The Girl On Her Stomach

Anatolia felt the weight of something on her stomach. It wasn't heavy; it felt small and warm, and it shifted slightly whenever she breathed. For a confused moment, she thought it was one of her training injuries that had reopened, that old wound in her abdomen. Then something warm poked her cheek.

"Mommy?"

Anatolia's eyes flew open.

A little girl was sitting on her stomach with her legs crossed and her chin propped on her tiny palms. She had silver hair that fell in messy waves down her shoulders and large golden eyes paired with the most adorable smile Anatolia had ever seen.

"Mommy, you're awake!" The child sat up and clapped her hands together. "Finally! I've been waiting forever and ever and ever!"

Anatolia just stared, taking in the silver hair and the golden eyes and the small, chubby face that was beaming down at her as though this was just a normal morning.

Her last memory was pain. She remembered the temple ruins collapsing around her and remembered the silver sword that she had buried in Harolin Draycott's shoulder and the sickening and painful crack of her own arm breaking. She also remembered the Alpha King's golden eyes piercing into hers as he shifted into his monstrous black wolf, and she remembered that she was certain she was about to die.

But now she was lying in a bed that she didn't recognize with a child she had never seen sitting on her stomach and calling her mommy.

"Mommy?" The little girl tilted her head. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did you have a bad dream?"

Anatolia opened her mouth, but she couldn't say a word. Then she tried again.

"I..." Her voice sounded hoarse because she hadn't used it in a long time. "I think you have the wrong person."

The child's smile dropped, and her lower lip began to quiver.

"You don't remember me?"

"No, I..." Anatolia paused. The child's eyes were brimming with tears, and something about that expression made her heart squeeze in a way that she didn't understand. "I just... who are you?"

The girl sniffled back her tears, deciding that the question was reasonable, she straightened up and then announced with great confidence, "I'm Astrid. I'm your daughter."

Anatolia blinked twice.

"My daughter?" she repeated, the words foreign in her mouth.

"Yes." Astrid nodded, her silver hair bouncing with the movement. "And you have been sleeping for a very, very, very long time. Daddy said I shouldn't wake you up, but I had the most wonderful dream last night, and I just couldn't wait to tell you about it!"

Anatolia's mind was still trying to understand the word "daughter."

"Who is your father?"

Astrid didn't answer the question. Instead, she began to ramble.

"In my dream, you were riding an enormous white wolf, and it was this big---" She stretched her arms, demonstrating how big the wolf was. "And Daddy was chasing you through the royal gardens, but he couldn't catch you because you were too fast, and then you turned around and laughed at him, and he fell into the fountain! It was so funny!"

She giggled.

Anatolia only kept staring at her blankly. Why would anyone call her "Mommy," and why did this child smell faintly of werewolf, and why did she have striking silver hair and golden eyes?

"Astrid," she said slowly, testing the name. "I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay? I am not your mother."

Astrid's cheery expression disappeared.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm---"

"You are!"

The little girl's voice rose, and suddenly the air in the room tensed, growing heavier, charged with something that Anatolia couldn't understand. Astrid's eyes flashed brighter with energy, and for a moment Anatolia felt a strange pressure squeezing against her chest, like someone was reaching to her from the inside, but then it disappeared, and Astrid was just back to being the cute little girl again, but this time tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"You're my mommy, and you're being mean!"

Anatolia had faced countless alphas. She had killed werewolves twice her size. She had survived torture, starvation, and 12 years of brutal training, and yet she had absolutely no idea how to handle a crying toddler.

"Okay," she said quickly. "Okay, don't---please stop crying. I'm sorry, I'm just very confused."

"You're confused?" Astrid sniffled, her innocent eyes peering up at Anatolia.

"Yes, very confused." Anatolia sucked in a breath. "Can you---can you get off my stomach, please? I need to sit up."

Astrid considered the request for a moment, then she nodded and rolled off, landing on the bed beside Anatolia, resuming her rambling again.

"I'm not supposed to jump on the bed. Daddy says it's dangerous, but I do it anyway when he's not around, and Ingrid says I'm going to break my head, but I've never broken my head, not even once."

Anatolia wasn't listening to her. She managed to push herself upright and immediately regretted it. Her body felt like it wasn't hers, weak and unsteady, like she had been ill for months, and her bones creaked with every movement while her head throbbed with a dull, persistent pain.

But her broken arm...

She looked down at her left arm, and it was perfectly healed. There was no cast, no bandages, or even a sign that it had been broken before. She then touched her ribs where the Alpha King's claws had carved through her armor, and there was nothing, not even a scar left.

Her hands shot up to her face and her shoulders, then her stomach. All the scars that she had earned since childhood, and the ones she got in her dozen battles, were either all gone or had faded to invisibility.

"What?" she whispered.

She was wearing a silk nightgown. She had never owned anything so expensive in her life, not that she even cared to. It was pale blue and embroidered with delicate silver thread around the edges.

Anatolia looked around the room. The bed was the biggest one she had ever seen, and it was framed with large curtains that had been pulled back to let in the morning sun, while the furniture was all expensive dark wood, perfectly polished, and the windows were framed by silver-embroidered drapes.

Her eyes lifted up to the fireplace that had an enormous crest hanging. She squinted at it.

It was a black wolf's head on a silver shield, surrounded by a circle of stars.

House Draycott, Anatolia, realized. The ruling family of Astengard.

Anatolia's blood ran cold at the realization. She was currently inside the enemy's castle.

Her eyes frantically darted around the room, searching for her weapons. Her silver sword, her daggers, and her enchanted armor were all gone.

The room was beautiful.

It was the grandest she had ever been in, but it completely lacked anything that she could use to defend herself.

Then her fingers lifted and brushed against her neck.

She froze.

There was a mark there that she could feel beneath her fingertips.

The skin was raised and warmer than any other part of her body, shaped into something that she couldn't recognize.

She scrambled out of bed, ignoring how her legs were begging her to sit, and stumbled towards a mirror on the opposite wall.

A completely new woman stared back at her.

She could barely recognize herself.

Her face was the same, and so were her dark hair and her features, but she looked softer than she ever had.

The constant shadows under her eyes were completely gone, and the roughness that she had since childhood had faded.

Instead, on her neck, just under her ear, was a mark she had never seen before.  the shape of a silver crescent moon.

Anatolia touched it again and felt a wave of dizziness wash over her.

Her hand gripped the edge of the vanity table.

Her heart pounded against her chest.

It was a mating mark.