The Outcast Princess

The morning sun bathed the royal gardens in a golden glow, casting dappled shadows over rows of vibrant flowers. Lyra, a maid in the palace hummed softly as her hands worked through the soil, gently pruning the roses. Her brown hair was tied back, and her smile was brighter than usual. But why would it be? She had spent the previous night with Prince Caden—an evening she could hardly believe had been real. He had confessed his feelings for her under the pale light of the moon, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. She had felt her heart stir in a way that both thrilled and terrified her. For as much as she longed to accept his love, the thought of her mate lingered in the back of her mind. Every werewolf was destined to find their mate, their other half, and yet… hers had never appeared. what if she accepts him and then her mate turns out to be someone else. how would she handle it. “It doesn’t matter,” Caden had said, his hand warm against hers. “Fate doesn’t decide my heart. I do.” His words still echoed in her mind, even as doubt gnawed at her. Was it fair to fall for him? Could she defy the bond meant to shape her destiny? She let her mind wonder back to how soft and tender his lips were when he'd kissed her. It was her first kiss and she was happy it was with him. Lost in thought, Lyra didn’t notice the heavy boots crunching on the gravel path behind her until a rough voice shattered the tranquility. “Seize the witch!” Her head snapped up, confusion flashing across her face. A group of palace guards surrounded her, their weapons drawn, their expressions cold and unyielding. “What?” she stammered, dropping her pruning shears. “What’s going on?” Before she could make sense of the situation, strong hands grabbed her arms. She struggled, panic surging through her veins. “I haven’t done anything!” she cried, but her protests fell on deaf ears. The guards dragged her through the winding halls of the palace, their grip unrelenting. "What have I done? you're hurting me! stop please!" she screamed as they dragged her, her knee scrapping the hard floor but her screams and pleas fell on deaf ears. Servants stopped and stared, their whispers following her like a dark cloud. Lyra’s mind raced. Why were they calling her a witch? The grand doors to the throne room loomed ahead, and dread curled in her stomach. She was shoved forward, stumbling to her knees on the cold marble floor. Before her sat the Alpha King, his imposing figure exuding authority and disdain. King Aldric’s piercing gaze bore into her, his silver eyes cold as steel. His face, usually a mask of control, twisted in disgust as he looked at her. “Lyra,” he said, his voice like thunder, “you have been accused of practicing sorcery—a crime punishable by death.” Her heart stopped. Sorcery? The very word sent chills down her spine. It was treason to be caught practicing magic, a forbidden art feared and hated in the werewolf kingdoms. “No!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. “I’ve done no such thing, Your Majesty. I swear! How can I do that when I know it is treason to practice magic? This is all one big misunderstanding." The king’s lips curled into a sneer. “Spare me your lies, girl. You’ve been exposed. Do you deny possessing unnatural powers?” Lyra’s blood ran cold. She did have powers—strange abilities that she didn’t fully understand. But she had kept them hidden, confiding in only one person: her best friend, Elara. But it was impossible. Elara would never do something like this. Her mind raced as she remembered the day she had told Elara, trembling with fear but desperate for someone to understand. “Your secret is safe with me,” Elara had promised, her blue eyes earnest. Lyra’s throat tightened as a sickening realization crept over her. Elara was the only one who knew. Could she really have? “I’ve done nothing wrong!” Lyra cried, tears streaming down her face. “Please, Your Majesty, listen to me!” King Aldric slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne, silencing her. “Enough! I will not have my time wasted with the lies of a treacherous witch. You are a danger to this kingdom.” Lyra’s pleas turned into sobs, her voice breaking as she tried to defend herself. “I’m innocent! Someone must have framed me!” The king’s expression remained unmoved. “Take her to the dungeons. She will await her punishment there.” “No! Please!” Lyra screamed as the guards yanked her to her feet. As they pulled her away from the gathering, her eyes filled with tears as she looked around the room, hoping to find someone she could trust. Her gaze finally landed on Elara, who was standing among the courtiers. A wave of relief washed over her, but it quickly turned to dread when she noticed the smirk on Elara’s face. The smirk was not friendly or warm; it was cruel and sly, and it made Lyra’s stomach twist uncomfortably. In that moment, the truth hit her hard, like a sudden punch in the gut. Elara had betrayed her. This realization shattered her heart into pieces. Lyra had placed her trust in Elara, believing that she was a true friend. But now, everything had changed. The person she had confided in and relied upon for support had turned against her at the worst possible time. The feelings of betrayal and heartache were overwhelming, and she felt lost in a sea of despair. As the guards continued to pull her away, she struggled to hold back her tears. In her mind, thoughts raced about their friendship and the moments they had shared, now tainted by the betrayal. She had never expected someone she cared about so deeply to betray her in such a shocking way. The last image that burned into her mind as the heavy throne room doors swung shut behind her was Elara’s cold, triumphant expression. It felt as if Elara was enjoying her suffering, and the realization washed over Lyra like a cold wave, leaving her feeling utterly alone and abandoned. With every step further from the throne room, she wondered how she could have missed the signs of this treachery from someone she had trusted so completely.