Joolie's POV:
Another long night dragged on. Unlike the previous mornings, the sun wasn't shining. There was not even a hint of sunlight today.
As usual, the first thing I did after waking up was open the window. I always wanted to welcome the first rays of sunlight, to breathe in the gentle morning air.
"Today, there's no sun," I murmured to myself. It was supposed to be the transition period between spring and summer, yet there wasn't a single trace of sunlight. It was only six in the morning, but the sky was gloomy, as if it was on the verge of a storm. No, it felt more like a hurricane was coming. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the curtains in my room as if it wanted to rip them away. In the distance, flocks of red-eyed crows swooped low, scavenging for food, while dry branches littered the ground like gnawed bones. Occasionally, a few owls screeched as they hunted, their cries sharp and eerie.
"Miss, I'm not sure why, but the atmosphere outside is strange today! It's better if you close the window," a maid hurried into my room. She quickly walked over to where I was and closed the window tightly.
"There are always signs before a storm," I sighed. "It seems like war is drawing near. This battle is something we won't be able to avoid."
The maid didn't respond, just quietly placed a breakfast tray on the table and respectfully bowed.
"Miss Joolie, the kitchen has prepared breakfast. Would you like to come down and eat a little?"
I glanced at the tray of pastries and sighed softly. My stomach wasn't in great shape, and I never had a habit of eating sweets in the morning. Not to mention, eating was no longer something I enjoyed. Food had become just another obligation. I ate to survive, not because I cared about nutrients or flavors. Eating breakfast or skipping it made no difference to me.
"Thank you, but I don't want to eat."
"Please, you should eat a little. If you don't, I'll have a hard time explaining to the Lord," the maid pleaded, bringing the plate closer to me, her voice full of desperation.
"Miss Joolie, just take a bite. These pastries are delicious! People like me could only dream of having something like this."
"Leave it there. I'll eat it later."
"Why wait until later? Sometimes, timing makes all the difference," the maid insisted, smiling as she pushed the plate even closer to me.
I looked at her with confusion. Her words seemed to carry some hidden meaning.
The maid kept her head bowed, refusing to meet my gaze. Or perhaps she had been in that position since the moment she entered the room.
"Leave it and go. I'll eat it later."
"Just one bite," she repeated like a machine stuck on a loop, her hands still holding the dish in front of me.
"I said I'm not hungry!" Frustration simmered inside me. I only intended to push her and the plate away gently, but somehow, the dish slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor, the pastries scattering across the dusty tiles.
I stared at the mess, guilt washing over me. I was about to apologize when the maid suddenly dropped to her knees, scrambling to pick up the dirty crumbs and shoving them into her mouth.
"What are you doing?!"
"If you want more, I'll ask the kitchen to make another batch. The ones on the ground are dirty!" I tried to pull her up, but she seemed oblivious to my words, continuing her frenzied behavior.
"What the hell are you doing?" I shouted.
"Why? Can't I eat a piece of cake?" She slowly lifted her head, staring at me with a twisted smile on her lips.
When I finally saw her face, shock coursed through me. She wasn't one of Ricard's maids—this was Chantel! Yes, the woman before me was Chantel! Just like Ricard, she was someone I loathed to my core.
"Chantel… Chantel? Why… why are you here?"
The past rushed back in a torrent. Her familiar face dredged up too many unwanted memories.
Back when I was still the princess of the Snow Moon Pack, Chantel was my sworn enemy. She constantly made my life difficult, using her status as the daughter of a high-ranking official to bully me. Despite my noble position, she shamelessly tried to suppress me, flaunting the King's favor as if it gave her the right to step all over me. I was too gentle to retaliate, so I let her do as she pleased. No matter how "high" her status was, she would always be beneath me. Her petty tricks didn't affect me much.
Of course, Chantel didn't despise me without reason—both of us were in love with the same man. And no, it wasn't Ricard with his icy demeanor. The man we both adored was Thierry, Ricard's younger brother. Chantel always dreamed of becoming Thierry's mate, which was why she was constantly at odds with me.
"It's been a while, Princess Joolie. You're just as naive as ever, aren't you?" Chantel smirked and patted my shoulder mockingly.
"What do you want?"
"What do I want? You're speaking in the wrong tone. You should be thanking me instead. I'm here to tell you the truth!"
"You—"
Before I could finish, Chantel cut me off, her eyes gleaming with malice.
"Princess Joolie, do you know who killed your parents? Do you know who brought you to this pitiful state?"
"Shut up!" I screamed. I still couldn't accept the reality that my parents were dead, that I was no longer the princess of the pack. Hearing the word "princess" in Chantel's mocking tone was a dagger to my heart. Just a month ago, I had a family, a warm home, a noble status that no one could touch. But what did I have now? Nothing! And the most painful irony was that the one who destroyed everything—the one who took my parents' lives and turned me into this prisoner—was none other than the man my father trusted the most, the one he entrusted with all the responsibilities of the pack: Ricard. Yes, Ricard killed my parents, and now he was keeping me captive here!
Chantel burst out laughing, the sound grating on my ears. My expression must have been satisfying to her, because she didn't hold back. The once-proud princess reduced to this pitiful state… But she hadn't come here just to mock me. There was something else she wanted to say.
"Don't tell me you still believe Ricard killed your parents?" Chantel sneered. "Let me enlighten you. Ricard had nothing to do with their deaths. The one who drove a sword through your parents' hearts was Thierry—the man you gave your heart to!"
"Lies! Lies! How much did Ricard pay you to say such horrible things?" I hurled a glass at Chantel, the shattering sound ringing through the room. Shards of glass scattered everywhere. My face burned with rage, flushed red.
"Hah, calling you stupid isn't an exaggeration. Think about it. If Ricard really killed your parents, why would he keep you—the last one with the royal bloodline—alive? You're weak now, but what if one day you decide to stab a dagger into his chest? Would you spare the daughter of your enemy?"
Chantel stepped closer, leaning in.
"Let me tell you, Ricard saved your life! If it weren't for him, you would've died along with your parents. You were foolish to reject becoming his mate and break his heart. And who made you reject him? Ironically, it was Thierry—the very one who stole your parents' lives."
"You witch! How dare you spew such filth just to tear me and Thierry apart? Just because you want me to give up on him, you're slandering his name?" I backed away, glaring at her with a look of utter disgust and contempt. I'd sooner believe in fairytales than in Chantel's twisted story. Thierry, a brave and honorable man, killing my parents? It was a crime I couldn't imagine.
Chantel simply shrugged, unbothered by my outburst. She didn't need to argue. After all, she was just a guest here, an unwelcome one at that. Staying too long wouldn't be safe.
"If you don't believe me, go check Ricard's office. There's a letter left by Beta Jooun that reveals the truth."
With that, she turned and left, her head bowed to avoid drawing attention. She'd said what she came to say. Now it was up to me to confront the truth—whether I wanted to or not.