Chapter 5

Arya

My heart flutters are Queen Helena’s kind words and the softness in her eyes. Right then I’m starting to believe that this woman is indeed my true mother, but the reality turns me away once again.

“But Queen Helena,” I begin, but she waves me off.

“Call me mom,” she says.

I swallow hard. I don’t think I have it in me to call her that just yet. “You have to know something.” I look up at the King too. “I remember that I’m a wolf. A weak wolf. That’s the only thing I can recall about myself, so that must mean that that has big significance to who I am. Therefore, I can’t be your daughter.”

He smiles. “You don’t know what you’re capable of, Arya. But you will find out soon.”

I try to be enthusiastic about that, but I only feel bad for them. They really have no clue. “You’re mistaken. I don’t have capabilities.”

“Oh, dearest,” Queen Helena whispers, touching my face again. “You are not a weak werewolf. You see, we Lycans have different abilities. I can tell that your Lycan is just there, dormant.”

I frown. “So it would come out soon?”

She nods and smiles. “Yes. I promise you, sooner or later, you will feel its power inside you. All you have to do is be ready.”

I look at the King and he nods at me encouragingly. “Do you wish to take a walk with us so you can see?”

I open my mouth to say yes, but something stops me. I’ve been fixated on worrying that they don’t know me, but I don’t know them either. As far as I’m concerned, this could just be a giant misunderstanding that will hurt all of us later.

“Maybe some other time,” I mumble. “I, um . . . I need to rest.”

They glance at each other, and I manage to catch the look of sadness in their eyes before I sink back onto the bed. My heart aches. For them and for myself. They seem to be good people, looking for their lost daughter for years, and they end up with me. A possible mistake.

“Of course, dearest,” the queen tells me, leaning down to kiss my head. “There will always be next time. Go get plenty of rest.”

They both stand and make their way towards the door, but before they can leave, they both whisper, “We love you.”

My throat closes up. The lights go out. The door closes.

And I cry into my pillow.

* * *

Days pass, and every day I expect the King and the Queen to storm into my room and demand me to get out because I’m a fluke, but that doesn’t happen.

They visit me every day, yes, but to give me freshly cooked meals and talk to me, try to bond with me. They both give me gifts, little trinkets like jewelry and journals, and small garments, things they have collected for me over the years in the hopes that one day I will come back to them.

Even though my days with them are good, my nights aren’t. I get plagued with dreams about being in a group of people my age, all with their faces blurry. They keep telling me that I’m weak, that I can’t defend myself, that I’m one failure away from becoming a mere human.

There’s one particular face that keeps reoccurring. One particular male voice that’s always there.

I always wake up in cold sweat, but the King and Queen will always come to comfort me.

Their sweetness never changed at all. Not once did I notice them looking at me strangely or like I don’t belong with them. They were nothing but kind and gentle and understanding.

And I find myself feeling good in their presence.

So today, I tell them, “I want to see the palace.”

King Samuel cheers loudly, and Queen Helena taps his arm with a laugh. They both beam and turn to me. “Let’s go!”

They help me out of the bed and get dressed in the fanciest silk robe, then off we go.

I stay in between them, looping my arms in theirs. We probably look silly walking like this, but none of the people we meet are laughing at us. They all bow, whispering among themselves and pointing at me.

But it’s not a negative thing. They all look . . . amazed.

I start to feel relaxed. I can feel my whole body deflating, my stress getting released. I’m beginning to feel comfortable enough to take in the surroundings.

The palace is massive. It looks like a fairy tale castle with gleaming white walls and smooth marble floors. I can see the towers and the turrets once we get to the courtyard, and more people dressed in white greet us on our way.

The courtyard is vast. There are columns looming above like fingers reaching into the sky, which is bright blue and cloudless. The sun is bathing the fine grass and the trees with yellow light, bouncing off the red-tiled roof.

I can’t help but gasp. For a moment I wonder how all of this can hide in the woods without being seen, but then I see all the armored guards roaming the area. They’re all tall and muscular, intimidating even without the weapons they yield.

“I see the place is well protected,” I comment.

King Samuel gazes at the field proudly. “My men do a good job in keeping everyone safe, especially against Rogues and enemy wolves.”

“Let’s continue,” Queen Helena beams, and together we head to the back of the palace where the training ground is.

I’m stunned. The place is massive, and it seems to have just about everything that someone in training can ask for.

There’s a rock climbing wall at the far end of the field, built into the edge of a huge boulder. There’s an Olympic-sized swimming pool beside an arena, as well as a stable full of huge horses. Adjacent to it is a huge array of weapons that gleam gold under the sun.

“Wow,” I say under my breath and the royal couple smile at each other.

Everything is impressive, but what really catches my attention is the group of people fighting in the arena.

At first, they’re still using weapons, trying to hit each other with their spears and swords. They are moving with a kind of speed that I have never seen before, dodging blows and hitting seamlessly as though they rehearsed it. They’re all so good that no one gets hurt, but suddenly, one of the men transforms into his Lycan form.

And before us, a huge wolf with silver fur appears.

“That’s a Lycan?” I blurt out.

King Samuel chuckles. “Yes. But you just wait, The Royal Lycan form is gold.”

My heart burns with yearning. I want to be that strong Lycan who stands out among the rest. I want to be able to fight and defend myself. I step forward, staring at the fighting Lycans.

“They’re beautiful,” I whisper.

“They are,” she agrees, then she shares a kiss with her husband.

Watching them softens my heart and makes me remember something. “How about my mate?”

“Well, we are different again in that regard,” he says, putting his arms around me and the Queen. “We can choose our own mates. Not like wolves, who have fated mates. But there are some rare cases where a Lycan is mated to a werewolf, and together they make the strongest bond.”

I look up at the King and Queen. My parents. “I wish to train as soon as possible to earn my Lycan.”