CHAPTER 47: A GREENHOUSE

The sound was soft but sharp enough to rouse me.

I jolted upright on my bed, my heart hammering, only to find two maids moving about the bedroom.

They carried folded garments in their arms, slipping them into the large wardrobe. Their steps were light, their faces expressionless, and when they noticed I was awake, they dipped their heads once before leaving the room without a single word after they finished their work.

The door clicked shut, and silence fell again.

I sank back against the pillows, letting out a long breath of relief.

My eyes drifted to the bedside table. The tray still sat there—empty now, save for the faint smudges of crumbs and a streak of milk at the bottom of the glass.

So I really had eaten it all.

The memory stirred faintly. The buttery taste of the pastries, the warmth of the milk easing into me like a balm.

At the time, I hadn’t thought much about it. I’d told myself I wasn’t hungry. But my body had betrayed me, devouring every bite as though starved.

Because it was.

Even if my heart had no appetite, I realized my body had been aching for sustenance. I just felt too numb to feel it.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold stone floor biting against my bare feet.

After washing in the adjoining bathroom, I moved to the wardrobe.

Rows of fine clothes greeted me.

My fingers trailed over fabrics finer than anything I’d worn in years—silks, velvets, linen embroidered with delicate patterns. Dresses of deep jewel tones. Tunics lined with fur. More choices than I had ever been granted in Levian pack, where the only thing I was handed was a servant’s cheap clothes.

But my fingers stopped on something simpler.

Pants. A jacket. Practical.

That was what I needed. Something that didn’t feel like a costume draped on a doll.

I tugged them on, leaving my long black hair loose down my back.

The corridors outside were empty. My footsteps echoed, making me feel as though the castle itself was listening. Alive.

For a moment I was afraid of running into other crazy wolves living here. A ripple of unease curled in my chest, but Rion’s voice rang in my mind.

They won’t touch you.

The words lingered too vividly on my ears.

I shivered. I wish I could trust his words, but trust was the hardest to earn.

"Thought you’d let yourself starve last night," Leika murmured suddenly, her voice brushing against my mind with a teasing edge. "But it seems you enjoyed the pastries and milk."

I huffed quietly, not in the mood to give her the satisfaction of being right. "I only ate them because it would have been wasteful to throw away something a servant worked to bring me."

Leika hummed knowingly.

I ignored her, focusing on the carvings etched into the walls—strange patterns that almost seemed to shift if I stared too long.

"How was your sleep?"

The voice cut through the silence, too close.

I flinched, spinning.

Raye walked easily at my side, as though she had been there all along. I hadn’t heard her approach, not a single footstep.

My pulse jumped, but her smile was so warm, so unbothered, that it was hard to hold onto my tension.

"Not bad," I admitted.

And it was true. Despite everything, despite the party, despite Rion’s insane words stirring my sanity—I had slept. Heavily. As if exhaustion had pulled me under like a tide.

Perhaps it had been the crisp scent of the air in the room, or the soothing warmth of milk in my belly. Or maybe I had just been too drained to fight it anymore.

"That’s good." Raye beamed, adjusting the dark ribbon at her sleeve. Her energy was infectious, light and jolly in a way no one else here seemed capable of being. "You should have stayed longer last night. You missed Ares making a complete fool of himself!"

My brows lifted slightly.

"Oh, it was glorious," she went on, laughter bubbling in her voice. "He tried to prove he could drink a whole jar of the strongest wine in the Undercity. Kept boasting that he was tougher than anyone else. Five minutes later? He was snoring under the table. Loud enough to drown out the musicians."

The image startled a laugh out of me before I could stop it. I pressed my lips together, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward.

Raye’s grin widened. "See? I knew you’d find it funny."

Her chatter carried us through more twisting hallways, her voice filling the silence so I didn’t have to. I let her words wash over me, oddly grateful for them.

Then, suddenly, the air shifted.

Cooler. Damp, tinged with something green and sharp.

The corridor opened, and before us rose a structure that made me stop short.

It was vast, its arched frame stretching into a dome of black steel and darkened glass.

Vines as thick as ropes coiled up its sides, thorns glinting like tiny blades.

The entrance yawned high and shadowed, framed by curling branches that looked almost like claws reaching outward.

My breath caught.

It resembled a greenhouse.

But there was no sun here, no sky above to filter warmth through the glass. And yet, light shimmered faintly from the very stone of the Undercity, seeping into the glass and illuminating the inside with a strange, unnatural glow.

I caught glimpses through the panes—bursts of color too vivid, too alive.

Flowers in shades of scarlet, indigo, and violet, their petals thick and sharp-edged, some glistening with dew that looked almost like blood.

Vines curled in tangled knots, thorns glittering with menace. The air smelled rich and sweet, laced with something metallic that made my skin prickle.

Beautiful. But ominous.

"What are we doing—"

The words faltered, dying on my tongue.

Because there, in the middle of the greenhouse, I saw him.

His silver hair gleamed under the strange light, strands falling against his forehead as he bent over the plants. His white shirt was crisp despite the dirt smudged on his rolled-up sleeves. Both his hands were covered in thick gloves, darkened by soil.