The setting sun peeked through the clouds, painting the sky in orange and red hues. In one of the wooden cottages of the Shadowmoon Pack's village, a young girl stood in the backyard, plucking clothes from the rope she had hung in the afternoon to dry in the sun.
Just as she collected them in her basket, Feyre heard her name being called from inside the house. A sigh escaped her lips as she looked around to make sure nothing was left behind before rushing in. The house was loud with the chatter of her younger sister, Emily, who was preparing herself for the annual ball held by the Royal Silvermoon Pack, rulers of the southern empire of Ravenhowl.
"What is it?" Feyre asked as she closed the door behind her and moved toward the room where the clanking and drawer-slamming sounds were coming from.
"Where is my corset?" Emily demanded the moment Feyre stepped in. "I've told you so many times to keep my things in their proper place. You've hidden it on purpose, haven't you?"
"If you'd just looked properly, you might have found it by now," Feyre said as she opened the wardrobe door and pulled the corset out from under a pile of clothes. She didn't bother responding to the accusation further, knowing it would fall on deaf ears—or worse, provoke another tantrum.
"Why is there so much noise in here?" Their mother, Eva Campbell, asked as she appeared in the doorway. She glanced at Feyre before turning to Emily, who was pouting as though she had been wronged.
"Mother, look at this. She hid my corset just because you weren't letting her attend the ball." Emily said, moving to stand beside their mother. "Now I'm going to be late!"
"I didn't do anything. Her corset got stuck under the clothes. If she had put in even a little effort, she would have found it," Feyre explained.
"Feyre, how many times have I told you to take care of your younger sister? The least you could do is look after her, especially after all the embarrassing moments you've put us through," Eva said, her voice filled with disdain as her sharp gaze lingered on Feyre.
"She's only younger by a year," Feyre muttered under her breath as she fought to swallow the lump, glancing down at the corset in her hand. But her quiet response didn't go unheard.
"Shameless girl, all you do is run your mouth!" Eva snapped, her voice rising until Emily tugged at her sleeve. "Wait until I deal with you later," she added before turning to help Emily near the mirror.
Feyre threw the corset onto the bed and rushed out of the room. She had tried to be obedient and useful as much as she could, but the taunts and disdain never lessened.
She was only a year older when Emily was born, leading to Feyre spending her childhood in her sister's shadow. The care and attention she was supposed to receive from her parents had been redirected to Emily, who had fragile health as a child. Feyre tried not to let it deject her, especially since her elder brother made an effort to fill the gap. But parents were parents—no one could truly take their place.
Things only got worse when she failed to awaken her wolf even after turning fifteen. Everyone her age had awakened their wolf between thirteen and fourteen. Once they turned eighteen, they were encouraged to find their mates, with the royals even holding a grand ball where every pack, strong or weak, was invited. Last year, Feyre had attended despite her parents' objections. Like the rest of the pack, they believed she was unworthy of a mate. After all, who would accept a wolfless werewolf? Her elder brother had reasoned with them until they reluctantly gave her permission.
Typically, she should be attending this year's ball as well, along with Emily. But her parents wouldn't be themselves if they allowed that. Feyre wasn't particularly eager to attend either, part of it because she had to and because like every girl, she too dreamed of finding her prince charming. But a deep fear of facing the truth everyone spoke about—that no one would choose a wolfless mate—kept her away.
Entering the kitchen, Feyre began taking out vegetables for dinner. She grabbed a knife and started slicing them into thin pieces, letting her thoughts fade into the rhythm of her work.
The front door burst open with a loud bang. "Where's Feyre?" Lucas Campbell's voice thundered through the house.
Startled, Feyre froze mid-slice. From the room on the left, Eva emerged, her expression darkening as she stared at her husband. "Why? What has she done now?" she snapped, her mind racing with the worst scenarios—each one involving her daughter, the stain on her otherwise perfect life.
Lucas let out a heavy sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "Tell her to get ready. Where is she?" he demanded, his voice sharp with frustration.
Eva's eyes narrowed, her voice rising. "Why? We already agreed we wouldn't send her! Do you remember what happened last time? She came back empty-handed, just as I said she would. Do you know how everyone looked at me?" Her tone turned bitter, accusing. "She's already brought shame on us. Now you want her to embarrass us again?"
"We don't have a choice," Lucas said through gritted teeth. "It's a royal order. Everyone eighteen and older who hasn't found a mate must attend. Even our Alpha can't defy it."
Eva opened her mouth to argue, but the truth of his words silenced her. In the empire of Ravenhowl, countless packs existed, but all were pledged in submission to the Lord of the empire, the Alpha of the Silvermoon Pack. Defying a royal order was unthinkable.
"Feyre! Where is she?" Lucas shouted again, louder this time.
Feyre stepped out from the hallway leading to the kitchen, gripping the edge of her apron.
"There you are," Lucas growled, his gaze locking on her. "Have you turned deaf? I don't know why I have to bear such a disgrace as yourself."
His words hit her like stones, but Feyre stood silent with her head bowed. She told herself to get used to the sting of their words but no matter how many times she braced herself, it never hurt any less.
He strode toward her, his expression tight with irritation. "Now go and get ready for the ball, and try to disgrace us a little less this time. Do you understand me?"
Feyre raised her head slightly, her lips parting to say something, but the words died in her throat. There was no point in arguing—there never was. She quietly nodded and watched him brush past her, heading toward the dining room.