Chapter TwoThe Woman in the Portrait
1110 Words
Elara had stopped counting the gates.
There had been six.
Or seven.
Every time she thought the journey was over, another iron gate appeared through the fog, opening only after the warriors gave their names.
The final one was different.
It was enormous.
Black stone towers rose on either side of it, their peaks disappearing into the clouds. Beyond the gates stood the Alpha’s palace.
Elara stared at it from inside the carriage.
It wasn’t a palace.
It was a fortress.
Dark walls stretched across the mountain, covered in strange silver markings that seemed to shimmer beneath the moonlight.
She tightened her cloak around herself.
She had spent the entire journey trying to understand what Cassian had said.
You’re the reason this village was attacked.
You’re not my prisoner.
My Queen.
None of it made sense.
And she hated not knowing.
The carriage stopped.
The door opened.
“Out.”
Elara climbed down.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she noticed something strange.
Nobody looked at her like a prisoner.
The guards bowed.
Servants stepped aside.
Even the warriors who had dragged her from her village avoided meeting her eyes.
As she entered the palace, whispers followed her.
“Is that her?”
“It can’t be.”
“She looks exactly like—”
“Be quiet.”
Elara stopped.
“Exactly like who?”
The servants immediately lowered their heads.
No one answered.
Her frustration grew.
“I’m asking you a question.”
A woman stepped forward.
She was older, dressed in a long silver gown, with dark hair braided down her back.
“My name is Seraphine,” she said. “I oversee the Alpha’s household.”
“Then perhaps you can explain what’s happening.”
Seraphine studied her face.
For one strange moment, something like grief appeared in her eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“The Alpha will speak with you soon.”
“I want answers now.”
“You will get them.”
“When?”
Seraphine hesitated.
“After you see the room prepared for you.”
Elara almost laughed.
“A room?”
“You may consider it a guest chamber.”
“And if I don’t want to be your guest?”
Seraphine’s expression hardened.
“Then I suggest you don’t test the Alpha tonight.”
Elara stared at her.
That was not an answer.
But before she could demand another, Seraphine turned and walked away.
Elara followed.
They passed enormous halls filled with portraits.
Kings.
Queens.
Warriors.
Alphas.
Then Elara saw something that made her stop.
A portrait at the end of the corridor.
A woman.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Pale skin.
A small crescent-shaped mark beneath her collarbone.
Elara’s breath disappeared.
She stepped closer.
“No…”
The woman in the portrait had her face.
Not similar.
Not almost identical.
Her face.
Her eyes.
Her lips.
Even the tiny scar above her eyebrow that Elara had gotten as a child.
It was her.
Or someone who looked exactly like her.
Seraphine suddenly grabbed her arm.
“Don’t.”
Elara pulled away.
“Who is she?”
Seraphine’s face went white.
“Forget what you saw.”
“Who is she?”
“Elara—”
“Who is she?”
A voice came from behind them.
“She’s my mate.”
Elara spun around.
Cassian stood at the other end of the corridor.
He was no longer wearing his battle armor.
He wore a simple black shirt, but somehow he looked even more dangerous.
His silver eyes were fixed on the portrait.
Then they moved to Elara.
“You knew her?” Elara asked.
Cassian didn’t answer.
“You said she died three years ago.”
“She did.”
Elara pointed toward the painting.
“Then why does she look exactly like me?”
Cassian’s jaw tightened.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Elara stared at him.
“You don’t know who I am?”
“No.”
“Then why did you call me your Queen?”
His expression changed.
For the first time, Elara saw uncertainty in his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
That answer frightened her.
“You’re the Alpha. Everyone fears you. You’re supposed to know everything.”
“I never claimed to.”
“Then why bring me here?”
Cassian walked toward her.
“Because three years ago, my mate disappeared.”
Elara’s heartbeat quickened.
“Disappeared?”
“The official story says she died.”
“Official?”
Cassian stopped in front of the portrait.
“There was never a body.”
Elara stared at him.
“So you don’t believe she died.”
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“I believe someone wanted me to believe it.”
Elara looked back at the woman in the painting.
“Who painted this?”
“I did.”
She turned sharply.
“You painted her?”
“Yes.”
“Then how can you say you don’t know who I am?”
Cassian looked directly at her.
“Because I painted that portrait from memory.”
Silence filled the corridor.
Elara’s fingers slowly curled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means…”
Cassian’s eyes moved over her face.
“…that I’ve been searching for her for three years.”
A sudden crash echoed from somewhere upstairs.
Both of them looked toward the sound.
Guards shouted.
Footsteps thundered across the floor.
Then someone screamed.
“THE EAST WING!”
Cassian immediately drew his sword.
Seraphine’s face drained of color.
“What happened?”
A guard came running around the corner.
“Alpha!”
“What?”
“The archive.”
Cassian’s expression darkened.
“What about it?”
“The old records are gone.”
Elara frowned.
“Which records?”
The guard looked at her.
His eyes widened.
Then he whispered:
“Her records.”
Cassian went completely still.
Elara’s stomach tightened.
“What records?”
No one answered.
Cassian slowly turned toward her.
And for the first time since she had arrived at the palace, Elara saw something she hadn’t expected from the terrifying Alpha.
Fear.
“Your birth records,” he said.
Elara’s heart stopped.
“My what?”
Cassian’s grip tightened around his sword.
“Someone has just destroyed every record of who you were before the age of five.”
Elara stared at him.
“Why?”
Cassian looked toward the darkened corridor.
“Because someone in this palace knows exactly who you are.”
A second crash echoed through the castle.
Then the lights went out.
And somewhere in the darkness, a woman’s voice whispered:
“She must never remember.”
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