Irina pov

Has anyone ever wondered what it’s like to live in a beautiful castle? The kind from storybooks, with towering spires, vast ballrooms, and gardens that stretch on for miles? I suppose the answer depends entirely on who you are. If you’re a prince or a princess, it’s probably a dream. But if you’re the one scrubbing the floors of the ballroom and polishing the silver in the vast, empty dining halls? Well, that’s a different kind of story.

My name is Irina Rosevelt, and I’m twenty-three years old. I’m not the jovial kind of girl. People here in the castle at Redmoon Park— which is technically my pack’s name, though it’s never felt like home—say I work like a machine. They whisper it when they think I can’t hear what they’re saying.

“Look at her go, never stops, never smiles. Like a little robot.”

They’re not entirely wrong. But what they don’t see is that the machine-like focus is the only thing holding me together. It’s a tough front, a suit of armor I welded together myself to keep them from seeing me break. If they saw a crack, they would pry it open and pour all their bitterness inside. I’ve learned that much.

I’ve been a maid in this castle since I was a pup, barely old enough to hold a dustpan properly. What else could I do? Not that I have much of a family to speak of, but the suffering, the struggle… that’s been my only inheritance. I thought if I worked hard enough, kept my head down and my hands busy, I could make a change. I could carve out a small, safe corner of the world just for me. I hoped so, anyway.

I can almost hear you wondering. A twenty-three years old lady in a pack, suffering all alone? Where was her mate? Why wasn’t he there to support her, to protect her from the whispers and the endless work? That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The part of my story that everyone knows nothing of. To explain that, I have to take you back. Back five years, to the day I turned eighteen. The day my life was supposed to begin.

Five Years Ago

My eighteenth birthday. The day I’ve been waiting for my whole life. The day I finally had to meet my mate, the one person in the entire world who was made just for me. The idea was so pleasant.

“Happy birthday, Irina!” my best friend, Lindsey, chirped, bumping her hip against mine as we carried a heavy silver tray laden with fresh bread and cured meats towards the family dining room. We were tasked with serving the Alpha’s son his breakfast. A simple job.

“Thanks, Lin,” I whispered back, a genuine smile finally touching my lips. My wolf, usually so quiet and subdued, was stirring inside me, restless with anticipation. She could feel it. Today was the day.

We set the table in silence, the aroma of the food making my stomach rumble. I was a bit of a foodie, always had been. In a world of bland porridge and stale bread, the scents from the Alpha’s kitchen were pure magic.

And then, another scent hit me. It cut through the smell of smoked meat and fresh bread like a ray of pure sunlight piercing through clouds. It was the most delicious thing I ever inhaled. Warm, like sandalwood and honey, with an undercurrent of raw power that made my wolf sit up and howl with joy. It was him.

I turned, my movements clumsy with sudden, overwhelming hope. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the morning light. Crown Prince Ian. He was in a simple black trouser and a crisp white polo shirt, looking less like a prince and more like the handsome, unattainable boy I secretly admired from afar for years. But he wasn’t unattainable anymore. He was mine.

“Mate,” I breathed, the word a sacred, joyous whisper meant only for him. My heart hammered against my ribs with pure happiness. I imagined him rushing to me, taking my hands, his eyes full of the same wonder I felt. This was it. The golden light in my chest was about to blaze into a sun.

But he didn't rush to me. He didn't even look at me with recognition.

Instead, his handsome face twisted. It was a subtle thing, a slight curl of his lip, a flash of disgust in his eyes so fast I almost missed it. But I didn’t. I saw it. And before my heart could even begin to process the hurt, he walked right past me.