The Lost Heiress Of The Bleeding Throne

They always knocked twice-never once, never three times. 

Just two crisp raps on the rusty old iron door that was corroding faster than I was.

I knew what the knock signified. It was breakfast time, and if I were fortunate today, it wouldn't be spat on.

If I was unfortunate, it'd come with a side of insults. Today felt like both.

"Hey, freak!" a familiar she-wolf's voice rang out through the open crack in the door. 

"Your king has eaten. "It's your turn to eat the leftovers."

I didn't move at first. Not because I was stubborn-no, that I'd lost whatever spark I had long ago. 

My muscles were too stiff, and the tingling in my bones was warm against the chill outside. 

Finally, I struggled up from the ragged mat that passed for my bed.

Trisha stood half-naked-the only thing covered, her crotch. 

She was Baron's latest entertainment for the night.

Her mouth was bruised from his kisses, her hair a chaotic mess, and in her hand was a tray that smelled of eggs, burnt toast, and something vaguely like pee.

Also, she reeked heavily of sex.

She grinned when she saw me. "Not dead yet? Huh. Shame."

I gave her a cold glare. Sometimes, I wished I wasn't mute so that I could speak up sometimes, but at this point, I'd embraced my permanent silence.

"God, you're creepy when you do that," she said, shivering and shoving the tray against my chest. 

The eggs slid half onto the floor, but she didn't care. 

"Oops," she said. "I guess that happened."

I ignored her and knelt to pick it up anyway. I always did.

 If I didn't, I wouldn't have anything to eat. And I couldn't risk dying. Not yet.

"Tell me something," she burst out, tapping a finger against her chin.

 "Do you ever cry, you know, like normal people? Or does your quiet ass not even know how?"

She laughed at her own joke, and I grabbed at my throat, not because of what she'd said-I'd long since stopped letting their jokes get to me-but because I couldn't quite remember when I'd last cried.

 Or laughed. Or spoken. Or even lived.

She leaned forward, her voice deceptively gentle. "He told me you were very beautiful when he first got you. 

"But I don't see it anymore," she muttered, stroking a hand down my cheek.

I looked at her again. Not with anger. I was just tired.

I had forgotten who I was a long time ago. 

With platinum blonde locks that never seemed to shine again, bruised skin that went gray too readily, and gray, sunken eyes that at one time used to sparkle-when I was a child, when I still dared to imagine that someone might love me someday. 

I wasn't ugly then. But I wasn't pretty enough to matter-not in the Moon Bliss Pack.

Not to Baron.

Least of all to Baron.

"Baron needs you," Trisha interrupted my thoughts suddenly, her lips twisting into a