E L E A N O R
I am jolted awake by a loud thud. My eyelids flutter open, and I stare at the girl beside my bed in confusion. She covers her mouth in shock, completely unaware of the pair of eyes watching her as she scrambles to pick up the bowl that has slipped from her grasp. I blink repeatedly, shifting my gaze from her to the familiar surroundings of my old bedroom. From the vanity to the ceiling, and finally to the balcony—is this paradise or hell? Aren’t I supposed to be dead? I rub my forehead with a groan, which seems to alert the maid in the room. She freezes, her eyes widening in shock as they meet mine. “You're awake, Milady?” she gasps, her face lighting up as she turns to me. “Let me get Lady Dora.” With that, she dashes out of the room, her footsteps echoing heavily on the wooden floor. Lady Dora? Am I in an alternate universe? I attempt to sit up, rubbing my head while checking my body for injuries, but there is nothing—nothing except my pendant. Tobias' ring is missing from my neck. Could I have been reborn? Is he here? I spring to my feet, heading for the door just as Dora comes sliding in. “Oh, my dear!” she cries, enveloping me in a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare do that again, do you hear me?” “Do what? I need to find Tobias, Dora. Where is he?” She freezes, pulling back slightly. “I understand, truly. I know how deeply this must hurt. Death can be so cruel, taking your husband away, but you're still young. You have a great life ahead of you. Suicide is never the answer—stay strong for Tobias.” “Dora, what do you mean?” I ask, my lips trembling. “What do I mean? You almost took your own life! If it weren’t for the Lycan King, we would have lost you.” Bitterness fills my mouth as reality crashes over me. I’m not dead—I’m still here. “The Lycan King?” I tilt my head, trying to grasp what I’ve just heard. “Yes—” Before she can continue, the door is flung open, and a maid rushes into the room. “The Alpha wants Her Grace down in thirty minutes, Lady Dora!” she blurts, breathless. “What is happening?” I ask, my tone taking on a firm edge as Dora searches my wardrobe for a dress. “The Lycan King is here,” she replies, her voice steady. “What? What does he want?” “That I do not know, but I do know that if you're not ready and downstairs in thirty minutes, I could lose my head,” she says quickly, moving about the room as other maids begin preparing a bath, filling the tub with pink roses. I am taken aback. First, my suicide attempt has been prevented by the very same man who killed my husband, and now I’m expected to get ready to see him? “Dora, stop!” I shout, my fists clenching. She freezes and turns to me. “What is it, dear?” Her calm demeanor stokes a flicker of guilt within me. “Isn’t he here to kill us too? Just like he did with Tobias?” I seethe, my voice rising. Dora steps closer and holds my hands gently. “If he wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have saved you from jumping off that balcony.” I scoff. “Are you that blind? He probably wants to do it himself, or worse—torture us first. I refuse to take a lavish bath just to face the man who murdered my husband. I won’t play dress-up for him.” “Ellie,” she pleads, “please, just this once. You should at least see your father.” I roll my eyes and pull my hands away. He saves me, but why should I show gratitude? Should I bow down to him for sparing a life I have yearned to end? If he is truly a hero, he wouldn’t have instigated the war or slaughtered my husband like a mere animal. He acts as if life and death are wholly within his control, as if they rest squarely in his palm. I walk toward my wardrobe. “Leave, all of you. I’ll prepare myself. And Dora? Tobias's ring is missing; it must’ve fallen when I jumped off the balcony. Please help me find it.” “I will, dear. Are you sure you don’t need assistance?” she asks softly. “I’ll manage. You can go.” The moment they leave, I overturn the table in a fit of rage and collapse to the floor, sobbing silently. They won’t let me have him in life, and they still won’t grant me peace in death. Whatever happens next, I have to avenge my husband. Tobias doesn’t deserve to die the way he did. Wiping my tears away, I rise to my feet and head to the bathroom to scrub myself and splash water on my face without bothering with makeup or drying my hair. I let the damp, burgundy strands fall loosely on my back. I slip on a pair of black slippers beneath my simple black dress. Satisfied with my appearance, I tuck a fork beneath my thigh, just in case things turn chaotic. I have never seen the Lycan King before, nor do I know his name, but I have a good idea of what to expect—a short, bald, old man steeped in cruelty. Tales of him circulate among soldiers during my upbringing, and it is hard not to harbor hatred for him, even before he takes my husband’s life. I step into the throne room, where my father's laughter echoes through the palace. Surprisingly, I find it hard to believe anyone can laugh given our dire circumstances. The Lycans have subdued all werewolf packs; ours has been the last conquered, and the Lycan King has triumphed. A man sits among the chairs—a silver-haired figure who is surprisingly handsome. It is clear he isn’t a werewolf, given his long legs and muscular build. Reina purrs within me, twirling and growling within me as I turn my gaze away from the man. Next to him, another man exudes an aura of darkness, radiating danger yet undeniable allure. He has long, jet-black hair tied in a bun, bright blue eyes, and fluttering eyelashes that dance with each blink. His chiseled jaw and thin lips form a smirk as he rests his chin on his palm, watching my father converse while rubbing his lightly shaved beard. I’m not admiring him; I’m observing him. His gaze shifts from my father to me, and I freeze, quickly looking away just as his companion notices my presence. “Ah, the bride has arrived,” the silver-haired man laughs. The bride?E L E A N O RI clutch the fabric of my dress tightly, the soft folds bunching in my trembling hands as Perseus’s hand gently envelopes mine. His fingers intertwine with mine in a reassuring grip, warm and steady—almost too steady. It’s been less than two days since I made the proposal, yet here we are, already kicking off the ceremonial visit to Gray Helm. I’ve spent so much time there recently—more than I care to admit—since it’s where Eleanor’s Court is located.I dove headfirst into research about Bloodthorn as soon as the plan was set in motion, tracing its geography, its history, origins I should have studied long ago instead of scrambling at the last minute. But somehow, I managed to gather enough knowledge to keep up appearances, to speak confidently. It feels like a small victory in a storm of uncertainty.Perseus has been unwaveringly supportive—too supportive, almost. His eyes hold a softness I’m not sure I deserve, and now I find myself unable to meet his gaze without feel
P E R S E U S.I walk down the staircase, my footsteps echoing faintly against the marbled floor, the morning light barely filtering in through the stained glass windows. My hand brushes against the polished banister, my thoughts ahead of me. Eleanor left a note saying she’d be in the dining room, and for a brief, irrational second, my heart stutters.What if she’s left?What if she decided to go without warning?But the moment I step into the dining room and spot her sitting gracefully at the table, sipping from a glass with that unbothered elegance only she can pull off—my heartbeat slows. Relief floods through me, warm and grounding.I make my way toward her, the corners of my mouth lifting. I lean down, kiss her forehead, then her lips.“Good morning, darling,” I murmur.“Good morning,” she replies with a soft giggle, taking another sip of water. Her voice is still thick with sleep, light and sweet.“You’ve got all day for that,” Severus groans from further down the table, draggin
P E R S E U S “I'm pregnant." Her words replay over and over again in my mind, like a stubborn echo I can’t shake free from. She’s pregnant. I’m going to be a father. The weight of those words hits me all at once, yet I find myself unable to respond right away. Maybe I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing or that my voice will crack. My wife is pregnant. She’s carrying my child. And all this time, I’ve been so wrapped up in work, in politics, in everything else that I barely noticed. I’ve been so caught up with the chaos of my life that I failed to see her, truly see her. I realize now how little attention I paid her lately. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture tense, her hands folded in her lap. She continues, her voice steady but trembling just beneath the surface. “I found out this morning. I went to William’s house.” She hesitates, then adds, “If all of this is about a child, then you have a child now. Just stop pushing me away and having someone else replace
E L E A N O R.One week.I step out onto the balcony as the maids bustle behind me, helping to pick a dress for the day—yet another tedious ritual in this hair-pulling routine. For the past seven days, this has been my life: waking up to get dressed, lounging in heavy silence, reading books to pass the hours, taking long, sleep-ridden naps, eating when I remember to, and walking in quiet circles within the castle walls like a ghost haunting her own tomb.I tried, genuinely tried, to distract myself by watching the guards train. I noted their sword techniques, counted their steps, even memorized the way they held their blades. I planned to practice those techniques myself, if only I could catch a moment without the guards trailing behind me like my own shadow. They don’t speak—not to me, at least. I’ve started to believe they’re mute or sworn to some sacred silence.Every night, I fall asleep just minutes before Perseus returns. He slips into the bathroom, takes his bath, then crawls
E L E A N O RThree Days.I rise from the bed slowly, peeling Perseus off me with careful fingers as I run both hands through my tangled hair. His arm slips off my waist, and he stretches, yawning, his eyelids fluttering open in a lazy haze.“And where do you think you're going?” His voice is thick with sleep, a husky rasp that momentarily makes me pause.“I need to clean up,” I whisper softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He puckers his lips childishly and I smile, indulging him with a playful kiss on the lips before pulling away with a grin tugging at my mouth.We’d just made love again. It had started in the main room after dinner—an evening that was meant to be simple until it turned into something deeper. He was painting me, the canvas still standing outside, unfinished but beautiful. I’d been sitting on his lap while he added the final strokes. That quiet intimacy morphed into soft kisses, and one thing led to another until he brought me here. For a brief moment, I forgot
[mildly erotic scene ahead:]E L E A N O RI'm standing in the middle of a white room. It's stark—bright, cold, and deeply unsettling in a way that claws at my nerves. My legs tremble slightly as my eyes catch movement just a few steps away. There's someone lying on the floor in a pink dress, her back turned to me.“Hello?” I call out cautiously. No response.I rush toward her, gathering the hem of my dress in my arms so I don’t trip. I drop to my knees beside her and gently tap her shoulder. Her skin is cold. A chill races down my spine. I turn her over and gasp sharply when her half-open eyes meet mine.“Marina?”“Eleanor.” Her voice is a weak rasp, barely audible.“Oh God, Marina.” I choke out, tears already burning behind my eyes.“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I really am. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you. I deserve this.” Her voice is brittle, fading with each word.“It’s okay,” I whisper through trembling lips. “It was about Margaret and Dolores… You did what you had to do