Claimed by the enemies

first night

Chapter 2: First Night

They don't take me to their beds that night. Instead, Prince Damon dismisses me with orders to rest and recover from my journey. I should feel relieved, but as the guards escort me back to my chambers, all I can think about is the way his eyes lingered on my face, like he was memorizing every detail.

The way all three of them looked at me.

Mira is waiting in my room with another tray of food and a cup of tea that smells like chamomile and something else I can't identify. She studies my face carefully as I enter.

"That went better than expected," she says. "You're still breathing and unmarked. That's more than most new Omegas can say after their first audience."

I sit on the edge of the bed and accept the tea, though I don't drink it yet. Trust no one, suspect everything. Those were the first lessons my handler taught me when I was twelve and still crying for my dead family.

"They seemed... interested."

"Interested is dangerous. Bored Alphas ignore you. Interested Alphas consume you." Mira moves around the room, checking the water basin and laying out a nightgown. "Prince Damon is the worst. He likes puzzles, mysteries. Once he decides he wants to figure you out, he won't stop until he's taken you apart piece by piece."

My fingers tighten around the teacup. "And the others?"

"Prince Kai is direct. He sees something he wants, he takes it. At least with him, you know where you stand." She pauses by the window, gazing out at the moonlit training yards. "Prince Zane is the one to watch. He has gifts beyond normal Alpha abilities. Some say he can read minds. Others claim he can influence emotions. All I know is that Omegas who displease him tend to... change."

"Change how?"

"They become hollow. Still alive, still functional, but empty inside. Like someone reached into their heads and removed everything that made them who they were."

A chill runs down my spine. If Zane really can manipulate minds, my mission just became infinitely more complicated. The mental shields I learned to construct might not be enough against someone with that level of power.

"How do you know all this?"

Mira turns back to me, and in the candlelight, I can see old pain etched in the lines around her eyes. "Because I've been here for eight years. I've seen what happens to Omegas who think they're clever. I've buried the ones who thought they could play games with princes."

She walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. The touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Whatever you're thinking, whatever plans you might have, forget them. Your only goal is to survive long enough to be traded away or replaced. Do you understand me?"

I meet her gaze and let her see what she needs to see—a young woman who's scared but trying to be brave. "I understand."

But I don't. I can't. Survival has never been enough for me. Not when my family's blood cries out for justice. Not when my birthright sits on the heads of usurpers.

After Mira leaves, I finally drink the tea. It tastes of herbs and honey, and within minutes, drowsiness begins to pull at the edges of my consciousness. Drugged, but not with anything harmful. Just something to ensure I sleep deeply and don't cause trouble on my first night.

I let it work. Let them think their precautions are necessary. But before I drift off, I touch the hidden pendant beneath my nightgown—a small piece of moonstone carved with the Moonspire crest. The only thing I have left of my real family.

Soon, I promise them silently. Soon I'll make this right.

I wake to the sound of screaming.

The drug should have kept me unconscious until morning, but something—some instinct honed by years of survival—jerks me awake. The screaming comes again, high and desperate, echoing through the stone corridors.

I slip from bed and move to the door, pressing my ear against the wood. Heavy footsteps pass by, multiple guards moving with purpose. Then silence falls again, thick and oppressive.

When I return to bed, sleep eludes me. Instead, I lie in the darkness and think about the sound of that scream, the way it cut off so abruptly. Another lesson learned about life in the Ironfang palace.

Morning comes with a knock on my door and a different servant—a young Beta girl who can't be more than sixteen. She enters carrying fresh clothes and breakfast, her movements quick and nervous.

"Prince Damon requests your presence in his study," she says, setting the tray on the small table. "After you've eaten."

"What happened last night? I heard screaming."

The girl goes pale and nearly drops the water pitcher. "I don't know what you mean, miss. Nothing happened last night."

But her hands are shaking as she arranges the food, and she won't meet my eyes. Whatever I heard, it was significant enough to terrify the servants into silence.

The breakfast is simple but well-prepared—eggs, bread, fruit, and meat. I eat slowly, using the time to center myself and prepare for whatever Damon has planned. Our interaction last night was just the beginning. Today, the real game starts.

The clothes the servant brought are different from yesterday's silk dress. These are practical—dark wool skirt, white blouse, sturdy boots. Clothes for someone who might need to move quickly or defend herself. Interesting choice.

Guards escort me through corridors I haven't seen before, past rooms filled with weapons and maps, libraries that smell of old leather and secrets. The palace is enormous, a maze of power and privilege built on the bones of my family's legacy.

Damon's study is exactly what I expected—dark wood, leather-bound books, a fireplace large enough to burn bodies. The prince himself stands behind a massive desk, still wearing black leather but with the addition of a silver chain that marks him as heir to the throne.

My throne.

"Good morning, Lyra. I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you."

"Please, sit." He gestures to a chair across from his desk. "We need to talk."

I settle into the chair, keeping my posture straight but not rigid. Confident but not challenging. It's a delicate balance.

"Tell me about your life before yesterday," he says, moving around the desk to lean against its edge. "Your family, your pack, how you came to be offered as tribute."

The questions I've been preparing for since I was fourteen. The lies come easily.

"I was orphaned young. A rogue attack killed my parents when I was four. The Greystone Pack took me in, but I was never truly accepted. When they needed a gift to seal the treaty..." I let my voice trail off, playing the part of someone trying to be brave about a painful subject.

"A rogue attack." His grey eyes never leave my face. "How convenient. Rogues leave very little evidence behind."

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral. "I don't remember much about it. I was very young."

"Of course." He moves closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "The thing is, Lyra, I've been thinking about you since last night. Something about you doesn't quite fit."

"I don't understand, Your Highness."

"Your scent, for one thing. Most Omegas smell of flowers or vanilla, something sweet and unthreatening. You smell like winter storms and pine forests. Like wilderness. Like freedom." He reaches out and touches a strand of my hair, letting it slip through his fingers. "That's not the scent of someone who's spent her life in submission."

Heat flashes through my body at his touch, and I have to fight to keep my breathing steady. This is dangerous territory. If he keeps pushing, he might stumble onto the truth.

"Perhaps it's because I've never been claimed," I say. "I've heard that changes an Omega's scent."

"Perhaps." But his tone suggests he doesn't believe me. "There's also the matter of your posture. You sit like you expect to be obeyed, not like someone accustomed to taking orders."

"I'm nervous. I don't know how I'm supposed to behave."

"Mm." He moves behind my chair, placing his hands on my shoulders. The touch burns through the fabric of my blouse, and I have to suppress a shiver. "Nervous. Yes, you are that. But not in the way you want me to believe."

His thumbs press into the tension at the base of my neck, and despite everything—despite who he is and what he's done—my body responds. Heat pools low in my belly, and my breathing grows shallow.

"You're nervous like a wolf in a trap," he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Alert, calculating, waiting for the right moment to bite."

"Your Highness, I—"

"Shh." His hands slide down to my collarbones, his touch gentle but possessive. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Lyra. I'm simply... observing. You see, I find mysteries irresistible. And you, my dear gift, are definitely a mystery."

I can feel his breath against my ear, warm and disturbing. My body is betraying me, responding to his proximity and dominance in ways I never expected. This wasn't part of the plan. I was supposed to seduce them, not be seduced by them.

"What do you want from me?" The question comes out breathier than I intended.

"Everything." His lips brush against my ear, and lightning shoots through my nervous system. "Your secrets, your submission, your complete surrender. I want to know what you're hiding, and I want to own it."

Before I can respond, he steps away, leaving me cold and aching. The sudden absence of his touch is almost painful.

"But not today." He returns to his desk, professional and controlled as if nothing happened. "Today, I have other plans for you."

I struggle to compose myself, to push down the unwanted arousal still thrumming through my veins. "What kind of plans?"

"You're going to spend the day with each of my brothers. Separately. They want to get to know you better, and I'm curious to see how you react to them."

My stomach clenches. "All three of you? Today?"

"Is that a problem? You did agree to serve whoever requires your attention."

The reminder of my supposed submission stings, but I nod. "Of course, Your Highness."

"Excellent. Kai wants you first. He's in the training yards." Damon's smile is sharp as a blade. "I suggest you dress appropriately. My brother can be... vigorous in his pursuits."

Guards escort me back to my chambers, where Mira is waiting with yet another change of clothes. This time it's leather pants and a fitted top that will allow for movement. Fighting clothes.

"Prince Kai likes to test new Omegas," she explains as she helps me change. "He'll want to see how you handle yourself under pressure."

"What kind of test?"

"Could be anything. Combat training, endurance challenges, pain tolerance." She meets my eyes in the small mirror. "Whatever it is, don't try to win. Alphas don't like Omegas who outperform them."

But as we walk toward the training yards, I'm already planning how to handle Kai. Damon suspects I'm more than I appear, which means I need to be careful. But Kai might be easier to manage. Warriors respect strength, even in Omegas.

The training yard is a large courtyard surrounded by high walls, filled with weapons racks and practice dummies. The air smells of sweat and leather and the metallic tang of blood. A dozen Alphas and Betas are sparring in various corners, their movements deadly and precise.

Prince Kai stands in the center of it all, shirtless and gleaming with perspiration. He's even more impressive without his shirt—broad chest, defined muscles, scars that speak of real battles fought and won. He's sparring with a large Alpha using blunted swords, and even with dulled edges, I can see that both men are fighting with lethal intent.

Kai notices me immediately, his green eyes locking onto mine across the yard. He says something to his opponent and hands over his sword, then walks toward me with the confident stride of someone who's never lost a fight.

"So, our gift has arrived." His gaze travels over my leather outfit appreciatively. "Much better. I was beginning to think you were all silk and no substance."

"I'm whatever you need me to be, Your Highness."

"Are you?" He circles me slowly, studying me like a predator evaluating prey. "Because what I need is someone who won't bore me. Someone who can keep up."

"I'll do my best."

He stops in front of me and grins. It's a dangerous expression, full of promise and threat. "Let's find out exactly what your best looks like."

He leads me to a corner of the yard where various weapons hang on racks. Swords, daggers, staffs, maces—enough instruments of death to outfit a small army.

"Choose one," he says.

I stare at the weapons, my heart pounding. This is a test, but what kind? If I choose poorly, I reveal ignorance. If I choose too well, I reveal training I shouldn't have.

"I don't know how to use weapons, Your Highness."

"Then you'll learn quickly, or you'll bleed. Either way should be entertaining." He selects a pair of blunted daggers from the rack. "These are good for beginners. Light, quick, hard to do permanent damage with."

He hands me the weapons, and the moment my fingers close around the hilts, muscle memory takes over. The balance is good, the weight distribution familiar. These are similar to the blades I trained with for years.

"Now," Kai says, drawing his own daggers, "let's see what you're made of."

He attacks without warning, moving faster than should be possible. I barely get my blades up in time to block his strike, the impact jarring my arms. He presses forward immediately, a flurry of attacks that force me to give ground.

I can't win this fight. Even if I were at full strength and he was holding back, he has too much experience, too much raw power. But I can avoid losing badly.

I focus on defense, blocking and dodging, giving ground when necessary but never letting him land a clean hit. My body moves instinctively, remembering lessons learned years ago in secret training sessions.

"Interesting," Kai murmurs as he spins past my guard and presses a blade to my throat. "You move like you've done this before."

The cold metal against my skin sends shivers through my body, but not entirely from fear. There's something electric about being this close to him, about having his full attention and physical dominance.

"Beginner's luck?" I suggest breathlessly.

"Perhaps." But his eyes narrow with speculation. "Or perhaps there's more to you than meets the eye. My brother mentioned you were... unusual."

He steps back, and I immediately miss his proximity. What is wrong with me? These men are my enemies. I should be disgusted by their touch, not craving more of it.

"Again," he orders.

We spar for another hour, and with each exchange, I have to work harder to hide my real abilities. Kai is pushing me, testing my limits, and I can see him growing more intrigued with every move I make.

Finally, he calls a halt. Both of us are breathing hard, covered in sweat, and I can see approval in his green eyes.

"You learn quickly," he says, wiping his face with a cloth. "Most Omegas can barely hold a weapon, let alone use one defensively."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Don't thank me yet. This was just the warm-up." He moves closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "Tell me, Lyra, do you enjoy violence?"

The question catches me off-guard. "I... what do you mean?"

"Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is elevated. Your scent has changed." He reaches out and traces a finger along my jawline. "Those are signs of arousal, not fear. You enjoyed our fight."

Heat floods my cheeks, but I can't deny what he's observed. "I don't understand it myself."

"Don't you?" His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. "Some wolves are born for battle. Born to test themselves against worthy opponents. It doesn't matter what rank they are—the need for challenge runs deeper than social hierarchy."

He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "I think you're one of those wolves, Lyra. I think beneath all that submission training, there's a fighter waiting to get out."

"Your Highness—"

"Kai," he corrects. "When we're alone, you call me Kai."

"Kai." His name feels strange on my lips, intimate in a way that makes my pulse quicken. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to see what happens when you stop holding back." His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I have to bite back a moan. "I want to find your limits and then push past them. I want to make you forget everything except the feeling of my hands on your body."

The raw desire in his voice sends heat spiraling through my core. This is dangerous. I'm supposed to be in control here, supposed to be manipulating them. Instead, I'm melting under their touch, craving their attention like a drug.

"I don't—" I start to say, but he silences me with a finger against my lips.

"Shh. Not yet. You're not ready yet." He steps back, leaving me cold and aching. "But you will be. Soon."

He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the training yard with my thoughts in chaos and my body screaming for his touch.

This is not going according to plan.