in Elara’s eyes. Not anger. Not fear. Something colder. Lyra’s smile faltered. She frowned, unsettled, then straightened quickly. “Take her away,” she snapped. Two guards stepped forward, but Elara rose on her own before they could touch her. She kept her head down and didn’t look back as they led her out of the hall. The doors closed behind her with a heavy thud, muting the laughter on the other side. In that silence, Elara ma de herself a promise. They could take everything else. But they would never take her mind.