Chapter Three: The Palace of Yesterday

Elara woke to the sound of birdsong. Not the harsh caws of scavengers circling over battlefield corpses, but gentle notes drifting through the window from the palace gardens. She lay still for a long moment, staring at the canopy above her bed.

It hadn’t been a dream.

Her hands slid over the covers, soft and untouched, then pressed again against her chest. Whole. Alive. The hollow ache of betrayal still burned in her memory, but her body carried no wound. She inhaled slowly, the scent of polished wood and lavender soap filling her lungs. I am here. I am alive. I am back.

A knock startled her.

“Princess Elara?” A maid’s voice, timid but familiar. “The Queen requests your presence in the solar before breakfast.” Her chest tightened. Mother.

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to steady. “Tell her I’ll be there shortly.”

The girl curtsied and withdrew.

Elara rose slowly, dressing herself instead of calling for help. Her fingers shook as she tied the sash of her pale gown. The weight of memory pressed against her with every movement: she remembered her mother’s lifeless form draped across the throne steps, remembered her father’s silence as the palace fell. And yet… they were alive, just beyond the next corridor.

Her legs carried her faster than her thoughts. She passed tapestries untouched by fire, guards whose faces had not yet been hardened by betrayal. Servants bowed as she swept by, but she barely noticed them.

At the end of the hall, she paused.

The solar door stood slightly ajar. Warm voices drifted out—her mother’s soft tones, her father’s deeper reply. Elara’s throat tightened. For a moment, fear rooted her to the spot. What if it broke her to see them again? What if this second life was only another cruel dream?

She pushed the door open.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting the room in gold. Her mother sat by the hearth, embroidery resting in her lap, her hair shining like silver-gold silk. She looked up with a smile, the kind of smile that had comforted Elara through every scraped knee and every childhood fear.

“Elara,” she said warmly. “I was just about to send Kael to fetch you. Come, sit.”

Her father stood by the window, reviewing scrolls. He turned at the sound of her name, his stern expression softening into rare affection.

The sight broke her.

“Mother. Father.” The words cracked as she crossed the room. She knelt at her mother’s feet, clutching her hands. They were warm, real, steady. Her father’s palm rested on her shoulder, strong as stone. They exchanged confused glances.

“You’re trembling,” her mother murmured, smoothing back Elara’s hair. “Another nightmare?”

Elara nodded quickly, swallowing back tears. How could she tell them the truth? That she had watched them die once already, that she had lived decades without them, and that she had been given a second chance?

Instead, she whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Her mother’s brows knit. “You won’t, my dear.” She kissed Elara’s forehead. “We are not going anywhere.”

But Elara knew better. If she did nothing, history would repeat itself. She would not let that happen.

Her father cleared his throat. “Come. Breakfast waits, and the council has matters for us later.”

The family gathered in the dining hall, a scene so ordinary it felt surreal. The long table gleamed with polished silver, platters of bread and fruit, roasted meats, honey cakes. Servants moved briskly, pouring cider and milk. Kael was already there, yawning, reaching for food with both hands until their father barked his name in warning.

Elara watched it all, imprinting every detail.

Her mother’s laughter when Kael made a joke. Her father’s stern but softened gaze. The sound of cutlery against porcelain.

These were the things she had lost. And these were the things she would protect.

As they ate, the conversation shifted to politics. Her father mentioned an envoy from the Ironfang Pack arriving within days. Her stomach tightened. She remembered them—remembered how their Alpha’s ambition had led to alliances that crushed her family.

But this time she would be ready.

“Elara,” her father’s voice drew her back. “You seem distracted.”

She forced a smile. “Just thinking about the envoy. Perhaps… we should be cautious with them.”

His brows lifted slightly. “You take more interest in politics than usual.”

She dipped her head, hiding the steel in her eyes. “I only wish to serve our pack as best I can.”

Her mother reached to squeeze her hand. “And you will, when the time comes.”

Elara bit back the words on her tongue—the time has already come.

When the meal ended, she lingered in the hall. Servants bustled, guards spoke quietly, the palace alive with ordinary routines. Yet beneath the hum of daily life, she sensed the undercurrents of danger. Every smile could hide deceit. Every ally could be a traitor.

She had been blind once. She would not be again.

Elara walked the corridors slowly, memorizing them as though she might lose them again. Her steps led her to the training yard. Warriors sparred there, their laughter echoing. She remembered the day Kael had fallen in this very yard, blood staining the dust. She closed her eyes, then opened them with resolve.

Not this time.

She would sharpen her claws. She would watch every shadow. And when the storm came, she would meet it head-on.

Standing tall beneath the morning sun, Elara whispered a vow only the wind could carry:

“I will not be the soft princess you betrayed. I will be the wolf that hunts.”