THE ALPHA'S CURSED BLOOD

Chapter 4 – The Omega’s Burden

The grand hall had long gone silent. What had begun as a night of glittering lights and noble laughter now lay behind her like a fading dream. The torches guttered low along the corridors, their flames swaying in drafts that whispered through the ancient stone.

Aria moved through the servants’ passage, her arms trembling from the weight of the wine trays she had carried all evening. The echo of laughter still clung to her mind like smoke. She could still see them—the nobles in their silks, the Luna smiling as if the world itself bowed at her feet, and at the center of it all, Alpha Adrian, cold and distant, his eyes like winter over frozen rivers.

She had been nothing in that world. A shadow. A mistake.

When she reached the narrow door to the servants’ quarters, she allowed herself a breath of relief. Her small cell of a room waited somewhere beyond—bare, cold, but hers.

The moment her hand touched the latch, a soft giggle broke the stillness.

“Well, look who’s crawling back,” a voice purred. “The little curse of Crescent Moon.”

Aria froze. The corridor seemed to close in on her as shadows detached themselves from the wall. Luna Celeste’s personal maid, Lady Hera, stood at the center of the group, her silk apron spotless, her hair pinned in perfect order. Behind her waited two kitchen girls and a pair of scullery maids.

“I—I was just finishing my duties,” Aria murmured, keeping her eyes lowered.

“Oh, we know,” Hera said sweetly, stepping closer. “You nearly spoiled the entire moon feast with your clumsy hands. The Alpha’s wrath is not something we need invited into our hall again.”

The others snickered. One of them whispered, ‘Her grandfather killed the last Alpha,’ as if Aria could forget.

“I didn’t mean—”

A sharp slap silenced her. The sound echoed against the stone.

“You don’t speak unless spoken to, omega.” Hera’s tone cooled to a hiss. “You bring shame into every room you enter. The Luna should have had you cast out long ago.”

A bucket of water appeared from nowhere, pressed into Hera’s waiting hand by one of the other maids. “Perhaps we can wash the curse from her before it spreads,” she said, lifting it high.

The icy water cascaded over Aria’s head and shoulders. She gasped as it soaked through her thin dress, stealing the warmth from her skin. The maids laughed—a bright, cruel sound that twisted in her ears.

When she staggered, one of them shoved her. Another struck her with a rag-wrapped fist. The blows were not strong at first, but they multiplied—pushing, slapping, kicking until her knees hit the stone floor.

“Maybe the moon will bless us if we scrub her blood from the floor,” Hera said. Her voice had lost its sweetness; it was something sharp and gleeful now.

Aria lifted her arms to shield her face, but the effort only earned her another kick. The laughter blurred into a distant roar. The cold seeped deep into her bones.

At last, Hera crouched beside her and whispered, “Remember this, little curse. You don’t belong in the light of our Alpha’s halls.”

Then they left her there, water pooling beneath her cheek, the corridor echoing with the sound of retreating footsteps.

For a long time, she didn’t move.

When the silence became unbearable, she forced herself to crawl. Her body trembled from cold and pain, her wet hair clinging to her face. Inch by inch, she reached the narrow door to her quarters and pulled herself inside. The room was barely large enough for a cot and a basin. She collapsed upon the straw mattress, shivering violently.

The fever came with the night.

She drifted in and out of dreams—faces floating above her, laughter that turned to howls, a hand reaching for her and fading into mist. The world burned and froze by turns.

When the gray light of dawn crept through the tiny window, the pounding at her door startled her awake.

“Aria!” The head maid’s voice was sharp enough to cut. “You missed your morning duties!”

Aria tried to answer, but her throat was raw. She managed only a hoarse whisper before the door flew open.

The older woman took one look at her pale face and dripping hair, then scowled. “Playing sick now, are we?”

“I—I’m not well,” Aria murmured.

The slap came swift and stinging. “You’ll be well enough to work. The Luna’s guest doesn’t wait for lazy hands.”

The head maid seized her by the arm and dragged her upright. Every muscle in Aria’s body screamed, but she swallowed the cry. Obedience was survival.

She was thrust a rag and a bucket. “You’ll clean Lady Mira’s chambers today. And pray she doesn’t see fit to send you back to the kennels.”

The corridor outside was already bright with morning torches. Aria walked slowly, every step a test of will. Her hands trembled so badly that water sloshed from the bucket onto the floor. She could still feel the ache of last night’s blows, the dull throb of bruises beneath her skin.

When she reached the grand guest wing, she paused before the double doors that marked Mira’s suite. From within came the murmur of voices—soft, lilting laughter and the rustle of silks.

Aria took a breath and pushed the door open.