---
The guard with the booming voice ordered me to follow him as he unbolted the door to my jail cell. The iron shrieked, a sound that had come to define the last three days of my life. I hesitated, pressing my back against the cold, damp stone wall. Trust was a currency I'd run out of. But the stench of the cell—mildew, fear, and my own unwashed body—was a potent motivator. Anywhere was better than this.
"Now," the guard grunted, his patience thin.
I pushed off the wall and followed, my bare feet whispering on the grimy floor before meeting the slightly cooler flagstones of the corridor. We walked in silence through a labyrinth of stone passages, the air gradually losing its dungeon chill and acquiring the subtle scent of wood polish and beeswax. The walls changed from rough-hewn rock to smooth plaster adorned with tapestries depicting hunting scenes and moonlit howls. A silent chronicle of their pack's power. My heart, a frantic prisoner in my own chest, beat a painful rhythm against my ribs. Kael. Was he near? Had he ordered this? Or was I being moved to a more presentable cage before my fate was decided?
Finally, we halted before a door of dark, heavy oak, intricately carved with wolves and vines. It was imposing, but it wasn't a cell door.
"This is your room,"the guard said gruffly, shoving it open. "Take your bath; a maid will be here soon to assist you." He didn't meet my eyes. He just left, his boots echoing down the hall, leaving me standing on the threshold of the unknown.
I took a deep, steadying breath, the first that didn't taste of despair and damp stone, and stepped inside.
My eyes widened.
The room was… bathed in orange. Not a garish, overwhelming shade, but a symphony of it: burnt sienna velvet drapes, soft apricot walls, a bedspread the color of a sunset, tangerine accents on the cream furniture. It was the exact, unusual shade of my hair. A cold shiver, unrelated to temperature, traced my spine. This was no coincidence. This was intention. Had they prepared this for me? How long had they known I would be here? The calculated kindness felt more unnerving than the naked hostility of the dungeon.
'Did they know I was coming?' I thought, the question screaming in the quiet luxury of the room.
"I don't know," Alia replied, her mental voice small and wary within me. "How should I?"
'It feels like a gilded trap.'
"It feels like a room," she countered, ever pragmatic, but I sensed her unease. We were wolves, accustomed to earth and sky. This curated perfection was disorienting.
"Well," I muttered aloud, my voice raspy from disuse, "I have to get out of this rag." The rough, grey shift they'd given me in the cell was threadbare and reeked of confinement and fear. My mate—the word still sent a jolt through me—could not find me like this. The memory of his stormy eyes in the clearing, the shattered look on his face, warred with the humiliation of my current state. I would not let him see me as just a filthy stray.
A swift, firm knock preceded the door opening. A young woman bustled in, her energy immediately filling the space. She had a kind face and an infectious smile that revealed perfectly white teeth. Her uniform was crisp, but her eyes were warm.
"Hi! My name is Camila; I'm here to assist you," she said, her cheer feeling both genuine and surreal in the aftermath of my imprisonment.
"Hello," I managed, my voice still rough. I listened, a silent observer in my own life, as she chattered while laying out towels and oils. She spoke of the palace, the weather, and then, with reverent awe, of my fate.
"...and to think, the Moon Goddess chose you for our Prince Kael! It's the talk of the whole pack. After all the arranged matches and political proposals… a true fated mate! You are so very lucky."
Lucky. The word echoed hollowly. Was I lucky to have been hunted by my own mate? Lucky to be snatched from my life and dropped into a gilded room in a hostile pack? I said nothing, merely offering a thin smile that felt like a crack in porcelain.
Camila, mistaking my silence for shyness, gently guided me into the adjoining bathroom. It was a marvel of steaming water and marble. She tested the bathwater with her elbow, humming softly. "Your skin is so soft," she commented as she helped me into the fragrant water. "And such a radiant tone. It will glow with just a little care."
"Thank you," I whispered, the warmth of the water beginning to unknot the deep, frozen dread in my muscles. For the first time in days, a sliver of physical comfort seeped in. It was dangerous to enjoy it, but I was too tired to resist.
Her hands were gentle as she washed my hair with lavender-scented soap, working through the tangles with infinite patience. "You have a natural beauty, my lady," Camila said softly, almost to herself. "Don't worry. I'll just enhance it a bit. The prince will be utterly captivated."
I simply nodded, sinking deeper into the water, letting the steam and her kindness create a fragile bubble around me. For these few minutes, I wasn't a prisoner or a political complication. I was just a girl in a bath.
Soon, I was clean, dried, and smelling of flowers and herbs. Camila tossed me a set of delicate silk undergarments, which I caught on instinct. "Gown or skirts?" she asked, already eyeing a wardrobe I hadn't noticed.
I thought of the imposing door, the formal hallways. "Gown, please."
"Good choice," she approved. She selected not one of the many orange gowns, but a simple, elegant dress of sunflower yellow with thin spaghetti straps. It fell just above my knees, light and unencumbering. It felt like a piece of the sun. She helped me into it, her fingers deft and quick, then handed me a silver-handled mirror.
I hesitated before lifting it. I hadn't seen my true reflection in so long. The face that looked back was familiar yet new. The grime was gone, revealing the faint dusting of freckles across my nose. My hair, now clean, was a cascade of fiery copper curls, almost glowing against the yellow. My green eyes, wide and wary, held a spark I thought the dungeon had extinguished. A slow, tentative smile touched my lips.
"Look how beautiful we are," I whispered to Alia.
"Yes, girl!" she yipped back, her excitement a bright flare in my mind. "We are going to make the prince weak at his knees!"
A hot blush scorched my cheeks. "Alia!" I chastised mentally, but the image her words conjured—of Kael, the fierce hunter, looking at me with that stunned intensity again—sent a thrill through me that was entirely at odds with my fear.
The moment was shattered by a loud, undignified growl from my stomach. I clutched it, embarrassed. In the surreal journey from cell to bath, I'd forgotten the basic, gnawing emptiness.
Camila blinked, then her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Goddess! You must be starving! I'm so sorry, I got carried away."
"It's alright," I said, the apology warming me more than the bath had. "Anything will do." I waved a hand, offering her a more genuine smile now.
She promised to return swiftly with a tray and bustled out, leaving me in the quiet, orange-hued room. The adrenaline of the move, the bath, the transformation, began to ebb, and a profound exhaustion rushed in to take its place. It was more than just three days in a cell; it was years of living on the fringes of my own pack, of loneliness, of hiding a strength I was told was unseemly. It all came crashing down.
My legs gave out. I stumbled towards the magnificent bed and collapsed onto it. It yielded beneath me, soft yet supportive, swallowing me in a cloud of down and fine linen. I sank into it with a sigh that came from my very soul.
"Wow," I breathed aloud, turning my face into a pillow that smelled of sunshine. "I could sleep in this bed forever."
The last thing I felt was the gentle, reassuring pulse of the mate bond—a silent, golden thread in the darkening quiet of my mind—before a deep, dreamless slumber pulled me under. I was clean, I was fed in promise, and I was in the den of the wolf who held my fate. For now, that was all I could comprehend.