The palace doors opened with a low groan of ancient hinges, revealing a long hall bathed in golden light and lined with soldiers in black and silver armor. I stepped onto polished marble that gleamed like ice, my boots echoing in the vast silence.
I saw a man, tall, broad and regal, waiting at the end. His hair was the color of deep iron and a crown of woven metal and bone resting atop his head.
His presence hit like thunder and silence all at once. And when his eyes met mine—stormy gray and impossibly familiar—I couldn’t move.
Not out of fear.
But recognition.
“Come,” he said, his voice low but commanding.
I didn’t remember deciding to walk. My legs just carried me, drawn by something in my chest I couldn’t name. When I stood before him, he studied me, not like a king sizing up a stranger, but like a father trying to memorize his daughter’s face after years apart.
“I dreamed of this day,” he said, his voice thick. “Even when they told me you were better off hidden. Even when I doubted whether the prophecy was worth the price.”
“Are you—” My throat tightened. “Are you really my father?”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for decades. “Yes, Syrla. I am King Maelric. And you are my daughter.”
I didn’t fall apart. Not right then. Instead, I stood still, locked in a moment that didn’t feel real.
“Why was I sent away?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“The prophecy,” he said, stepping down from the dais. “When you were born, the seers saw a future that terrified the Council. A girl of royal blood who would not just unite the fractured packs—but rule them. Not beside a king, but as one.”
“That’s… a lot,” I managed.
He smiled faintly. “It terrified them enough to make your life disappear. But I couldn’t bring myself to kill the vision. So I hid you. Swore to find you when the time was right.”
“And now it is?”
Maelric reached out, slowly, like he feared I’d flinch. His hand cupped my cheek, warm and solid. “Now you’ve survived betrayal. Walked away from a bond that wasn’t worthy of you. And your power is waking.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. I just leaned into the touch I didn’t realize I’d longed for.
After a pause, he cleared his throat. “Tonight, we will begin your return. You’ll be introduced to the court at the gathering. Guests are arriving now, newly mated pairs, pack leaders, allies. I want them to see you.”
I blinked. “Tonight?”
“You belong here,” he said, voice leaving no room for doubt. “They’ll see that.”
I nodded, slow and unsure. “All right.”
He turned to a maid waiting nearby. “Take the Princess to the east wing. Prepare her for court. Bathe her, dress her, see that she is presented in full regalia.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the woman said with a bow. She turned to me and offered a gentle smile. “This way, Princess.”
I followed, heart hammering.
The chamber they led me to made my old quarters at Blackmaw look like a stone cellar.
The room was massive, walls of dark stone carved with elegant reliefs, soft rugs underfoot, a fireplace so large I could have stood inside it. Velvet drapes spilled over high-arched windows. Crystal decanters glimmered from a carved sideboard. A bed, canopy-draped and layered in silks, stood like a throne of its own.
“This is mine?” I breathed.
“For as long as you remain within the palace,” the maid said, smiling.
Two other women stepped forward, bows at the ready. They were efficient, kind, and utterly unfazed by my stunned silence. A warm bath waited, steam rising from an ivory tub carved with wolf sigils.
I let them peel away my worn travel clothes. I let them guide me into the water.
At first, I felt exposed. But then, I began to feel clean.
They scrubbed away the grime of the forest, the scent of rejection, the weight of exile. They worked in silence, washing my hair with oils that smelled of lavender and pine.
One of them whispered a song—low and ancient. A lullaby I didn’t know but somehow recognized in my bones.
When I stepped from the water, they wrapped me in furs and led me to a velvet seat. A mirror stood before me, tall and silver-rimmed.
They brushed my hair, braided tiny strands back from my face, letting the rest fall in soft waves. They painted my lips a soft berry shade, darkened my lashes, traced a symbol across my forehead—a crescent moon ringed with delicate flourishes.
They brought the dress last.
Black as midnight, fitted at the waist, flowing at the hem. Embroidered with silver thread in the shape of wolves running beneath stars, it clung to me like memory.
As they adjusted the fabric and pinned the last jewel at my collar, one of the maids whispered, “Close your eyes, Princess.”
I obeyed, unsure why, but trusting.
“Now open them,” she said.
I did.
And the girl in the mirror was not the broken Luna who had fled through the trees. She was taller somehow, and sharper. A creature carved from winter, firelight, and legacy.
My throat tightened.
“Is this me?” I whispered. “Is this really me?”
The youngest maid smiled, stepping back with a nod. “Yes, Princess. It’s you.”
And that was when it hit me.
This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a trick afterall. I was the daughter of the Lycan King.
Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them, spilling down my cheeks in silent rivers, and I didn’t try to wipe them away.
