Chapter 2 The Prince Returns
MEIRA
“Mother! Mother!” Annabel’s shrill voice rang through the sitting room as she skidded across the polished floor, eyes shining with wild amusement, as though she had just stumbled upon a miracle.
“The prince is back!” she gasped, cheeks flushed from running. Her eyes glinted again, sparkling with secret joy.
“Mmmhm…” My aunt’s husband, Lord Whitmore, winced as I pressed a steaming towel to his aching body. He lay in his sickbed, pale and fevered, almost always unconscious. For three years I had been ordered to care for him—bathing him, pressing out the pain with heat, wiping away the sweat he could no longer wipe himself.
From the sitting room, Annabel’s voice echoed once more, breathless and triumphant. “The Alpha Prince is back!”
Claribel swept into the room, her silk skirts brushing against the floor. She rolled her eyes at Annabel, though her lips curved faintly. “Annabel, you have to calm down,” she said with a careless flick of her hair. “The Alpha is going to be mine. Don’t be overexcited about it—he doesn’t like girls who snore.”
Annabel jutted her chin, unwilling to be outdone. “He also doesn’t like girls with clumsy feet!”
“Quiet, girls,” my aunt Elizabeth said sharply, stepping into the doorway with her usual air of command. “Any more information about the Alpha Prince’s return?”
“Yes, Mother,” Claribel said dreamily, her voice soft with anticipation. “There’s going to be a pack ceremony tonight. He’ll be making a selection. He will be choosing his mate.”
A slow smile touched my aunt’s lips. “He will be picking a chosen mate?”
“Yes, Mother. That’s what they’re saying,” Annabel said, her eyes glittering.
“That’s wonderful,” my aunt breathed. “We must prepare. I can’t wait to be the next Luna’s mother.”
I kept my head bowed over my uncle’s fevered body. Their chatter drifted like smoke; it had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t fit. I wouldn’t even be allowed into the hall, much less stand among the hopefuls. All I owned were rags.
I finished my task at last and stepped hesitantly into the sitting room.
“Hope you’re done washing my clothes,” Claribel said, pinching her nose as if I smelled of filth.
“I… I’ve been busy with Father,” I murmured. “I’m sorry, I haven’t yet—”
Before I could finish, she snatched the bucket from my hands.
“He’s not your father,” she hissed. “You filth.”
Then she poured the hot water over me.
It struck like fire. My skin burned. I staggered back, a small, guttural growl escaping my lips. Something inside me, something wild and forbidden, cracked open. My magic flared out, hissing, and the spilled water rose in steam, swirling like a living thing.
Sparks of blue danced across my fingertips before I forced them back down, sealing my power deep within me before anyone else could see.
Elizabeth stepped forward, her face hard as stone. “Do you see what you’ve caused, you unfortunate creature?” she spat. She bent low, her voice a menacing hiss. “You will always bring chaos wherever you go.”
She shoved me hard; I fell to the floor, palms striking the cold tiles.
“Go,” she snapped. “Go into the forest and fetch Claribel flowers to calm her nerves. Now!”
I obeyed as always, trembling from the burn, my empty stomach twisting with hunger. Pulling my ragged cloak tight, I ran out of the house, letting the shadows of the forest swallow me whole. I sealed my magic inside me. I didn’t want to use it. Not yet.
Branches clawed at my skin as I hurried along the path, head down. Then something hard struck my forehead.
“Ouch,” I muttered, stumbling back and blinking away tears.
When I lifted my gaze, I met those familiar gray eyes from last night, the traveler. But he didn’t look like one anymore. He wore a black fitted top that hugged his muscular frame and loose pants. His calm, inviting cologne filled the air.
“Oh… well, well, well. Look who it is again,” he said, a smirk curving his handsome face.
I sniffled, not responding.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sherlock. I have to leave,” I said quickly, turning away. I wanted to stay—gods, I wanted to but I knew he only wore that sly smile because he didn’t know my true identity yet.
I hurried back as fast as I could with the flowers in my arms.
Annabel and Claribel had visited the seamstress, newly dressed in fine pieces from the tailor.
“Mother, I think I like this one,” Annabel said, preening before the mirror. “It makes me look thinner…”
Claribel rolled her eyes, then turned her gaze on me.
She stood and walked toward me slowly, smiling sweetly. “My dear sister,” she said in a mocking voice.
I felt my fangs press against my gums; I wanted to scratch that pretty face, but I didn’t move.
“I’m sorry for you,” she continued, her tone dripping with cruelty. “You’ll die alone. No mate. No one. You don’t even have a wolf,” she sneered.
I tried not to let her words get to me, but they did because they were true. I didn’t even have a wolf. I had never shifted. I was supposed to a year ago, but nothing happened.
Claribel swayed her hips back to her seat.
“We’ll be leaving for the ball,” my aunt said coolly, barely glancing at me. “Make sure you take care of the house. And don’t infect anything with your cursed self.”
I stepped back, clutching the flowers, but something inside me stirred, a faint bristle, a whisper of fur beneath my skin. A little wolf, small but fierce, trembled awake.
I would attend the ceremony.