Chapter 29 Threaten like a princess
Aloria
The throne room feels vast and cold, the stones beneath my feet echoing my racing heartbeat. My declaration hangs in the air like a fragile thread, and the king’s expression shifts, his brows knitting together. Confusion flares in his eyes where disbelief had been, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of recognition, but it disappears as quickly as it came.
“You claim to be the princess,” he says slowly, as if testing each word on his tongue. “But the princess is dead. I saw her clothes, stained with blood, left behind when she was taken by the rogues.” His voice is hard, unyielding, and I feel the weight of his skepticism pressing down on me.
“No,” I insist, shaking my head fiercely. “I survived. I was taken and raised in a pack far from here.” I can feel the fire growing within me, the need to prove my truth. In a swift motion, I lift the hem of my tattered shirt, revealing the Lycan mark etched into my skin. “This is my mark, a testament to my lineage. I am Princess Aloria, born of the Lycan blood, just as you are.”
The king’s eyes widen as they fall upon the mark, and for a fleeting instant, I see the walls of his skepticism begin to crack. “It is you…” he murmurs, almost to himself, disbelief slowly giving way to reluctant acceptance. “But how?”
His expression shifts, a mix of emotions crossing his face… wonder, confusion, and something deeper that I can’t quite place. “You have returned,” he says, and I can hear the tremor in his voice. “After all these years.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “I have come back to find my family, to learn about myself.”
He studies me for a moment, the weight of our shared past heavy between us. “You must have much to tell, Aloria. Where have you been?”
I take a deep breath, the words tumbling from my lips. “I was raised in a werewolf pack, far from here. I survived, but I need your help to understand my past and my future.”
The king’s gaze softens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the father I had longed for in the shadows of my memories. “You are the princess,” he finally says, his voice steady. “And you are home.”
“Home,” I repeat, the word tasting foreign yet comforting on my tongue. The king motions for the guards to step back, and I feel the tension in the air shift.
“Take her to the best guest chamber,” he orders, his tone now authoritative yet tinged with warmth. “Have the maids prepare a bath and a find suitable gown, she needs to be prepared to meet the queen.”
The guards lead me through the opulent hallways, and I struggle to process the king’s demeanor. I had expected joy, maybe a hug… but I guess it is a shock for him too.
The castle, with its grand tapestries and shimmering chandeliers, feels both foreign and familiar. I catch glimpses of the maids and servants bustling about, their laughter echoing against the stone walls. It’s surreal… this place was once my home, yet I feel like an outsider.
I’m ushered into a lavish room adorned with silks and velvets, the scent of lavender wafting through the air. “Wait here,” one of the guards orders, and then they leave me alone.
I stand in the center of the room, my heart racing as I glance around. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel like I belong here, not really.
The maids arrive, there are three and they chatter among themselves, their voices a melodious hum as they prepare a bath. I feel awkward, as if I don’t belong in this world anymore, and yet I can’t deny the longing for the comfort of familiarity.
“Your Highness,” one of the maids says, her eyes wide with awe, “we’re so glad to have you back. It’s been so long since we had a young lady to care for.”
I smile weakly, their enthusiasm clashing with my confusion toward my father. “Thank you,” I manage to say, though the word feels hollow.
The maids begin to undress me gently, their hands deft and respectful as they guide me to the steaming bath. The water swirls around me, warm and soothing, a stark contrast to the cold reception I just received. I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment of reprieve, but the fleeting comfort is shattered by the weight of my mission. I can’t lose focus; I won’t let myself be swept away by the warmth of this moment.
It feels strange to be bathed and dressed by young maids who bustle in, their cheeks flushed with excitement at my return. But I guess this is how it is to be a lycan princess.
After the bath, they dress me in a gown of deep emerald silk, the fabric flowing around me like water, a stark reminder of the life I was meant to have. They style my hair, brushing it until it shines like spun gold, and for a brief moment, I catch my reflection in a mirror. The girl staring back at me is beautiful, but she feels like a stranger. I am no longer Dust, wolfless nobody, I am Aloria, the lost princess, but I am also a Luna searching for her lost Alpha, and I cannot forget that.
As I prepare to meet the queen, my heart quickens once more. This encounter could shift the course of my life. I step out of the chamber, the guards stationed outside leading me through the winding corridors. Each step feels heavy, the weight of my past colliding with the uncertainty of my future.
The door to the queen’s chamber looms before me, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies beyond.