"The road to the motel was short. The walk there felt like the longest either of us had taken."
— Seyra
017.
Two days to the ceremony, Seyra already regretted her decision. She wished she hadn’t told Isla to write a good report.
The palace was preparing for the ceremony with an energy she hadn’t seen since she arrived. Streamers of gold and deep red hung from the halls, and every maid she passed moved faster than usual, carrying trays, flowers, and bolts of fabric toward the grand hall.
Astrid was already acting like the title was hers.
She had stopped Seyra twice that morning just to hand her something to carry—a pair of shoes, a jewelry box, a stack of invitations—like Seyra was nothing more than an extension of her own hands. And each time, Astrid made sure to remind her who she was about to become.
"Two more days," Astrid had said that morning, twirling a strand of her hair. "Two more days, and you’ll finally learn what it means to bow to me properly."
Seyra hadn’t answered. She had simply taken the box and walked away, her expression blank the whole time.
Now she stood outside the grand hall, watching workers hang deep red drapes along the walls, the gold trim catching the afternoon light.
"You look like someone who swallowed a lemon," a voice said beside her.
Seyra turned to see Mira, who was holding a small bundle of white flowers in her arms.
"I feel like I did," Seyra admitted.
Mira glanced toward the hall. "It’s a lot, isn’t it? All of this, for her."
Seyra thought about the pup shelter, about Astrid nearly striking a child, about Isla’s disgusted expression when she’d asked her not to write the truth and she shook her head.
"I made a mistake," Seyra muttered.
Mira tilted her head. "What kind of mistake?"
"I asked the shelter not to report what really happened. I was scared of what would happen to me if she didn’t get the title." Seyra’s throat tightened. "But seeing all this, I keep thinking about what she’ll do to the people who actually need someone kind."
Mira was quiet for a moment. "You can’t take it back now."
"I know."
"Then there’s no use punishing yourself over it," Mira said gently. "You did what you thought you had to do to survive."
Before Seyra could answer, Ophelia’s voice cut through the hall.
"You two. Here. Now."
They hurried over. Ophelia held out a thick bundle of envelopes, each one sealed with gold wax.
"These need to be delivered before sundown," she said. "Every household on the west road, and the motel."
Mira’s hands froze halfway to taking the bundle.
Seyra felt something cold settle in her stomach. "The motel?"
"Did I stutter?" Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. "The ceremony is for the whole pack, not just the ones who behave themselves. Deliver them, and don’t dawdle."
She shoved the bundle into Mira’s arms and walked off without another word.
Mira didn’t move. She was staring at the envelopes like they might bite her.
"Mira?" Seyra called. "What’s wrong?"
Mira’s voice came out smaller than usual. "I haven’t been back there since I left."
Seyra’s chest tightened. She hadn’t asked Mira much about her life before the palace. She hadn’t wanted to pry.
"You used to work there?" Seyra asked carefully.
Mira nodded, still staring at the envelopes. "For a while. Before Ophelia took me in as a maid instead."
Seyra thought about the choice she herself had been given. To serve as a maid, or work at the motel. She had never asked what happened to the girls who chose differently, or the ones who never got a choice at all.
"You don’t have to come," Seyra said. "I can deliver these myself."
Mira shook her head, straightening her shoulders like she was forcing herself taller. "No. I’ll come. I just... need a minute."
Seyra reached out and squeezed her hand. "Take your time."
Mira took a breath, then another, and finally nodded. "Let’s go before Ophelia decides we’re taking too long."
Seyra nodded, and they walked out of the palace.
They walked in silence for a while, holding the bundle of invitations like it was an anchor.
The west road stretched out ahead, dust rising under their feet, the palace shrinking smaller behind them. Seyra glanced at Mira every so often. She hadn’t said much since they left. She’d been fiddling her fingers, her eyes fixed somewhere far off.
There was more to this. Seyra could feel it.
"You don’t have to tell me anything," Seyra said finally. "If you’d rather not talk about it."
Mira let out a long breath. "No. You should probably know, since we’re about to walk in there together."
Seyra waited.
"I used to steal from them," Mira said quietly. "Not often. Just when things got bad enough."
"Bad how?"
"Sometimes there wasn’t enough food. Sometimes one of the other girls got sick and needed a healer, and none of us had the coin for it because we’d have to go to the west to get someone to treat them." Mira’s hands tightened around the invitations. "So I took what I could, when I could. Small amounts. Enough not to be noticed, I thought."
"They noticed."
Mira nodded. "The last time, I took enough to cover a girl’s hospital bill. She’d been badly hurt, and no one else was going to help her." Her voice wavered, just slightly. "They caught me before I could even get her to the healer."
Seyra’s chest tightened. "What happened?"
"They were going to punish me. I don’t even want to describe what that usually looked like there." Mira swallowed hard. "But that same day, Ophelia came looking for girls to bring to the palace as maids. She saw me and picked me on the spot."
"Just like that?"
"The owner didn’t want to let me go. Not before I’d been punished properly, in his words." Mira’s mouth twisted at the memory. "There was almost a fight. But Ophelia had the Alpha’s approval, and there wasn’t much anyone could do about that. So she took me, and I never went back."
"Until now," Seyra said quietly.
"Until now."
They walked a while longer before Seyra spoke again.
"You don’t have to come in," she turned to Mira. "I can deliver everything myself. I’ll tell Ophelia you weren’t feeling well, or that I sent you back early. She doesn’t have to know."
Mira shook her head. "If we’re late, or if she finds out I stayed behind, you’re the one who’ll be punished for it. I’m not going to let that happen because I’m scared."
"Mira—"
"It’s been two years." Mira lifted her chin, though her eyes didn’t quite match the steadiness in her voice. "They probably don’t even remember me. I was just some girl who stole a little food."
Seyra wanted to believe that as much as Mira clearly needed to.
"Besides," Mira added, softer now, "I’d rather face it with you than let you walk in there alone."
Seyra reached over and squeezed her hand once, before letting go.
They rounded the final bend in the road, and the motel came into view. Its wooden sign hung crooked from rusted chains, the paint long faded, the windows dark despite the hour. Something about the place felt wrong even from a distance.
Seyra’s stomach twisted.
She braced herself for whatever they were about to walk into.