Irina’s POV
White ceiling.
That’s the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes.
Not concrete. Not the moldy patches I’d stared at for months in the basent. Not the cracked plaster of the oga quarters.
White. Clean. Pristine.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
The ceiling didn’t change.
My body felt heavy. Disconnected. Like soone had filled my limbs with wet sand.
I tried to move my fingers. They twitched. Barely.
Where was I?
The question floated through my mind without urgency. Without fear. Just... there.
I turned my head slowly. The movent made my neck ache—a dull throb that centered on the mark Nicolas had left.
Nicolas.
The car. His anger. His hands on . His voice accusing of—
I shoved the mory down. Couldn’t deal with it. Not now.
The room ca into focus around .
Big. Massive, actually. Bigger than Maxim’s bedroom had been. Bigger than any room I’d ever slept in.
Dark wood furniture. Heavy curtains that looked like they cost more than a year’s worth of food. A chandelier—an actual crystal chandelier—hanging from the ceiling.
This wasn’t the underground trading post.
I pushed myself up slowly. My arms shook with the effort. Everything hurt. My ribs. My head. The mark on my neck.
The bed beneath was soft. Too soft. Like sleeping on a cloud.
I looked down at myself.
Still wearing the sa clothes from before. The black t-shirt and pants. Rumpled. Stained with dirt and sweat and—
I didn’t want to think about what else.
My feet found the floor. Cold hardwood against bare skin.
I stood. Swayed. Caught myself against the bedpost.
The room spun for a mont, then settled.
I took a step. Then another.
Toward the window.
My hand found the heavy curtain. Pulled it aside just enough to peek through.
Daylight. Actual sunlight, not the artificial lights of the underground.
Outside was... a garden? Manicured lawns. Flowerbeds. Trees.
Not a courtyard. Not enclosed walls.
Open space.
Where the hell was I?
A knock at the door made jump. My hand flew to my chest, pressing against my racing heart.
"Miss?" A female voice. Soft. Gentle. "May I co in?"
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t find my voice.
The door opened anyway.
A girl stepped inside. Young—maybe my age, maybe a year or two older. She had warm brown eyes and dark hair pulled back in a neat braid.
She wore a simple gray dress. Servant’s clothing. But clean. Well-fitted.
Not like the rags the oga servants wore back at Iron Thorn.
She smiled when she saw . Actually smiled.
Like she was happy to see .
The expression was so foreign it made my chest tight.
"Oh good, you’re awake!" Her voice was genuinely cheerful. "I’m Sofia. I’ve been assigned to take care of you."
She moved into the room, carrying sothing draped over her arm. Fabric. Clothes.
"I brought you so fresh things to wear," she continued, still smiling. "The alpha thought you might want to change. Get cleaned up."
The alpha.
Nicolas.
My stomach twisted.
"Where—" My voice ca out as a croak. I cleared my throat. Tried again. "Where am I?"
"The palace," Sofia said, like it was obvious. "The alpha king’s residence. You’re in the east wing. Your chambers."
My chambers.
The words didn’t make sense.
Why would I have chambers?
Sofia crossed to the bed, laying the clothes out carefully. A dress. Simple but beautiful. Deep blue fabric that looked soft and expensive.
"I know this must all be overwhelming," she said, smoothing out the dress. "But you’re safe here. The alpha made that very clear to everyone."
Safe.
I almost laughed. The sound died in my throat.
Nothing was safe. Nowhere was safe.
Sofia turned back to . Her smile had softened into sothing gentler. More understanding.
"Would you like to take a bath?" she asked. "I can help you. The bathroom is through there—" She gestured to a door I hadn’t noticed. "It’s already drawn. Nice and warm."
A bath.
When was the last ti I’d had a real bath? Not just cold water from a bucket. Not scrubbing myself raw in a dirty bathroom.
An actual bath.
"I..." I didn’t know what to say. "Okay."
Sofia’s smile brightened. "Wonderful! Co on."
She moved toward the bathroom door, then paused when she realized I wasn’t following.
"It’s alright," she said softly. "I promise. Just a bath. That’s all."
Sothing in her voice made believe her. Or maybe I was just too tired to care anymore.
I followed her into the bathroom.
And stopped dead.
The room was enormous. All white marble and gold fixtures. A bathtub the size of a small pool sat in the center, already filled with steaming water.
Steam rose from the surface in lazy curls. The scent hit —lavender and sothing else. Sothing clean.
"I added so oils," Sofia said, moving to the tub. "They’re supposed to help with... with healing. And they sll nice."
She tested the water with her hand, adjusting the temperature slightly.
"Perfect," she murmured. Then looked back at . "Do you need help undressing?"
My hands went to the hem of my shirt automatically. Then stopped.
Sofia would see. Would see everything.
The bruises. The scars. The evidence of what had been done to .
"I can wait outside if you’d prefer," Sofia offered, reading my hesitation. "Just call if you need anything."
"No." The word ca out sharper than I intended. "I an... I need help."
I couldn’t explain why. Maybe because if she left, I’d lose my nerve. Maybe because so part of wanted—needed—soone to see. To witness.
To know I wasn’t making it up.
Sofia’s expression didn’t change. Just nodded and moved closer.
Her hands were gentle as she helped pull the shirt over my head.
I heard her breath catch.
Couldn’t bla her.
The bruises covered my torso in layers. Purple. Yellow. Green. Different stages of healing. So old. So fresh from yesterday.
Fingerprints around my ribs. Handprints on my upper arms.
And lower—marks that I didn’t want to think about.
"Oh," Sofia whispered. Just that. Oh.
Her fingers hovered near a particularly dark bruise on my side. Didn’t touch. Just... hovered.
Like she wanted to do sothing but didn’t know what.
"I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I’m so sorry this happened to you."
The words hit wrong. Made my throat tight.
I didn’t want pity. Didn’t deserve it.
This was my fault. Had to be. Otherwise why would everyone—
"It’s not your fault," Sofia said, like she could read my thoughts. "Whatever you’re thinking right now—it’s not your fault."
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
She helped with the rest of my clothes. Didn’t comnt on the other marks. The ones that told a clearer story of what had been done.
When I was finally naked, she steadied as I stepped into the tub.
The hot water hit my skin and I gasped.
I sank down slowly, letting the water rise up around . Cover . Hide the evidence written on my skin.
Sofia knelt beside the tub. Picked up a soft cloth and a bar of soap.
"Your hair is beautiful," Sofia said as she worked. "Such a pretty color. Like moonlight."
I looked down at my hands under the water. At my pale skin and bitten nails.
Nothing about was beautiful.
She worked the cloth over my shoulders, my spine. Avoided the worst of the bruises.
The water started to cool. Sofia drained so and added more hot water.
"Let’s wash your hair," she said, reaching for a bottle. "Tip your head back."
I obeyed chanically.
Warm water poured over my scalp. Sofia’s fingers worked through the tangles with surprising gentleness.
The shampoo slled like flowers. She massaged it into my scalp, working out knots I didn’t know were there.
"All done," Sofia said softly. "Let’s get you out."
She helped stand. Wrapped a towel around —soft, fluffy, warm.
Led back into the bedroom.
The dress waited on the bed. Deep blue fabric that caught the light.
"I think this will fit," Sofia said, holding it up. "The alpha had several options sent up. This one seed... gentle. Not too formal."
She helped into undergarnts first. Then the dress.
It slipped over my head easily. The fabric was softer than anything I’d ever worn. Fell to just below my knees.
And it fit. Actually fit. Like it had been made for .
My hair fell in damp waves around my face. Clean. Shining. The pale blonde catching light and reflecting it back like spun gold.
The dress brought out the color of my eyes. Made them look less gray. More blue.
I looked... almost pretty.
The thought felt wrong. Foreign.
Sofia smiled at in the mirror. Started running a brush through my hair.
"See?" she said. "Beautiful."
She finished with my hair. Let it fall loose around my shoulders instead of pulling it back.
"There," she said, setting down the brush. "All done."
She t my eyes in the mirror. Her expression was warm. Kind.
"Ready?" she asked.
"For what?"
"Dinner." Sofia smiled. "The alpha is waiting for you. He wanted to eat together."
"...Dinner?" I asked.
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