AURORA

SMILES OVER SHATTERED INNOCENCE

Aurora’s heart pounded as she slipped out of the Crown Prince’s chambers, her trembling fingers clutching the folds of her skirt. His cold eyes still burned in her mind—how close she’d been to death, or worse, dishonour. She dared not look back. The corridors of the palace felt longer than ever, every sound of her hurried footsteps echoing her fear.

By the time she reached the servants’ quarters, she nearly stumbled into Aida, her closest friend.

“Aida,” Aurora gasped, voice low and panicked. “Will he…" will he behead me? The Prince—he caught me near the heirloom.”

Aida’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her lips. “Aurora, you didn’t touch it, did you?”

“No, but he saw me reach for it! What if he thinks—”

“Hush!” Aida dragged her further into the room, her gaze darting nervously around. “Panicking will only make things worse.”

Aurora’s breaths came in shaky bursts. “I didn’t mean to! My hand just… moved. What if he sends for me? What if Lady Racheal—”

Aida held her shoulders firmly, her voice steady but urgent. “Listen to me. The best thing you can do is stay quiet and invisible. Do your duties, keep your head down, and avoid the Prince and Lady Racheal at all costs. If you don’t cross their paths again, they’ll forget you ever existed.”

Aurora swallowed hard, nodding, though fear still clouded her eyes. “And if they don’t forget?”

“Then we pray they find someone else more interesting to torment,” Aida muttered, a grim attempt at reassurance.

While Aurora quivered in terror, across the grand halls, Lady Racheal reclined gracefully on a chaise by the sunlit windows. Her fingers traced the rim of a porcelain cup, savouring the warmth of cinnamon tea. The fragrant steam curled around her wicked smile.

Her sudden laugh made her handmaids flinch. They exchanged nervous glances, startled by the unguarded glee in their mistress’s face. No one dared to ask what amused her so, but their wide eyes betrayed their shock—such joy was rare from Lady Racheal, and never for anything kind.

“She’ll never be the same,” Lady Racheal murmured with a smirk, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. “Another fragile little dove… ruined.”

The maids tittered cautiously, unsure if they should join in her amusement or tremble at it. Lady Racheal simply sipped her cinnamon tea, smiling as though she had personally orchestrated Aurora’s terror.

The afternoon sun glowed golden on Lady Racheal’s face, but her heart was anything but warm.

Aurora’s heart still rattled in her chest as the hours dragged on. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchens, scrubbing pots until her hands ached and her knuckles turned raw. The thick aroma of roasted meat and spiced bread clung to her clothes, but she hardly noticed; her mind was miles away, trapped in the memory of the Prince’s piercing gaze. Every clang of a ladle, every hiss of boiling stew made her flinch. She worked in silence, her lips pressed tight, hoping if she kept her head low, the palace would forget she even existed.

By nightfall, her body ached with exhaustion. Aida nudged her gently.

“Come, let’s wash up before the water gets cold,” she said softly, as if sensing the storm in Aurora’s heart.

Under the moon’s pale light, the two girls bathed behind the servants’ quarters. The water was cold against her skin, but the chill felt almost comforting, washing away the grime and the suffocating fear clinging to her. Aida hummed a low tune, a lullaby her mother had once taught her, but Aurora remained quiet.

Later, when they climbed into their narrow beds, Aida fell asleep almost instantly. Aurora lay awake, eyes tracing the cracks on the wooden ceiling. Thoughts crept in, soft and painful.

What would Father say if he saw me now? she wondered. Would he be proud… or ashamed?

Her father—the Alpha of the Silverfang Pack—had once been a giant in her world, fierce and protective. She could almost hear his booming laugh echoing in her ears. If only the pack had let her stay . If only I hadn’t… She swallowed the rest of that thought.

Her chest ached as her mind drifted to her mother. Does she miss me? Does she even know I’m alive? Aurora imagined her sister Enid—the fiery little pup she had left behind. If Enid had grown up safely, she would be a young woman now, with her wild red hair shining in the moonlight, as radiant and untamed as their bloodline promised.

Aurora bit her lip hard. No one here knew her truth. To the servants, she was just a homeless orphan scraped from the streets. No one knew the wolf blood humming faintly in her veins, the royal bloodline that had been ripped from her. She’d never dared to tell anyone. What was the point? In this palace, secrets were safer than honesty.

A tear threatened to slip down her cheek, but she blinked it back. She couldn’t afford to cry.

Her thoughts shifted to the strangest moment of the day—the whisper that had curled in her mind when she saw the heirloom. Mine. It had been so soft, so primal. Her chest tightened. What if… what if that was my wolf?

She almost laughed at herself. A bitter, sad chuckle escaped her lips. “Impossible,” she whispered into the night, shaking her head. Her wolf had been silent for years. If it even existed anymore.

She turned on her side, clutching the thin blanket around her. Sleep pulled at her slowly, heavy with weariness and pain.

Just one night without trouble, she prayed silently. Just one day where no one notices me.

With that fragile hope tucked into her heart, Aurora finally drifted off to sleep, unaware of the storm tomorrow would bring.