Dreaming of fairytales
1257 Words
*Lydia*
"Discretion is the better part of valor, especially for a young she-wolf," I intone from the worn pages of the book, my voice melding with the hushed hum of the vehicle advancing through the scenic routes of the British countryside.
I steal a glance at the limo's door, my eyes tracing the elegant pack insignia. I feign indifference, but the opulence of the vehicle sends a thrill of excitement coursing through me.
I have always been enchanted by England—by its tales of Lycan royalty, Alpha knights and chivalry. Now, I'm finally here, living my dream. It feels surreal.
As we traverse under the crimson stone archway and proceed along a path lined with majestic elms, I can't help but sigh. It's like a scene from a beloved fairytale, and I feel like the heroine, the lycan princess, in my own story.
"This place is more grandiose than I remember," murmurs my stepfather, Harrison, his gaze lost in the sprawling landscape.
I spare a quick glance at him, his face etched with a decade's worth of worry. My heart aches for him. Ever since the grim news about his half-brother… the Alpha and future prince… and their father's failing health, anxiety and fear have become his constant companions.
Harrison has been a pillar in my life for as long as I can remember. He appeared in our tight-knit little Texan pack when I was a little past seven, hired to aid us during the harvest season.
His British accent was as exotic to me then as his pale skin and blonde hair. Time has since weathered him, adding a rugged tan to his complexion and broadness to his shoulders. Still, he retains the charm that captivated me… and my mother… all those years ago.
As he gazes at her, a silent testament of their profound love echoes in the confined space of the limo. They are true mates, blessed by fate, and to us pups, he has been nothing short of an exceptional father.
England, to me, has always been a fairytale… the setting of the bedtime stories he had narrated. And now, he's finally brought us here, turning dreams into reality.
My dream is finally coming to fruition, yet my joy is tinged with guilt. Knowing that Harrison's return is fraught with pain dampens my excitement. I feel selfish for indulging in this fantasy at the expense of his discomfort.
Back in Texas, I would daydream about Alpha knights and Lycan princes, even though such figures are scarce in the modern world. But dreams are free, aren't they?
The English landscape, with its shifting seasons and snow-dusted winters, is a stark contrast to Texas's unvarying heat. Here, tradition and decorum still reign, and the high packs conduct elaborate mating balls with ladies in resplendent gowns.
My cousin Lauren, three years my senior, had enthralled me with detailed letters about her first mating season. Recollections of the balls, the Alphas, the Betas… it all sounds so enticingly romantic.
Admittedly, it's a selfish desire, but I yearn to partake in a genuine Old fashioned mating ball, maybe even a brief season.
"How much farther, Papa?" Zara interrupts my thoughts, worryingly gnawing at the end of her braid.
My eight-year-old half-sister is the primary reason I'm on this trip. My mother needed someone to care for the younger pups while she supports her husband. Yet, she wanted them here, knowing the Old Alpha would wish to see his true grandchildren.
"We're almost there," assures Harrison, his lips curving into a tender smile for his youngest.
Beside me, thirteen-year-old Colton squirms restlessly. The airplane ride, his first, had left him in awe, but now the passing meadows bore him.
My two elder brothers, Jammi and Brock, whom I share my late father with, have remained in Texas to oversee our pack.
Harrison's leadership has allowed our small pack to flourish, but he never seeks recognition for it, always crediting the pack's success to its members.
As much as I love Jammi, I'm relieved he is not with us. His relentless teasing, especially about my dreams of being a posh English She-wolf , can be grating. He had laughed for days when he had caught me practicing my posture with a book balanced on my head.
At sixteen, Jammi had tried to persuade me to date his friends. When I declined, he took it personally. His friends' skills… dancing, shooting, horse riding, bull wrangling… are admirable, but I crave something more, something different. It's difficult to articulate my desires, but I know I will recognize my true mate when I meet him.
Jammi struggles to understand my longing for a life different from our own. I don't despise my life… it's good. But it's also ordinary, mundane. I dream of an extraordinary love and thrilling adventure.
"Look! Swans!" Zara exclaims, pointing at the lake.
Emerging from my reverie, I gaze at the serene pond, its surface a mirror of blue reflecting the graceful dance of the swans. A stone bridge arches splendidly over the water.
A pang of sorrow strikes me as I wonder if this is the pond where Harrison's brother drowned. Harrison had received his father’s, the lycan prince, news with a muted grief, but as far as I know, their brotherly bond was strained at best.
Beyond the pond, an immense structure emerges… an edifice so grand it could easily pass for a palace. I press a hand to my chest, gasping, "Oh my heavens."
"Is that your house, Papa?" Zara asks, her wide eyes reflecting the grandeur of the sight. "Is it?"
"My home is in Texas," Harrison says gently. "That's the Stormhold, the home of the Lycan prince, probably the grandest pack house in all of England."
"But you lived there," Zara persists.
"For a time, yes," Harrison concedes.
The enormity of this revelation leaves me stunned. My stepfather, raised within these imposing brick walls, now content with our modest Texas home. Our home is larger than most in our area, but it pales in comparison to this mansion. Ten of our pack house could fit into this one.
The car glides onto a cobblestone drive that circles the edifice, a riot of vibrant flowers bordering the path and the house.
From the corner of my eye, I see my mother squeeze Harrison's hand in a silent gesture of support. This moment must be fraught with emotion for them both.
Harrison was born to a woman the prince was involved with in his youth, outside of a mate bond or marriage. Though not officially acknowledged as the prince’s son, Harrison was raised with care and allowed to carry his fathers surname.
However, I can't ignore the fact that Harrison was sent to Texas to make his own way, while the lycan prince’s legitimate sons lived a life of privilege. Harrison's acceptance of English law does little to assuage my feelings about the fairness of the situation.
My parents intend to distribute their wealth and land equally among their five children, regardless of the fact that three of us have a different father. We are all children of the same mother, and to Harrison, we are his children, bound by love if not by blood.
Truth be told, I couldn't love him more if he were my biological father. His unconditional love for me is a constant source of comfort. He's nursed me through illnesses, bandaged my scraped knees, and even taught me my first waltz. He is, in every sense that matters, my father.
- Writer
