Chapter 30 Riley
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Riley
I was freezing my ass off.
I’d been in wolf form for what felt like hours, my white fur doing absolutely nothing to protect me from the bitter cold of Duskmere’s winter. Snow crunched under my paws. Ice crystals formed on my whiskers. My breath came out in visible puffs that dissipated into the frigid air.
What a day to be alive.
Not.
After Caelan ripped me apart in front of the entire court, after he stood there with his cold, dead eyes and called our bond a mistake, a temporary fascination, a moment of weakness, I couldn’t stay in that castle for another second.
The humiliation was suffocating. The betrayal was devastating.
The way he said “the child will be provided for” while looking at me with absolutely no emotion on his face, that was the thing that broke me.
I ran. Out of the throne room, past the gossiping nobles who were already whispering behind their hands, through corridors I barely recognized, until I found a door that led outside.
The winter hit me hard. But I didn’t care. I shifted, my wolf coming easier now, responding to my desperate need to escape, and I ran.
I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t have a plan. Some vague idea of finding the portal, getting back to the human world, disappearing forever. Starting over where no one knew me, where no one could hurt me, where I could pretend none of this had ever happened.
But the tears and heartbreak had added to the dizziness and sickness that were already plaguing me, and I was stumbling more than running, my paws tripping over roots and rocks hidden beneath the snow.
I was weak, pregnant, sad, and lost. Great combination for a dramatic escape through a frozen forest I didn’t know.
I’d been running for maybe twenty minutes when I heard paws behind me.
My wolf went on high alert, hackles rising, a growl building in my throat. I spun to face whatever threat was approaching, ready to fight even though I could barely stand. If Caelan had sent guards after me, if he thought he could just drag me back and lock me up...
But then I caught the scent, familiar and safe. Thessa.
A gray wolf emerged from the trees, smaller than my form but faster, more agile. Thessa circled me once, nudged my flank with her nose, and then set off in a different direction. Follow me, the gesture said.
I didn’t have the energy to argue. I followed.
Thessa led me through the forest for another hour, navigating paths that I never would have found on my own. The cold seeped into my bones. My legs trembled with exhaustion. But I kept moving, following the gray shape ahead of me, trusting her even when I didn’t trust myself.
Eventually, we emerged into a clearing where a cabin stood, large and well-maintained from the outside, surrounded by frozen gardens that hinted at summer beauty.
Thessa shifted back, grabbed a key from under a decorative stone, and opened the door.
“Get inside before you freeze to death,” she said. “There should be clothes in the bedroom.”
I shifted and stumbled, catching myself on the doorframe, naked and shivering and too broken to care about modesty. Thessa wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and guided me to a chair by a cold fireplace.
“I need to go back, get supplies, let my family know where we are.” Thessa paused, crouching to meet my eyes. “I know you’re thinking about running the moment I leave. Don’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because this is the Mirabelle lake house.”
I went still.
“My mother gave me the keys,” Thessa continued.
“I was planning to bring you here before... everything happened. This was your family’s property.
The only one that survived the fire. The queen kept it exactly as it was, hoping that someday.
..” She trailed off. “Anyway. It’s yours now.
And there might be things here, memories, belongings, that you’ll want to see. ”
My eyes filled with tears again. I was so tired of crying. I’d been crying for days, and every time I thought I was done, my body found more tears to produce.
“Stay,” Thessa said softly. “Please. I’ll be back soon.”
She left.
And I stayed.
I started a fire.
It took me three tries because my hands were shaking too badly, and I hadn’t started a fire from actual wood in years, but eventually the kindling caught and flames began to lick at the logs. Warmth spread slowly through the room, chasing away the worst of the chill.
Three tries to start a fire. My wolf ancestors were probably howling with embarrassment somewhere. Some powerful white wolf I was turning out to be.
But small victories. I could start a fire. I could survive. The bar was low, but I was clearing it.
There were clothes in the bedroom, a woman’s clothes, my mother’s clothes, I realized with a jolt that made my chest tight. They were hanging in a wardrobe, waiting for their owner to return. I ran my fingers over soft fabrics, lifted sleeves to my nose and tried to catch a lingering scent.
There was nothing. It had been too long. Obviously. I don’t know what I was expecting. Some kind of magical motherly perfume that survived two decades in an abandoned cabin? Pathetic.
But I chose a cozy dress anyway. Pulled it over my head and wrapped my arms around myself, pretending that I was hugging her, that she was here, that I wasn’t completely alone.
Goddess, I was a mess.
The cabin was huge, much bigger than it looked from outside.
Multiple bedrooms, a large kitchen, a library, a living area with windows overlooking a frozen lake.
Everything was dusty, covered in years of neglect, cobwebs in corners, a fine layer of grime on every surface.
No one had been here in probably twenty years.
The Mirabelles apparently didn’t believe in minimalism. Or cleaning services.
But beneath the dust, I could see what it once was: antique furniture, faded paintings on the walls, books with cracked spines. A home. My home, the home I’d forgotten.
I was sorting through more clothes in one of the bedrooms when Thessa returned.
“Here.” Thessa thrust a small vial into my hands. “Drink this. All of it.”
I stared at the silvery liquid. “You know, in the human world, we have a saying about not drinking mysterious liquids that strangers hand you.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m your sister-in-law.” Thessa paused. “Sort of. Drink it.”
I didn’t argue further. At this point, what was the worst that could happen?
I uncorked the vial and swallowed the silvery liquid inside.
It tasted like nothing, no flavor at all, but within seconds, I felt it working.
The dizziness that had been plaguing me for days started to fade.
The nausea settled. The weakness in my limbs receded.
I felt better. Actually better. For the first time in weeks.
“What was that?”
“Medicine.” Thessa’s expression was complicated, guarded in a way I hadn’t seen from her before. “For an illness that was making you sick. You should feel much improved now.”
“An illness,” I repeated flatly. “And you just happened to have the cure.”
“It’s a long story.” Thessa sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with careful eyes. “Listen. I’m not going to defend my brother. What he did was awful, cruel, and unforgivable.”
My jaw tightened. “Good. Because I don’t want to hear it.”
“But.” Thessa held up a hand. “He didn’t do it because he doesn’t love you. He had a reason. A pressuring, valid, life-or-death reason. And when you’re feeling better, when you’re ready, you should hear him out.”
“I don’t want to hear anything from him ever again.”
“I know. I’m just asking you not to hate him completely. Not yet. Not until you know everything.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that I had every right to hate him, that he humiliated me in front of the entire court, that he rejected our bond and our child without even flinching. That I had trusted him with everything I had and he’d thrown it back in my face in front of hundreds of people.
But Thessa’s eyes were sincere. And I was too exhausted to fight her on this.
“I’m not promising anything,” I said finally.
“I’m not asking you to.” Thessa stood. “Now. Would you like to learn about your family?”
I would. Goddess help me, I would.
We spent the next three days exploring the cabin.
And by “exploring,” I mean I turned into an emotional disaster zone who cried over literally everything. A dusty teacup? Tears. A faded curtain? More tears. A creaky floorboard that might have once held my tiny childhood feet? Full-on sobbing.
It was pathetic. I was pathetic. But I couldn’t stop.
I found my father’s study on the second day, a room filled with books and maps and scientific instruments I’d never seen before, all layered in dust. There was a portrait on the wall of a man with dark hair and kind eyes, a serious expression softened by laugh lines. Torven Mirabelle. My father.
I stared at him for a long time, trying to find pieces of myself in his face: the shape of my eyes, the curve of my jaw, anything that connected me to this stranger who had loved me, protected me, died trying to keep me safe.
He looked kind. He looked the type of dad who would make terrible jokes and embarrass you in front of your friends and love you so fiercely it hurt.
I wouldn’t know. I’d never gotten the chance to find out.
In the kitchen, I discovered my mother’s handwriting. A recipe book, filled with notes and adjustments, splattered with old stains from long-ago cooking experiments. “Add more honey, Torven has a sweet tooth.” “Riley’s favorite, make for her birthday.”
Riley’s favorite.
I was mentioned by name. I existed here, in this house, in this family. I was loved. Someone had made my favorite food for my birthday. Someone had cared enough to write it down.
I didn’t even know what my favorite food was. I couldn’t remember. Twenty-one years had stolen that from me, along with everything else.
The tears came again, but they were different this time. Less bitter. More healing.