Chapter 3: Back Home
1420 Words
Ashborne’s POV:
My leaving the Royal Capital hadn’t been a choice I made out of happiness, ambition, or some noble quest for self-improvement like everyone liked to say.
No.
That had just been the story dear old Father told the court, the version he wanted everyone to believe.
The truth was uglier and heavier.
There were two reasons why I left. One, the minor one—the one Father knew of—he dismissed with a casual flick of his hand. He thought I was simply being sentimental, sensitive, soft.
He thought I was upset that he celebrated the day of the m******e.
He wasn’t wrong, exactly. But he didn’t know the real reason. He couldn’t even begin to guess what else I carried, what else made me feel like something was rotting under my skin.
Yes, it was true—I hated the way Silvercrest paraded victory like it was some divine right, while the ashes of the Kranis Kingdom still scattered on the wind.
I didn’t understand it.
Still don’t.
What kind of creatures celebrate the death of children? What kind of monsters raise a glass to the pain of others?
The m******e of Kranis wasn’t a war. It was a slaughter. It was betrayal. It was something so vile it shouldn't have been remembered with fireworks and banners. But every year, the kingdom of wolves painted their faces with joy and drank themselves into forgetting the blood they’d spilled.
I had dared to question them on that. To question my father.
But still—that wasn’t why I left.
Not really.
No, there was another reason, one I’d never spoken aloud. One I barely allowed myself to think about.
The reason that made me believe I was a monster.
And now?
Now that reason was why I came back.
It was a week ago. I’d been walking back to my room, boots echoing softly along the high-polished floors of the Duke’s estate in Arindale. I’d been staying there during my political training—security, diplomacy, strategy. The Duchy was known for its intellect, after all. They said no wolf matched Duke Kael’s mind.
That day, it had rained. The estate smelled of wet stone and ink, and my head was still aching from the meeting I’d left behind. I was looking forward to sleep.
Until I heard voices.
I paused just as I was about to turn the corridor to my wing. The Duke was speaking softly, but not to anyone in the room. His voice was muted. From the cracked door, I could see him holding something.
One of the crystal communication conduits.
Curiosity slowed my step. I stayed in the shadowed archway.
"...The girl is Scarlett, not Sylvianne... she needs to be dealt with soon. She cannot stay in the castle much longer. We need to make His Majesty understand—no matter how much she looks like her, no matter how convinced he is that she’s his daughter, she is not of his blood. She never was. And she will never be loyal to him, not even with her memories sealed. The best course of action right now would be to marry her off or—"
My body froze.
Scarlett?
What the hell was he talking about?
I leaned closer, breath lodged in my throat. My heart beat once. Twice. Each thud louder than the last.
Was he… was he saying Sylvianne wasn’t real?
Was he saying that Sylvie wasn’t my sister?
The name echoed again—Scarlett. My thoughts scattered. Fragments of memories tore through my mind. All the years I’d spent with her. All the times I brushed her hair, handed her sweets, trained in the courtyard, and smiled when she parried my blade. I remembered feeling proud. I remembered—
Gods.
That couldn’t be true.
But it made sense.
All of it.
The scent. Her scent. Cardamom and agarwood with a hint of smoke. It haunted me like a ghost. It clung to my memory even though it shouldn’t have meant anything. I was a wolf. She was my sister. We weren’t supposed to register each other’s pheromones, not when we were blood related.
And yet.
When I’d first entered her room after reaching maturity—gods, her scent was everywhere. The pillows. The curtains. The air. I could barely think straight. Her scent didn’t just linger—it wrapped around me. Like fire.
Back then, I thought I was insane. Sick. A disgrace to my bloodline.
I’d left the palace at fifteen because I couldn’t take it anymore.
It had been right after my first rut. A week of hell. A week of hunger. Of confusion. Of shame. All I could think about was her.
Her smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her scent. The way her hair glinted in the sun. The curve of her mouth when she was about to say something witty and mean.
I’d bashed my head against my own bedpost until I bruised it.
How could I want my sister? How could I be such a freak? That’s what I told myself.
So I left.
I told my father I needed to train. Told the court I wanted to "strengthen myself for my future duties."
Lies. All of it.
I just needed distance. I needed to stop looking at her like—
No. I couldn’t even say it.
But hearing Duke Kael’s words…
It changed everything. She wasn’t my sister.
Scarlett.
Not Sylvianne.
Scarlett.
That didn’t mean I could have her. It didn’t mean anything about what we could be. But at the very least, it meant… I wasn’t that much of a monster. And that, above all else, made me feel something I hadn’t felt in years.
Relief.
It was like someone lifted a boulder off my chest. Like I could breathe again.
I staggered back from the corridor that day, barely aware of where I was walking. My fingers were trembling. My pulse was high. I didn't eat dinner. I didn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and whispering her name like a question.
Scarlett. Who was she?
Who had she been, before they turned her into the girl I thought was my sister?
Now, a week later, I stood in the center of my chambers, the air still filled with her scent. I hadn't even realized I’d run to her room earlier. But seeing her again, after all this time...
It broke something open in me.
This was the second time I’d ever truly smelled her.
Wolves only start scenting pheromones after full maturity. I reached mine at fifteen. That’s when I started noticing her… The graceful way she walked. The softness of her voice. Her stubbornness. Her hands—those hands—callused from sword training. Not dainty, but strong.
Like a warrior.
And today?
Today, I saw the woman she had become.
Taller. Sharper. Her body had changed, but it was her presence that caught me off guard.
She wasn’t a young girl anymore. Just like I’d matured, she had as well.
Her face had new definition—cheekbones like sculpture, a carved jawline, a collarbone that peeked through the neckline of her gown when she moved. Her eyes had grown darker, clearly wiser. But this time, I had noticed something else in them. A glint of rebellion, of a life I hadn’t seen when she was fourteen.
As much as she tried to mask her emotions, it was now obvious that her coquettish act was just that. An act.
And gods help me.
I still wanted her.
I clenched my jaw, dragging a hand through my hair as I crossed the room. I needed to stop thinking about her like that.
This wasn’t right.
It would never be right.
Even if we weren’t siblings by blood.
Even if—
No.
I wouldn’t go there.
I reached into the pocket of my travel coat and pulled out the gift I’d actually brought for her. A dagger. Slim, elegant, but deadly. The sheath was stitched with red leather, the hilt engraved with twisting wolves and fire lilies.
I held it in my hands for a long moment.
It had taken me weeks to commission. I’d ordered it to be made in secret. Every piece of it chosen with care.
But now… it felt incomplete.
After what I’d heard Duke Arindale say, I needed to add something to it. Something to make it more special. Just like her.
And I had already decided what it was going to be.
- Writer
