“I’m here to request access to the detention level,” she said, her voice carrying the calm authority she’d learned from years of dealing with ship captains who thought navigators were glorified map-readers. “I want to deliver supplies to the human prisoners and verify their condition.”
The scarred guard exchanged a look with his partner. Something passed between them—amusement, maybe, or anticipation. The kind of look that saidthis should be entertaining.
“Deliver supplies.” He rolled the words around like they tasted interesting. “The Alpha King’s pretty problem wants to play healer now?”
Pretty problem.Elsa filed away the phrase. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard herself described that way—whispered in corridors, muttered behind barely-closed doors. The court had already decided what she was: a complication. A variable that disrupted Sylas’s carefully maintained control.
They weren’t wrong. She just intended to be more than that.
“I’m making a formal request. Through proper channels.” Elsa gestured toward the Sabers. “With escort and witnesses. I believe that’s the correct procedure?”
“Formal request.” The second guard—younger, with amber eyes that tracked to Mia and Ari with undisguised interest—stepped forward. His gaze lingered on curves and exposed skin in a way that made Elsa’s jaw tighten. “That’s sweet. Really. But see, we don’t answer to Sabers down here. Pit business stays in the pit.”
“You answer to the Alpha King.” The lead Saber’s voice cut through the corridor like a blade. “And the female wear his mark.”
The scarred guard’s ears flicked. A tell. He wasn’t as confident as he pretended—somewhere under all that swagger was a creature who understood hierarchies and consequences.
But he didn’t step aside either. Pride was a dangerous thing in places like this. Back down once, and every interaction afterward became harder.
“His mark. His collar. His little toy.” The guard prowled closer, close enough that Elsa could smell the musk of old blood on his fur, the sour scent of something she didn’t want to identify. “We know what pets are for. The question is—doesshe?”
Heat crawled up Elsa’s neck, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t back away. She’d faced worse than crude intimidation tactics—faced them in boardrooms and navigation decks and captain’s quarters. She’d survived the crash. Survived Sylas and his brutal claiming and the ceremony that had bound her soul to his in ways she was still learning to understand.
A pit guard with an ego problem wasn’t going to break her.
“I’m asking,” she said carefully, each word precisely placed, “to see two human males who are being held in your facility. Rowan. Milo. I want to confirm they’re alive and deliver basic necessities. Food. Water. Medicine if they need it.”
“And if I said no?”
“Then I’ll document your refusal and escalate through official channels. With witnesses.” She let her gaze drift to the Sabers, then back. “I’m sure the Alpha King will be interested in how his claimed female was received at this checkpoint. How his authority was...interpreted...by those who serve below.”
The threat landed. She saw it in the micro-expressions that crossed the guard’s face—the flicker of uncertainty, the quick calculation, the way his posture shifted just slightly toward defense.
The silence stretched. Elsa could hear her own heartbeat, could feel the Sabers coiling tighter beside her, could sense Mia and Ari holding their breath. Somewhere down the corridor, water dripped against stone. The torch flames crackled and hissed against the lesser blue gemmed marbled shadowy walls.
The younger guard laughed—an ugly, grating sound that echoed off the walls. “Listen to her. Talking like she’s someone. Like she’s not just a soft body the King uses to warm his bed.”
Beside her, Mia went rigid. Ari’s hand found Elsa’s arm, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises.
“Enough.” The lead Saber stepped forward, one massive hand dropping to the psyweapon at her hip. Her voice had gone cold—the kind of cold that preceded violence. “You will address her with respect, or I will remind you what happens to males who insult the Alpha’s mate.”
“Mate.” The scarred guard’s lips curled, exposing more of those yellowed fangs. “Is that what we’re calling it now? The human wore chains at the ceremony. Chains and a pretty collar. That’s not a mate, Saber. That’s property.”
The Saber moved.
One second she was beside Elsa; the next she was in the guard’s space, fangs bared, a low growl rattling from her chest that made the stone walls vibrate. The sound hit Elsa’s hindbrainlike a physical force—ancient instincts screamingpredatorandrunandfreeze.
“Say that again.”
The younger guard lunged forward, putting himself between them. More snarling. Someone shoved. Bodies shifted, the narrow corridor suddenly too small for the violence building in it. The torchlight turned everything orange and shadow, painting the confrontation in war colors.
Elsa grabbed Mia’s arm, pulling her back against the wall as the confrontation escalated. Ari pressed close on her other side, her breath coming fast.
“This is going wrong,” Ari hissed.
It was. The Sabers had bristled exactly the way Elsa had anticipated—defending her honor was baked into their programming, their duty, their understanding of what it meant to serve the Alpha King’s claimed female. But the pit guards weren’t backing down. They were performing for each other, feeding off the aggression, neither willing to be the first to show submission in front of an audience.
“You think you can challenge us here?” The scarred guard’s voice rose, filling the corridor. “In the pits? This is our territory. Our rules. The Alpha’s pretty collar doesn’t meanshitdown here.”