His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

I spent the majority of the day cleaning, but I was bored once it was done and realized that a good chunk of this job was standing around and waiting for the King to ask for something, which I was beginning to learn wouldn’t often be because he wasn’t anywhere in sight.

I sat on the bed waiting for time to tick by while wishing I could go see Abbie and check on her. Clarice had new shoes brought up to me, and it felt strange having actual soles in my shoes. But being new, they also gave me blisters from trekking up and down the stairs all day.

I didn’t understand why cleaning supplies couldn’t be kept up here. The stairs were a k****r on my legs. Hearing a c***h just before 5:30 PM in the corridor. I opened the door and saw Esters silhouette walking away. I glared at the mess she just made; she smirked at me over her shoulder while she sauntered away, and I groaned, but at least it gave me something to do.

I just couldn’t understand her instant dislike to me. I had done nothing to her. How could I have when I only just met her today?

Was she trying to get me in trouble, trying to get me punished? In a panic, I rushed down the steps to fetch a dustpan and broom. She knocked a potted plant over; the soil spilled all over the floor. Halfway down the steps, I turned onto the next staircase but hadn’t noticed her standing there when she put out her foot and tripped me. I grunted as I hit the steps, my eyebrow tore and split on impact as my face bounced off one of the steps, my back throbbed, and I could feel the cuts on my back reopen as I tumbled to the bottom of the staircase. Ester walked down the steps before she stopped and looked down at me.

eye. How old was she? She was acting like a child. I was the same as her, only rogue but still a servant. Why would she want

she walked around a corner and out of sight. I hissed as I got up, only to see a guard staring at

as I clutched the banister and pulled myself up. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I tell myself. It’s just a scratch;

pressed to my eyebrow, trying to slow the bleeding. One thing

dug through the closet and grabbed the broom and dustpan. I started walking up the steps. Each step was agonizing and sent shooting pain all over. It hurt to breathe; it hurts to move. My heels and toes blistered. My back was searing with

my bleeding eyebrow before fixing the pot and putting as much

was losing track of time. We left in the afternoon at my old pack, and it

sleep? Packing everything up, I headed upstairs before remembering it was nearly dinner. I looked at the huge grandfather clock next to the guard,

was waiting. She shoved the tray in my hands, clearly not happy