CHAPTER 5
1336 Words
[Adora]
A Lycan.
A large lycan standing at the end of the dark street was the last thing I remembered before I slipped into unconsciousness.
But when I regained consciousness—I was in a room with white painted walls. I was lying on a bed, covered to my midriff with a blanket. Where am I?
I tried to move but noticed a tube connecting my hand to a beeping machine. What was that? I disconnected it and a nerve-wrecking noise filled the room.
O chim!
I slipped from the bed and landed on the floor. Pain shot through my nerves, but I didn’t have the time to react to it as I scrambled to my feet and panted.
Exit. How do I exit the room?
My gaze landed on a door. I darted to the portal only to behold a handful of uniform men guarding the place.
There was a window too, but it was also heavily guarded by uniform men.
Gasping, I began to step back, willing myself to come up with a plan when suddenly the alarm stopped and an intoxicating scent filled my nostrils. Somehow the scent brought a soothing calm to my wellbeing despite the chaos swirling around me.
Footsteps inched towards the room and then the door flung open. Nothing prepared me for the way my breath hitched as I gazed at the man who walked into the room.
He was impeccable with a graceful aura.
He had piercing blue eyes that stood out against his fair complexion. High cheekbones, strong jawline, and a straight nose which accentuated a pair of pink lips.
His hair was brown and wavy, neatly styled, complimenting the high-collared white shirt and dark coat he was wearing. And then there was that intoxicating scent that hit me seconds ago—the smell of musk and spiced black apricot.
An inexplicable warmth wrapped around me, pulling me to him but I stood my ground. I stood before the stranger, scrutinizing him just as the word left my lips before I could stop it.
Mate!
My knees weakened. An invisible force beckoned me to submit to him, but I fought against it. I didn’t know whom he was. A friend or a foe.
The stranger smiled, a smile that almost melted my heart. “You’re awake,” he said, in the most beautiful manly voice I’d ever heard.
I stared at him and nodded.
“My name is Henry.” He stretched forth his hand at me and I could only stare at it. His skin was so flawless it sparkled under the morning sun.
My gaze traveled past him to the several men stationed behind the door. He must be so important that they had anxious looks on their faces as they watched him talk to me.
“Adaora,” I muttered, but maintained my distance.
He lowered his hand. “Adaora. What a beautiful name. What does it mean?”
“It means the first daughter of the people.”
“The first daughter of the people,” he repeated and gazed at me. “Could you tell me more about your people?”
At his question, the memories came flooding my head—the enemies invading my home, slaughtering my people, my father. My mother passing on aboard a ship.
A wave of melancholy and anger swept through me.
The necklace!
I flung myself around in search of it. I must have dropped it somewhere. Then he spoke again.
“Are you looking for this?” He raised my mother’s necklace in the air. This confirmed it was him—the lycan that saved me last night.
I stretched my hand to him and gently, he placed the necklace on it, pressing his hand against mine. An undeniable current coursed through me. It made me become acutely aware of him in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
He had the most beautiful of smiles.
I quickly retracted my hand and panted.
He had saved me last night from those men. He’d brought me to this place, taken care of me, and kept my necklace safe. “Thank you,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. A warm smile spilled on his lips. He was about to speak again when a racket in the hallway stole our attention.
My gaze drifted to the door just as an older woman appeared there, she muttered something furiously to the uniformed men and they stepped aside. She yanked the door open and entered the room, but she wasn’t alone; three ladies trailed after.
“Henry!” she breathed. “There you are! I have combed everywhere for you.”
“What are you doing here, mother?”
His mother? She was his mother?
The woman stood in an aura that instantly commanded respect. Her golden-blonde hair was swept into an intricate updo. The high neckline of her deep sapphire gown only emphasized her sharp, defined features—cheekbones carved with precision, piercing blue eyes that held a depth I couldn’t quite decipher. She was beautiful, but there was something cold about her, like an unyielding harmattan breeze cloaked in elegance.
Her gaze landed on me, sweeping over my disheveled form with slightly veiled scrutiny. A flicker of something unreadable—distaste? Curiosity?—crossed her expression before she schooled her features into polite indifference.
A tight-lipped smile touched her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I see she’s awake,” she said.
“You didn't answer my question,” he said in a more hushed tone, leaning towards her. “Why are you here?”
“She’s awake.” She ignored him and stepped toward me. “You’re awake. I’m Eleanor. I see you’ve met my son. His Majesty, King Henry II of Britanor, by the Grace of the Gods, Sovereign of the Realm, Defender of the Crown, Protector of the Faith, and Lord of the Seven Provinces.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. No! It can’t be. He’s not the king whose army raided my home.
“Adaora.” His gaze darted to me, his voice pleading.
A wave of anger and sadness coursed through me. My hands clenched into fists by my sides. How could I have let myself fall for the enemy?
“I, Adaora Ikechukwu Ezenduka, reject you, King Henry II of Britanor…”
“No!” Henry groaned. He tried to reach me, but I stepped back.
Regardless, I continued. “As my mate and king. I wish never to be bound to you by fate, blood, or destiny.”
He doubled over and groaned. My heart pounded violently, my hands trembling by my sides.
Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched him suffer from the rejection, but I fought it back. Whatever fragile hope between us was now broken.
A tense silence settled over the room. Queen Eleanor arched a single brow, her expression unreadable. But I did see a tinge of happiness in her eyes. The eyes of the ladies with her were wide with shock as though I’d just done the most abominable thing.
Huffing, Henry straightened from the floor and gazed at me. But the warmth in his eyes were gone. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then, he turned around and left the room.
My gaze returned to the older woman—his mother. She scoffed and a slow smirk formed at the corners of her lips, a glimmer of triumph in her eyes.
“I was expecting that. I must say thank you for making it simple for me.” She scoffed again and strode out of the room. The ladies with her followed-suit and in a moment, I was trapped alone in the room, trapped in the sorrow that enveloped me.
I sat down on the bed and brought my necklace to my chest.
‘Mother, I know I did the right thing, didn't I? I rejected the man who ordered the murder of our people.’
- Writer
