Chapter 22: The Box
1066 Words
Three days felt like three years.
I spent every waking hour researching Royal bloodlines, digging through whatever archives Marcus's team had recovered. The work was tedious—faded manuscripts, crumbling genealogies, records in languages I couldn't read. But it kept me from going mad with waiting.
Marcus stayed close, handling the political fallout while keeping me grounded. Helena had been busy spreading her narrative—poor, naive Marcus, manipulated by a power-hungry pretender. Some believed her. Too many, according to Caleb.
"The council is fracturing," he reported on the second evening. "Half think we should just banish Emma to appease Helena. The other half are waiting to see which way the wind blows."
"And you?" I asked.
"I think Helena's a snake, and anyone who believes her deserves what they get." Caleb shrugged. "But I'm biased. I've seen how Marcus looks at you."
On the third afternoon, the gates announced a visitor.
Aunt Ruth looked exactly as I remembered—silver-streaked hair, sharp eyes, a frame that was small but somehow commanding. When she saw me, her composure cracked.
"Oh, Emma." She pulled me into a fierce hug. "You look so much like her."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because it's true." She pulled back, studying my silver eyes. "But you're stronger than she was. I can see it."
Marcus approached, and Aunt Ruth turned her scrutiny on him. For a long moment, they simply looked at each other—the Lycan King and my mother's sister, taking measure.
"So," Aunt Ruth said finally. "You're the one who saved my niece."
"She saved herself. I just provided the opportunity."
Aunt Ruth's eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, she smiled. "Good answer. Lyanna would have approved."
The tension broke, and I finally breathed.
"The box?" I asked.
Aunt Ruth reached into her bag and withdrew a small wooden chest, worn with age but beautifully carved with wolves and moons. "I've kept this safe for twenty years. Your mother made me swear on my life."
My hands trembled as I took it. The wood was warm, almost alive under my fingers.
"Let's take this somewhere private," Marcus suggested.
In Marcus's study, with the doors locked and guards posted, I finally opened the box.
Inside, wrapped in faded silk, lay treasures I'd never known existed.
A locket containing a tiny portrait—my mother, young and radiant, her silver eyes gleaming. A man beside her I didn't recognize, with dark hair and a gentle smile.
"That's your grandfather," Aunt Ruth said softly. "King Edmund Silvermoon. The last acknowledged Royal."
My grandfather was a king. The knowledge settled over me like a crown I'd never asked for.
Beneath the locket lay documents—yellowed papers covered in elegant script. Birth certificates. Marriage records. A family tree that traced back centuries, each branch marked with silver ink.
"This proves everything," I breathed. "My mother's lineage, her marriage to my father, my birth—"
"Keep looking," Aunt Ruth said. "There's more."
At the bottom of the box, wrapped separately, was a sealed envelope. My name was written on it in my mother's handwriting.
I stared at it, unable to move.
"She wrote that the day before she died," Aunt Ruth said. "Made me promise you'd read it when you were ready."
"Am I ready?"
Marcus's hand covered mine. "You're the strongest person I know, Emma. Whatever's in there, you can handle it."
I broke the seal.
My dearest Emma,
If you're reading this, then the worst has happened. I'm gone, and you've finally learned the truth about what you are. I'm so sorry, my love. I wanted to tell you myself. I wanted to watch you grow into the incredible woman I know you'll become. But some things aren't within our control.
You are a Royal Lycan—the last of the Silvermoon line. Your grandfather was King Edmund, my father, who ruled the Lycans before the unification. When the kingdom was reorganized under Marcus's grandfather, our family lost political power but kept our bloodline pure. I was raised in hiding, always knowing I was different, always afraid.
I don't want that fear for you.
Your power isn't a curse, Emma. It's a gift. The silver eyes, the strength, the connection to the moon—these are your birthright. Don't let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are. Not your father, who I know will try to suppress you (forgive him, he acts from fear). Not the world, which will fear what it doesn't understand. And not the enemies who may one day come for you, as they came for me.
I see such fire in you, my daughter. Even as a child, you had a spirit that couldn't be contained. Hold onto that. Let it burn bright, no matter how dark the world gets.
One more thing. The man you're meant for—your true mate—won't be easy. The Royal line is drawn to power, to strength, to those who can match us. When you find him (and you will, I'm certain), don't be afraid to love him. Don't let my fate make you afraid of happiness. Love is always a risk. But for us, my darling, it's the only thing worth fighting for.
I love you, Emma. I always will. And wherever I am, I'm watching over you, proud of the woman you're becoming.
Your mother, Lyanna Silvermoon
Tears streamed down my face.
All these years, I'd thought my mother died of weakness. But she'd been strong—so strong she'd given up everything to protect me. And even in death, she'd left me exactly what I needed.
"Emma." Marcus pulled me into his arms, and I let myself break against him.
"She knew," I sobbed. "She knew about you. About everything."
"She wanted you to find love. To be happy."
"I am." I looked up at him through tears. "I am happy. With you."
He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. "Then we honor her memory by protecting what we have. These documents prove your lineage beyond any doubt. Helena's challenge is over."
"What happens now?"
"Now we make this official." His eyes held mine. "Emma Clarke, daughter of Lyanna Silvermoon, last of the Royal line—will you stand beside me? Not as my companion, but as my queen?"
The question I'd been waiting for without knowing it.
"Yes," I whispered. "A thousand times yes."
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