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It was the way of things.

That failures were forced to work in labor camps, to maintain the wall from the horrors lurking in the wild beyond. Too many crammed into tiny cells, left to rot where the entitled elite couldn’t see. Couldn’t smell the decay of the society crumbling all around them.

But at least there was some whisper of privacy, some tiny shred of privilege for a fallen prince, even here.

He and Balkazar were alone. Isolated. Tucked away in the dark where none but the guards might see.

It was the same, day in, day out.

Until chaos echoed in the distance. A hint of something new in the clamor from those unseen, overcrowded cells.

Shouting and catcalling.

Whistles that screamed and taunted to hide a desperate, feral edge of madness.

It all blended into the roar of some unknown change.

Something new had whipped the prisoners into a frenzy—he could smell the hoppy, heated scent of the rut spilling down the hall.

Balkazar shifted again, face pressed to the bars. Twisting to catch a glimpse of what had caused such a ruckus.

They didn’t have to wait long.

A cell door banged open with an ear-splitting clang.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer. And, as if summoned from his memory, Sinadim watched a guard dragging a tiny, slender figure behind him. Too rough. Claws buried in a fall of silky, black hair.

The guard stopped abruptly, pressing her against a damp stone wall, to snarl, “Hadim commanded us to deny you a knot.” Forcing a hand between her thighs, the pathetic mongrel dared a glance over his shoulder…

… and smiled into the dark.

Taunting the prince with a female he couldn’t touch.

“But,” the guard said, wrist and forearm moving as he probed between her legs, “once that insufferable cunt is back in his fancy palace, we’re going to knot you two at a time. Maybe three, once we’ve ruined you and this pussy does nothing but gape. Two in this hole, one in your ass.”

Cheek pressed to stone, face hidden from view, the girl hissed. Her tail a glorious sail of black and grey fur, wrenched aside as a peasant made space for himself. Calves pale as moonlight flexed as she tried to evade his callous, invasive touch that scoured the tender flesh between her legs.

Sinadim’s lips parted, a foul curse perched on his tongue.

But the girl shrugged. Flippant and haughty when she said, simply, “I was born to serve my Alpha.”

Jaws hanging slack, Sinadim could only stare. Intrigued. Helplessly, chemically aroused by her mere presence—yes—but he was shocked by her tone. By the dry sarcasm dripping from her every syllable.

The guard grinned. “You are a thirsty little slut, hmm?”

Sinadim almost laughed. The fool had no idea what a prize he held! He was blind to the rigid set of her elegant shoulders, the unbent tilt of her chin as she braced against that wall and seethed with the fire of an untamed Anhur queen. Blind to everything but the promise of unguarded, defenseless pussy, ripe for the taking.

“I should have come for you earlier,” the guard growled against her ear. “Could have taken you all night, without any of the others realizing you were gone.” The pathetic cretin glanced around, grinning once more into the dark. To ensure the prisoners were watching this morbid little show.

And then, “Fuck. There isn’t time.” Pausing to wipe his fingers clean on the front of her harem silks, he shoved her forward.

Oblivious to the scent of fury rising from the tiny thing who all but fled from his touch, the guard shot one more cocky grin into the dark and followed her up.

Sinadim watched her vanish up the narrow set of stairs.

A glimpse of something beautiful, there and gone from one heartbeat to the next. Present just long enough to send him spinning into the rut once more. His thoughts spiraled into a jumble of territorial fury that screamed for that tiny female with a belly full of queen’s rage.

The rut.