The Wolf King's Daughter

They told me I was dead.

The story was simple: the fire, the screams, the blood soaking into the earth of Crescent Vale, and the final, whispered truth, Lyra Vale, the Wolf King's daughter, was gone.

But here I am. I'm not a ghost. Not a shadow. Not a memory.

I'm standing at the edge of the woods that surround the place I was born-the home they burned to the ground.

I tighten my cloak around me, hiding the crescent-shaped birthmark at the base of my spine, the only proof I'm still alive. No one can see it. No one can know.

"Why come back now?" The voice is low, calm, but it makes my skin crawl. I don't have to turn to know who it is.

"Because the wolf who killed my father still breathes." My voice sounds sharper than I expected. I fight to keep it steady.

He steps from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair as wild as a storm and eyes that pierce like cold steel. Rafe Thorne. The Alpha. The man who was supposed to be my enemy.

"You think I'm your enemy?" His voice is almost a whisper, but it carries a weight that settles like stone in my chest.

"Yes." I say it without hesitation, but even as the word leaves my mouth, something inside me hesitates.

He studies me, his eyes narrowing, searching, trying to find something beneath my mask. "You're not who I expected."

I want to laugh at that. Everyone thinks they know me. No one does.

"I'm not here to talk," I say, stepping forward. "I'm here for revenge."

Rafe's expression flickers-surprise? Regret? I can't tell. But before he can answer, a sharp bark cuts through the night.

A small wolf pup stumbles out from the trees, limping badly, its fur matted and dirty. It collapses at my feet.

"Help it," I say, voice softening, the fire inside me flickering.

Rafe kneels beside the pup, his hands gentle but firm as he checks the wound. "This isn't your fight."

"It's mine," I say. "Because every piece of this land belongs to the Vale."

He looks up at me, the storm in his eyes quieter now. "You're not Vale."

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, but I hold his gaze. "I am."

The air between us shifts, heavy with things neither of us says. I can feel it in my bones-the bond that refuses to break. The connection that was never meant to be.

Rafe meets my eyes again. "Then prove it."

I don't know what he means. But I know one thing: I'm not running from the past anymore.

The village I step into is nothing like I remember. The buildings are worn, the streets empty and quiet. Crescent Vale has changed, broken like the people who live here.

I move through the shadows, watching, listening. Every face I see carries the weight of fear or suspicion. No one trusts the wolf they believe killed their king.

"Who's that?" a woman whispers as I pass. "A hunter?"

I keep my head down, but my heart races. Every step takes me closer to the man I came to find.

The Alpha's Hall stands at the center of the village, a heavy stone building that once symbolized strength and protection. Now it feels cold, empty-like a tomb.

I slip inside through a side door, my fingers tracing the worn wood. The hall is dim, lit only by flickering torches. Shadows stretch across the walls, hiding secrets.

"Looking for something?"

The voice is sudden, and I spin around, heart pounding.

Rafe steps into the light, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

"Though I told you this wasn't your fight."

"I don't listen to warnings." I meet his gaze, unafraid.

He moves closer, the scent of pine and earth surrounding him. "You don't belong here."

"Neither do you," I say, stepping around him to the large oak table in the center. "But you sit in the Alpha's chair like you own the land."

Rafe's jaw tightens. "I protect what's left of it."

"And what about what you destroyed?" I challenge myself. "The blood you spilled?"

He's silent. The weight of the past presses between us.

"You were just a boy when it happened," I say softly. "But that doesn't change what you did."

"I didn't kill your family," he says quietly, almost bitterly. "I followed orders."

"Orders?" My voice rises, anger flaring. "Orders don't burn children alive."

"Neither did I." His eyes flash with something-pain? Shame? "I never wanted this."

"I don't care what you wanted." My fists clench. "You didn't stop it. You let it happen."

Rafe looks at me like I'm speaking a language he's tried to forget. "You think you're the only one who lost that night?"

I take a step back, trying to breathe past the fury twisting inside me. "Maybe not. But I'm the one left to pay."

A silence falls between us, heavy and raw.

Then, something in his expression softens, just for a moment.

"You don't have to be alone in this," he says.

I want to believe him. I want to trust that beneath the armor, there's a man who understands loss. But I can't forget. I won't.

"I don't need your pity."

"Not pity," he says. "Respect. For what you survived."

I don't answer. The fire inside me burns hotter, but I bury it deep.

That night, I sat by the fire outside the hall, the wolf pup curled in my lap. Its breathing is steady now, but it's still weak.

Rafe joins me without a word, settling down beside me. The space between us is tight, but not close.

"Why did you come back?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"To finish what was started."

He nods slowly. "And what if the world you want to burn needs saving too?"

I look at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

"I don't want to save it," I say. "I want to tear it down."

"Maybe it's time to build something new instead."

The fire flickers between us, shadows dancing over his face. I want to hate him. I want to hate everything he stands for.

But I can't.

Because when I look at him, I see a man as broken as I am.

The next morning, I follow Rafe through the village, pretending to be an herbalist collecting plants. But I'm really searching for proof-proof that he was involved in the rebellion, proof that the blood on his hands is real.

We stop at an old chapel on the edge of town. The door creaks open, revealing dusty pews and faded tapestries.

"Stay close," Rafe says, his voice low.

Inside, I find a hidden door beneath the altar. It's locked tight, but Rafe pulls a key from his coat.

"This is the only place in Crescent Vale untouched by time," he says. "My father kept it sealed."

We descend into the darkness. The air smells of dust and secrets.

Inside the room are old relics-maps, letters, and a chest overflowing with faded papers.

I pull out a letter, the ink smudged but the words clear:

To those who still believe in the light, beware the shadow that wears a crown. Trust no one but the blood of the Vale.

The signature is barely visible-my mother's.

"Why would your mother write this?" I ask.

"Because she knew the truth," Rafe says. "The real traitor was never me."

I stare at him, the weight of those words crashing over me.

"Who was it?"

He hesitates.

"Cyrus Wren."

The name hits me like a slap.

"The Regent," I whisper.

"The man who rules us all now."

I want to scream. To run. To burn it all down right here.

But Rafe's hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Careful, Lyra. Cyrus isn't just a man. He's a storm waiting to break."

That night, as I lay awake in a small room beneath the hall, I heard voices outside.

"Bring her to me," a smooth voice orders.

I freeze. My heart thundered in my chest.

Rafe's wolf snarls softly.

I'm not alone.