The Alpha King's Chosen Slave

Chapter 3: Locked Away

Of course she did. Everything was always my fault.

"She's in the dining hall. You need to go. Now."

I walked to the dining hall on shaking legs.

Margaret stood in the center of the room. Arms crossed. Face like stone.

The pack elders had left. It was just her. And me.

"Where were you?" Her voice was quiet. Dangerous.

"I... I was cleaning Miss Lydia's room. She asked me to,"

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! She asked me to take dishes,"

"That should have taken five minutes. You've been gone for over an hour."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Had no answer.

"You embarrassed this pack today," Margaret said. Her voice getting colder.

"First you ruined breakfast. Then you disappeared when there was work to be done. Do you have any idea how that reflects on us?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean,"

"You never mean to. But you always do." She stepped closer.

"You're careless. Lazy. Useless."

"I'm not! I work hard! I do everything you ask!"

"Everything except your job properly."

"That's not fair!"

The slap came out of nowhere. Hard across my face. Making my head snap to the side.

"Don't you dare talk to me about fair," Margaret hissed.

"I took you in when your mother died. Gave you a home. Fed you. Clothed you. And this is how you repay me?"

My cheek burned. My eyes watered.

"I'm... I'm grateful,"

"You're ungrateful. Spoiled. You think the world owes you something when you've done nothing to earn it."

She grabbed my arm. Yanked me toward the door.

"Since you have so much energy to run off and hide, you can put it to better use."

She dragged me through the packhouse. Down to the basement. To the laundry room.

Mountains of dirty clothes filled the space. Sheets. Towels. Pack members' personal items.

"You'll wash all of this," Margaret said.

"By hand. Every piece. And you won't eat until it's done."

I stared at the piles. There had to be hundreds of items.

"But that'll take,"

"All night? Probably. You should have thought of that before you disappeared."

"Please. My hands are already burned. I can't,"

"I don't care about your hands!" She shoved me toward the first pile.

"Start washing. And if you complain one more time, I'll add another week of punishment."

She left. Locked the door behind her.

I stood there. Surrounded by dirty laundry. My burned hands throbbing. My face still stinging from the slap.

And I started to cry again. Quietly this time. Because loud crying would bring someone down to yell at me.

I cried as I filled the first basin with water. As I plunged the first sheet into the soap. As the cold water and harsh soap made everything worse.

This was my life. This was all it would ever be.

Serving people who hated me. Being punished for things that weren't my fault. Watching others take what should have been mine.

I scrubbed the sheets. One after another. My hands bleeding now. The blisters breaking open.

But I kept going. Because I had no choice.

I finished the last item just as dawn light started filtering through the small basement window.

All night. I'd worked all night.

My hands were bleeding. Barely able to close them.

My back ached. My legs could barely hold me up.

I looked at the clean piles. At least a hundred items. All washed. All folded.

At least Margaret couldn't punish me for not finishing.

I dragged myself upstairs. Each step harder than the last.

The packhouse was quiet. Everyone still asleep.

I went to my closet. My tiny storage space with the thin mattress.

Collapsed onto it without even taking off my wet clothes.

And fell asleep immediately. Too exhausted to even cry anymore.

Too broken to care what tomorrow would bring.

Because tomorrow would be the same as today. And the day after. And the day after that.

Forever.

I woke to the sound of footsteps.

My whole body ached. My hands were still throbbing from the burns and the night of washing. My back hurt from the thin mattress.

I opened my eyes slowly. Everything was blurry.

The door to my closet opened. Two servant girls walked in.

I recognized them. Anna and Beth. They worked in the main house. Usually ignored me. Sometimes whispered about me.

Anna carried a tray. She set it down on the floor next to my mattress without looking at me.

I sat up slowly. Wincing as my sore muscles protested.

On the tray was a bowl. The same white bowl I always got. With the same watery soup inside. A few vegetables floating in broth. A piece of stale bread on the side.

This was breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. All in one meal.

No wonder I was so thin. So pale. So weak.