The Alpha and the slave princess

The daring humiliation

Elara’s POV

The door groaned open again, and two elderly women shuffled into the damp cell. They were followed by four guards carrying a large wooden basin and buckets of steaming water. The heat from the water hit the cold air, creating a thick mist that smelled faintly of lavender and lye.

I stayed in my corner, my eyes narrowed. I didn't move. I didn't speak. I just watched them.

"Stand up, child," one of the women said. Her voice was scratchy, like dry leaves rubbing together. She had a kind face, but her eyes were tired, the eyes of someone who had seen too many wars and too many prisoners.

"I’m not a child," I said, my voice sounding like gravel. "And I’m not going anywhere until I see my people. Where is Ashanti? Where are the children?"

The guards ignored me. They poured the hot water into the basin and stood by the door, their arms crossed over their chests. They looked at me with the same boredom they might show a stray dog.

"The Alpha has ordered you to be cleaned," the second woman said. She reached out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched away, my back hitting the cold, wet stone of the wall.

"I don't care what your Alpha ordered!" I snapped. "I want to see my pack. I want to know they are being fed. I want to know they aren't being hurt."

"You aren't in a position to demand anything, princess," one of the guards growled. "Do what they say, or we will hold you down and do it ourselves. And believe me, we won't be as gentle as the old women."

The threat hung in the air. I looked at the elderly women. They weren't my enemies, but they were tools of the man who was. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. I was a Princess. I was meant to lead. Now, I was being threatened with a bath like a disobedient pet.

"Please, child," the first woman whispered, leaning in closer. "Just let us do this. The Alpha is waiting. If you make him wait too long, his temper will flare, and it won't be you who feels the heat. It will be the ones in the other cells."

My heart hammered against my ribs. They knew. They knew exactly how to pull my strings. I thought of Ashanti’s terrified face at the feast. I thought of Leo’s small, shaking frame.

I slowly stood up. My legs felt like they were made of lead, and the silver collar around my neck felt heavier than ever.

The two women didn't wait. They moved in with practiced efficiency. They reached for the laces of my torn, blood-stained tunic. I wanted to fight them. Every instinct I had told me to strike out, to claw, to defend my modesty. But I forced my hands to stay at my sides. I stood perfectly still as they stripped the rags from my body.

I stood there naked in the center of the cell, the cold air biting at my skin. I felt small. I felt exposed. But more than anything, I felt a deep, burning shame.

They guided me into the basin. The water was hot, almost too hot. . .and it stung the various cuts and scrapes on my legs and arms. One of the women took a coarse cloth and a bar of soap. She began to scrub.

She scrubbed my arms, where the mud of my home had dried into a hard crust. She scrubbed my back, where I had leaned against the dungeon walls for days. She scrubbed the blood of my father’s warriors from under my fingernails.

"Softly," the other woman muttered, seeing me wince as the cloth passed over a deep bruise on my ribs”

"It has to be clean," the first one replied. "The Alpha doesn't want the smell of the pits on his guest."

Guest? The word felt like a joke, more like a slave.

As they worked, my mind started to race. I had to get to Ashanti. If I were being moved, it meant I might pass the other cells again. I needed to know which corridor they were keeping the others in. I needed a plan.

"Where are they?" I whispered, leaning toward the woman scrubbing my hair. "My maid, Ashanti. The girl with the brown braids. Where is she being kept?"

The woman didn't look up. She kept pouring water over my head, the soap suds stinging my eyes. "Don't ask questions, child. It only makes things harder."

"Tell me," I pleaded, my voice low and desperate. "Is she alive? Is she in this wing?"

The woman paused for a split second. She glanced at the guards, then leaned in so her lips were inches from my ear. "The servants' quarters. Near the kitchens. They have them working the fires."

The kitchens. That was upstairs. That was better than the dungeons. At least there would be heat. At least there would be scraps of food.

"Thank you," I breathed.

"Don't thank me," she muttered, pulling away. "Just stay alive. That’s the best you can do for them now."

Once I was scrubbed raw, they helped me out of the basin. My skin was pink and stinging. They dried me with a thick towel and then brought out a dress. It wasn't the silk gown of a princess. It was a simple, deep red dress made of heavy wool. It was the color of dried blood.

They pulled it over my head and laced it tight. The fabric was soft, but it felt like a shroud. They brushed my hair, pulling out the knots until it fell down my back in a dark wave.

"You are ready," the woman said, looking at me with a strange expression. . . With something between pity and admiration, I'm not sure which.

The guards stepped forward. They didn't put the heavy iron chains back on my wrists, but they kept the silver collar. They attached a fresh leather lead to it.

"Move," the guard ordered.

I was led out of the cell, up the stairs, and away from the smell of the dungeons. But instead of the Great Hall, we went higher. We passed through hallways decorated with tapestries of wolves and moons. The floors were covered in thick rugs that muffled our footsteps. Everything here was expensive, cold, and beautiful.

We stopped in front of a set of massive double doors made of dark oak. The guards knocked once.

"Enter," a voice called out. It's the devil’s voice.

The doors opened, and I was pushed inside. The room was huge. A fire crackled in a marble fireplace, and the air smelled of expensive tobacco and cedar wood. There was a large bed draped in furs, and a desk covered in maps and scrolls.

Julian was sitting in a chair by the fire, a book in his hand. He looked up as I was brought in. He looked at my clean skin, my brushed hair, and the red dress. A slow, dark smile spread across his face.

"Leave us," he said to the guards.

"Alpha, the silver collar. . . "

"I can handle a little wolf girl," Julian interrupted, his voice sharp. "Leave."

The guards bowed and backed out, closing the doors with a heavy thud. I was alone with him. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the popping of the wood in the fireplace.

I stood by the door, my hands clenched at my sides. I didn't want to look at him, but I forced myself to. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower.

"You look much better," Julian said, standing up. He walked toward me, his movements fluid and dangerous. He stopped just a few feet away. "The red suits you. It matches the fire in your eyes."

"Why am I here?" I asked. I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could feel my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Because I grow tired of talking to soldiers and sycophants," he said. He reached out, and for a moment, I thought he was going to touch my face. I tensed, ready to bite if he did. Instead, he reached for the lead attached to my collar and tugged it.

I was forced to step closer to him.

"I wanted to see if the bath had washed away your defiance," he whispered, looking down at me. "But I see it’s still there. Good. I like a challenge."

"I want to see Ashanti," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger. "You said she was working in the kitchens. Let me see her."

Julian’s eyebrows rose. "Ah, the old women have been talking, have they? I’ll have to remind them about the price of gossip."

"Don't hurt them!" I stepped even closer, forgetting my fear for a moment. "Please, it wasn't their fault. I forced them to tell me."

Julian laughed, a low, dark sound that made the hair on my arms stand up. "You are so predictable, Elara. You are always trying to save everyone. It’s what makes you so easy to break."

He walked over to a small table and poured two glasses of dark wine. He held one out to me.

"Drink," he said.

"No."

"Drink, Elara. Unless you want me to go down to the kitchens right now and find your little maid."

I felt a sob catch in my throat. I reached out and took the glass. My hand was shaking so much that the wine sloshed over the rim. I took a sip. It was bitter and strong, burning its way down my throat.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite his.

I sat. I felt like a puppet, and he was the one pulling the strings.

"Your father was a fool," Julian said, sitting back down and crossing his legs. "He thought he could play both sides. He thought he could be the hero of the Silvermoon Peak while lining his pockets with the hunters' gold. He didn't realize that in this world, you have to choose a side. And he chose the wrong one."

"My father was a good man," I whispered, though the doubt was starting to eat at me. "He loved everyone."

"Love doesn't pay for safety," Julian snapped. "He traded my pack’s secrets for your peace. Do you know what the hunters do to us, Elara? Do you know what happens when they find a den of cubs?"

I looked at the fire. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want to believe that my father was capable of such a thing.

"They don't just kill them," Julian continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They use them for sport. They use our fur for their coats and our teeth for their jewelry. Your father knew that. And he still gave them the maps."

He stood up again and walked behind my chair. I felt his presence like a dark cloud. He leaned down, his face right next to mine.

"I didn't just kill your father to be cruel," he whispered. "I killed him because he was a traitor to our kind. And now, you are going to help me rebuild what he helped destroy."

"I will never help you," I spat.

Julian’s hand came around the front of my neck, his fingers brushing the silver collar. He didn't squeeze, but the threat was there.

"You will," he said. "You will sit at my side. You will show your people that their Princess has accepted her new master. And in exchange, I might just let your little maid live long enough to see the spring."

He pulled the lead, forcing me to stand up and turn to face him. He was so close I could see the flecks of gray in his silver eyes. He looked at my lips, and for a horrible second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

"I hate you," I whispered.

"I know," he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "That’s what’s going to make this so much fun." He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against mine.

"Now, tell me, Elara... how much are you willing to endure to keep your people alive? Because I have a lot of ideas, and most of them involve you forgetting who you used to be."