C1 Trash Of the Pack

"Trash does not get invited to banquets," Damien said, and the whole kitchen laughed like he had told the funniest joke in the world.

I did not laugh. I never laughed at that one. I had heard it too many times to find it funny anymore.

My name is Kael Blackwood, second son of Alpha King Lucian Blackwood. That is what the royal records say. The pack has a different name for me. The maid's son. I stopped correcting them a long time ago because silence hurt less than the fight.

That morning I stood in the palace kitchen with my sleeves rolled to my elbows, my hands raw from cold water, my knees aching from crouching over baskets of potatoes since dawn. Tonight was the Moon Blessing Banquet, the biggest night of the year, and every servant in the palace was running like the walls were on fire. I was not preparing for anything. I was just trying to survive the morning.

Then Damien walked in wearing black and silver like he already owned the throne, and my stomach dropped the way it always did when I heard his boots on the stone floor.

"Well, well," he said, stopping in front of me, close enough that I could smell the wine already on his breath. "Look who is exactly where I left him."

I did not answer. My jaw tightened instead, my teeth pressing together so hard it ached. I kept my eyes down, because looking at him straight only ever made things worse.

He picked a potato from my basket and turned it over in his hand like he was inspecting a piece of art. "You know," he said, "I think you were born to hold things like this." He dropped it into the dirty bucket at my feet. Water splashed my shirt. "Pick it up."

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. My heart started pounding, not from fear exactly, more from the old familiar burn of humiliation climbing up my throat.

"With your mouth," he added, and his smile went cold in a way that made my stomach twist.

The kitchen went silent. I could feel every servant holding their breath around me. My face went hot, heat crawling up my neck into my ears. I bent toward the bucket anyway, because refusing meant they would all pay for it later, and I could not let that happen.

"Enough."

The word cut through the room like a blade.

I looked up, and my whole chest seemed to lift on its own. Lyra Ronan stood in the doorway in a silver-blue dress, her dark hair loose over one shoulder, her eyes locked on Damien like she was ready to burn the palace down for me.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, walking closer without waiting for permission.

"Teaching my brother his place," Damien said, folding his arms.

"This is cruelty," she said, "not a lesson."

"He should be thankful," Damien muttered. "Someone has to remind him where he belongs."

Lyra did not answer him. She walked straight past him and crouched in front of me, ignoring the mud on the floor, ignoring every eye in that kitchen. "Kael," she said softly. "Stand up."

"Lady Lyra, please," I whispered, my voice cracking despite myself, "you should not—"

"Stand," she said again, and held out her hand.

I stared at it for a moment too long. My heart was slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. I took her hand, and the second our skin touched, something hot rushed up my arm and straight into my chest, so sudden it stole the breath right out of me. My wolf stirred under my skin, restless, awake, pulling toward her like she was the only warm thing in a cold room.

Her breath caught. I heard it, soft and quick, and her eyes went wide for half a second before she blinked it away. She had felt it too. I could see it in the way her fingers tightened around mine, the way her cheeks colored just slightly before she remembered herself and let go.

Damien's eyes narrowed on both of us. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Lyra said fast, too fast.

"It did not look like nothing," he pressed.

"It was nothing," she snapped, and for the first time that morning, Damien actually stopped smiling. He looked at me like he was seeing a stranger standing in his brother's skin.

My pulse was still racing. I kept my eyes on the floor, but my whole body felt lit up from the inside, warm in a way I did not have a name for. I had shaken hands with plenty of people in my life. None of them had ever made my wolf sit up and pay attention like that.

Damien's jaw worked. "Have you forgotten who your future mate is?" he said to Lyra, his voice sharp now.

"My father promised nothing," she shot back, chin lifting.

"The whole pack expects it," he said.

"The pack does not decide my heart," she said, and the words landed heavy in the room, heavy enough that even the servants stopped pretending not to listen.

I felt my chest tighten watching her say it, some foolish, reckless part of me wanting to believe those words meant something more than politics.

"I should go," I said quietly, mostly to break the tension before it caught fire.

"No," Damien said, stepping in front of me before I could move. "You will stay right here." He turned to his guards without looking away from me. "The eastern courtyard needs scrubbing before tonight." His eyes came back to mine, colder now. "Every stone. If one guest finds a speck of dirt, you spend the night in the punishment cell."

"Understood," I said, keeping my voice flat even though something in me wanted to snap back at him for once.

He brushed past my shoulder hard enough to knock me sideways, then paused beside Lyra on his way out. "Careful," he told her. "People might start wondering why you keep defending a servant." Then he walked off, his guards trailing behind like shadows.

Once he was gone, the head cook let out a long breath and shook her head at me. "Thirty years I have worked in this palace," she muttered, "and I still do not understand why they treat you this way."

"I am used to it," I said, though the words felt hollow even to me.

"You should not have to be," she said, and went back to her pots.

Lyra lingered by the door, wringing her hands together. "I am sorry," she said. "I think I only made him hate you more."

"He already did," I said, and something in my chest eased at the small laugh that slipped out of her, quiet and surprised, like she had not expected to laugh at all that morning.

She pulled a folded handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it into my hand, her fingers brushing mine again, slower this time, like she meant for it to happen. My skin buzzed where she touched me. "You will need it," she said softly.

I wiped the dirt from my face, watching her over the cloth. She smiled at me then, not the polished smile she wore for nobles, but something real, something that reached her eyes and made my stupid heart forget how to behave.

"I will see you tonight," she said.

"I will not be there," I admitted. "I am scrubbing a courtyard, remember."

Her smile fell, and before she could argue, another voice sliced through the kitchen like frost.

"So this is where you have been hiding, Lady Lyra."

Every servant dropped into a bow. Luna Selena stood in the doorway, her eyes sweeping the room until they landed on the handkerchief still in my hand. Her expression turned to stone.

"You seem unusually concerned about someone beneath your station," she said to Lyra.

"He was hurt," Lyra answered.

"He is a servant," Selena said.

"He is also Prince Kael," Lyra said, standing her ground.

Selena laughed, thin and sharp. "A prince earns respect." Her eyes cut to me like blades. "You have earned nothing."

"My apologies, Mother," I said, lowering my head automatically, my chest aching with the old familiar sting even after all these years of hearing it.

"Do not call me that in front of others," she said. "From today you stay away from the banquet hall. You do not greet our guests. You will not embarrass this family. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," I said quietly.

She turned and swept Lyra away with her, and Lyra glanced back at me once, her eyes soft with something that looked dangerously close to longing, before the doors closed between us.

I stood there a long moment, my heart still thudding from her touch, her voice, the warmth she had left behind on my skin. Then I picked up my bucket and walked toward the eastern courtyard, telling myself it meant nothing, even though every part of me knew that was a lie.