009

NORA’S POV

It was my fifth morning at the palace.

Derek had left a short note on my bedside table: Eat. Take care of yourself. I love you.

I read it twice before tucking it away, smiling like a fool.

Princess Lyra had been making things easier, dragging me to the city, filling my closet with clothes I was too scared to touch. One gown she bought was worth ten thousand dollars. I kept opening the closet just to stare at it.

Today was the start of my “orientation.” Not warrior training—Derek called it something else. A kind of shaping. Learning to hold my head up in the royal court, to speak without trembling, to stand without being pushed aside.

I dressed in a soft tunic and fitted dark pants. A knock came.

“Yes?”

The door opened to reveal the older woman, Derek said will handle me, she’s tall, composed, fit, silver-streaked hair in a neat braid.

“Good. You’re dressed,” she said. “Come. We begin now.”

“What should I call you?” I asked as I followed her down the corridor.

“Madam Kaelene. I’ve trained wolves from packs far older than yours. You’ll be my most important project yet.”

Project? I kept that thought to myself.

She led me into a quiet chamber lined with weapons and books.

“This isn’t just etiquette,” she said. “You’ll learn our customs, our power structure, defense, and discipline. Everything you were never taught at the packhouse.”

Her words were blunt, but not cruel.

“You were raised to obey,” she added. “I’ll teach you to stand.”

For the next hour she drilled into me, the royal house structure, who to bow to and who never to bow to, how to sit, how to respond when questioned. My head was spinning by the time she stopped and handed me a cup of sharp-smelling herbal tea.

Then she moved to the weapons rack and tossed me a wooden blade.

“Defense training,” she said.

“I’ve never used one of these,” I admitted.

“That’s why we start now.”

I tried copying the stance I’d seen warriors take. She corrected me without laughing, shifting my shoulders, adjusting my feet.

“Relax your grip. If you hold too tight, you’ll cramp before the fight even begins.”

We practiced blocking, pivoting, and stepping back with balance. I stumbled more than once but she kept me moving.

By the end, my arms ached, sweat stuck to my back, and my legs felt like lead but I stood straighter.

“Better than I expected,” she said.

“Really?”

“Barely,” she smirked.

When she finally called it a day, I dropped onto a bench, exhausted but proud.

“You did well for a girl raised without a spine,” she said. There was something like pride in her voice.

Before I could reply, the door swung open.

“Why does she look like someone beat her with a frying pan?” Lyra’s voice rang out. She stepped in wearing a jumpsuit with gold buttons and a silk scarf, a maid trailing behind her with a tray.

“The hurricane arrives,” Madam Kaelene muttered.

Lyra ignored her, setting the tray down beside me. “I brought something sweet. You look like you need reviving.”

“I need a new body,” I muttered.

Lyra grinned. “You survived Kaelene’s first day. That’s worth celebrating. Most girls cry their first week.”

“I almost did.”

“Almost is a win.”

Inside the tray was fruit, a small cake, and iced honey tea. I ate while Lyra chattered about Gerrick’s failed archery lesson and a hideous yellow gown she’d seen in town.

Somewhere in the middle of our laughter, Madam Kaelene slipped away. My body ached, but my heart felt lighter.

“You’ll get used to it, Nora,” Lyra said.

The next morning, my body woke up before I did. Every muscle screamed in protest the moment I shifted under the blanket. My arms felt like stone, my legs… well, they might as well have belonged to someone else.

I rolled over and groaned.

“You’re alive,” Lyra’s voice said from somewhere near my bed.

I blinked at her. She was perched in an armchair, legs crossed, sipping something from a delicate cup 

“What are you doing here?” I mumbled.

“Checking if Madam Kaelene murdered you.” She set the cup down and bounced to her feet. “Get up. You’ve got day two. She’s waiting.”

Day two? I was still recovering from day one.

Lyra dragged my blanket away. “Come on, soldier. I’ll walk you there.”

I quickly dressed in dark leggings, a loose shirt, hair tied back. Lyra walked beside me down the long hallway, talking about a dinner that would be happening soon. Something about “important guests” and how I “it’s not possible for me to better hide in my room like a scared rabbit.”

We reached the chamber and Madam Kaelene was already there, standing like a commander waiting for her recruit.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I—”

“No excuses. Today we work on presence. Voice. You will learn to speak so no one dares talk over you.”

For the next hour, she made me repeat phrases like how to greet, how to answer questions, and how to hold my gaze when speaking. Every time I looked away, she tapped the wooden blade on the floor like a warning.

“You drop your eyes, you drop your power,” she said.

It was exhausting in a different way. My throat was dry by the time we switched to physical defense. Wooden blade in hand again, this time she didn’t just correct my stance, she attacked.

I blocked, stumbled, blocked again, and nearly lost my grip.

“Better,” she said after a long set. “Tomorrow you might survive a real swing.”

I slumped onto the bench afterward, sweat soaking my shirt. Lyra slipped in again, holding a towel and water.

“You look like you crawled out of a war zone,” she said cheerfully, handing them over.

“I feel like it.”

My stomach tightened.

Lyra leaned against the doorway, grinning like she’d just thought of something fun and dangerous at the same time.

“In the next two night,” she announced, “you’re having dinner with the royal family. You need to meet Derek’s mo…” She stopped, eyes darting to Madam Kaelene, then gave a little cough. “.mo..ther. And more.”

“More?” I asked, frowning.

Neither of them answered.

Instead, Madam Kaelene walked in holding a plate of food and a pair of tall heels that looked like they could double as torture devices.

“Where should we start from?” Lyra said, clapping her hands together.

I stared between the plate and the shoes, wondering if this was some weird test.

When we “went into it,” I realized it wasn’t a test, it was war.

Lyra handled the dining part, showing me how to eat with a different set of cutlery for each dish, how to hold the glass without smudging it, and how to smile politely while chewing without looking like I was dying inside.

Then came the shoes.

Apparently, walking in heels wasn’t just walking, it was some kind of parade march. Heel first, soft sway of the hips, chin up like I owned the ground. After ten tries, my ankles were screaming for mercy.

“Better,” Lyra said, circling me like I was on display. “You won’t embarrass us. Probably.”

I was still catching my breath when Madam Kaelene suddenly said,

“When last did you let your wolf out?”

I blinked at her. “My… wolf?”

Her expression didn’t change. “Yes. The other half of you. The part that’s been caged too long.”

A cold ripple went through me.

Back at the packhouse, letting my wolf out usually meant trouble, either I was forced into shifts for punishment or kept under such tight control she barely surfaced at all.

“I don’t… remember,” I admitted softly.

Madam Kaelene studied me for a long moment, then set the heels aside.

“After dinner,” she said, “we’ll change that.”