Rejected By The Lycan King

A Body That Remembers

Aelin’s POV

The first thing I noticed was the tiredness.

Not the familiar ache of healing wounds or the dull exhaustion that came after emotional strain—but something heavier, deeper. It settled into my bones and stayed there, no matter how much I rested.

I told myself it was adjustment. A new place. A new rhythm. The slow unraveling of grief I had kept tightly bound for too long.

But even as I thought it, I knew that wasn’t all of it.

Some mornings, the smell of food made my stomach turn unexpectedly. Other times, hunger struck so suddenly it felt almost urgent, leaving my hands trembling until I ate. I brushed it off, embarrassed by how little control I seemed to have over my own body.

Healing is not linear, I reminded myself.

Still, the warmth beneath my ribs had changed.

It was no longer just steady—it moved.

Sometimes it fluttered faintly, like a whisper beneath my skin. Other times, it felt anchored, rooted in a place I couldn’t quite identify.

I tried not to think about it too much.

Ashen Veil encouraged presence, not obsession.

That morning, Eira asked me to accompany her to the upper terraces where medicinal herbs grew along the stone slopes. The climb wasn’t difficult, but halfway up, I had to stop, pressing a hand to my knee as dizziness washed over me.

Eira turned immediately. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

She raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. “Just… tired.”

She studied me for a long moment, her gaze sharp but not intrusive. Then she nodded once. “We’ll take it slow.”

She didn’t scold me. Didn’t pry.

That kindness still caught me off guard.

As we worked, the valley stretched below us, quiet and whole. The air smelled of crushed leaves and sunlight-warmed stone. I focused on the simple motions—pluck, sort, bundle—until my thoughts finally settled.

For a while, I almost forgot the strange sensations.

Until a sudden wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to drop the herbs and turn away, breathing through it as my stomach twisted sharply.

Eira was at my side again.

“This is not just fatigue,” she said gently.

I swallowed. “I know.”

Her voice softened. “Have you been eating?”

“Yes. More than usual, actually.”

That earned me a long, unreadable look.

She didn’t say what I half-expected. Didn’t jump to conclusions. Instead, she placed two fingers lightly against my wrist again, eyes unfocused as if listening to something beneath the surface.

After a moment, she withdrew.

“There is life in you,” she said slowly.

My heart stuttered.

Life.

Not power. Not magic. Life.

But before panic could take hold, she continued, “Vitality. Growth. Healing energy moving inward instead of outward.”

I exhaled shakily, unsure whether to feel relieved or unsettled.

“I don’t understand,” I admitted.

Eira smiled faintly. “That’s all right. Some things make themselves known in time.”

She stood, offering me her hand. “For now, you need rest.”

That night, sleep came heavily, pulling me under before my thoughts could spiral.

My dreams were different again.

No moonlit halls. No rejection.

Instead, warmth. Darkness that wasn’t empty but full—like soil after rain. I felt anchored, grounded in a way I never had before.

When I woke, my hand rested low on my abdomen without conscious thought.

I froze.

Slowly, deliberately, I moved it away.

You’re imagining things, I told myself firmly.

But the sense of wrongness—no, not wrongness. Awareness—lingered.

The bond stirred faintly, distant but responsive.

I felt it then, unmistakably.

Not longing.

Recognition.

I sat up, heart pounding, the truth hovering just beyond reach.

No.

It’s too soon. Impossible. The ceremony never completed—

But the bond had existed. However briefly. However broken.

And my body… my body remembered.

Fear crept in quietly, followed by something far more dangerous.

Hope.

I pressed it down immediately.

Hope was a luxury I could not afford.

Especially not now.

Especially not with him so far away—and my future so uncertain.

I rose from the bed and dressed slowly, grounding myself in the familiar motions. Whatever was happening inside me, I would face it with clarity, not panic.

Ashen Veil had taught me that much.

Still, as I stepped outside and felt the morning light brush my skin, a single thought followed me like a shadow:

Some bonds leave more behind than pain.