Seventeen years ago
Lord Alfred held Penelope tightly, his heart racing as the sound of footsteps drew closer. The hunters were near. He quickly hid.
"The witch has escaped!" one of the hunters shouted.
"She must've jumped," another hunter said, peering over the edge of the cliff.
"There's no way she'll survive the fall. We should inform the king that she's dead," the first hunter added, and they all turned to leave.
Once they were gone, Lord Alfred emerged from his hiding place, Penelope still peacefully sleeping in his arms. He moved quietly, carefully making his way back to the castle.
Upon his return, he found Lady Eleanor standing in the hallway, her face pale and streaked with tears, her gown stained with something dark.
With a heavy heart, Lord Alfred placed Penelope gently on the bed and walked toward his wife. "What happened, Eleanor?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"Don't come any closer," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Not only did you betray me, but now you bring this child into our home."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, confusion clouding his features.
"Our baby is gone," she whispered, wiping her eyes with trembling hands.
Lord Alfred's stomach tightened. "Please, you have to tell them that you are the mother of that child," he urged softly.
"Why would I do that?" she retorted, her voice filled with bitterness. "Why would I help you after everything?"
"Our child just died and the only thing you care about is her"
Lord Alfred could not alter a word.
She paused for a long moment, her eyes flashing with something cold.
"I will do it," she said as picked up the child"
I will make your life miserable she said to herself
---
**Present Day**
"She's too young to be celebrated, or to find a mate, my lord," Lady Eleanor said dismissively, her voice sharp.
"She's almost seventeen " Lord Alfred replied firmly. "She's not supposed to have her wolf yet, but she does."Lord Alfred said proudly
"She's strong, she's your daughter you should be happy for her" he added
Lady Eleanor scoffed. "She is your daughter, not mine," she snapped, the words laced with disdain.
At that moment, Penelope, who had been eavesdropping, felt something shift inside her. A realization hit her hard—Lady Eleanor was not her mother. She stood frozen, shocked, though not angry. She had always known something was off, but now the truth was clear.
Penelope had always felt different from her siblings. With her fiery red hair and deep ocean-blue eyes, she stood out among them. Her siblings both had dark hair and brown eyes. She had never looked like them, and until now, she hadn't fully understood why.
Her mind was racing. *Who is my mother?* The question consumed her thoughts.
Needing to clear her head, Penelope walked aimlessly into the garden, her steps uncertain as her mind whirled. She sat down on a stone bench, gazing up at the sky, hoping for some clarity.
As she sat lost in thought, Cressida passed by. Penelope and Cressida had never gotten along. Cressida always seemed to look down on her for reasons Penelope couldn't understand.
"Your gown does look good on you, Cressida," Penelope said, offering a strained smile, trying to keep the peace.
Cressida paused, then turned to look Penelope up and down with an arrogant smile. "I wish I could say the same for you," she replied, her voice dripping with disdain.
Penelope glanced down at her attire—a pair of well-worn leather trousers, a simple shirt, and sturdy boots. She had never enjoyed dressing like a lady. She preferred practical clothes, the kind that suited her adventurous spirit.
"I love my clothes," Penelope said, her tone defensive.
"I'm sure you do," Cressida replied, dismissing her with a scoff. Without another word, she walked away.
"This what I get for being nice," Penelope said out loud.
*So rude,* Penelope thought bitterly, watching her sister's retreating figure.
*I wish she'd trip on that ridiculous gown,* Penelope muttered under her breath.
And, almost as if the world had heard her wish, Cressida stumbled and fell, her dress tangling with the ground. Penelope couldn't help but let out a laugh, the sound light but full of relief, as she turned and walked away.
Cressida, red-faced and furious, quickly stood and stormed off, undoubtedly heading straight to Lady Eleanor to complain.
As Penelope walked away from the garden, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled deep within her. The truth about Lady Eleanor not being her mother had unsettled her, and the question of her true mother now loomed larger than ever. She didn't know where to turn, or who to trust.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see her brother, Anthony, approaching. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the same dark hair and brown eyes as their father. They were close, and that made Penelope feel both comforted and alienated at the same time.
"Are you all right?" Anthony asked, his voice softer than usual. His gaze flicked toward the garden where Cressida had disappeared, then back to Penelope.
She nodded, though the words caught in her throat. "I'm fine."
Anthony studied her for a moment, sensing something was off. "You don't look fine. What's going on?"
Penelope hesitated. Though she always confided in Anthony, she had never felt as distant from him as she did now. He and Cressida had always been closer, their bond solid in a way that Penelope never quite understood. But now, she needed to talk to someone—he was the only one she could trust.
"I… I overheard something today," she began, her voice trembling. "Lady Eleanor… she's not my mother, Anthony."
His brow furrowed, and for a long moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense, until he finally spoke. "I thought you knew."
Penelope blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
Anthony sighed and glanced around, ensuring no one else was nearby. Then, lowering his voice, he continued. "I've known for years. Everyone in the castle knows. But it's not something we talk about."
Penelope's heart pounded. "But… why didn't anyone tell me?"
He gave a small, rueful smile. "You never asked. And Father…"
*How could I have asked such a silly question?* Penelope thought to herself. *If Lady Eleanor was truly my mother, I would have known.*
Anthony hesitated, then met her gaze. "He's always been protective of you. He thought you should discover the truth for yourself when you were ready."
Penelope's mind raced. The world she had known seemed to be crumbling, shifting beneath her feet. "So, you knew? All these years and no one told me?" Her voice cracked with the weight of the revelation.
Anthony nodded quietly. "It's not an easy thing to explain. There are… things about your real mother, things I don't fully understand myself. But I do know that she's not Lady Eleanor."
Penelope's thoughts spun wildly. She had so many questions, but the answers felt just out of reach, clouded by years of silence and secrecy. The bitter truth was too much to process.
She couldn't ask more questions. The truth hurt too much.
Without saying another word, Penelope turned and walked back to her room. She didn't need to hear more. She just wanted to be alone.
Once inside her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her mind overwhelmed.
A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. She sat up straight as her father entered the room.
Worry was written all over his face.
"Penelope," he called softly, his voice heavy.
Penelope knew that Anthony must have told him what she had overheard. She didn't feel ready to confront him, but there was no avoiding it.
"Father…" Penelope started, but the words caught in her throat.
Lord Alfred's gaze softened as he looked at his daughter, the concern in his eyes clear. "There are things you need to know, Penelope. Things I should have told you long ago."
Penelope felt a lump rise in her throat. "What things?"
Lord Alfred's eyes seemed distant, lost in thought. "It's time for you to learn the truth about your mother. I've kept it from you because I didn't want you to feel like you didn't belong in this family."
Penelope swallowed hard, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. "I need to know. I need to know who she is. Or who she was."
---
"Your mother…" he began, pausing as if struggling to find the right words. "Your real mother, Penelope, was someone I loved deeply. But circumstances were… complicated."
Penelope listened intently, her heart hammering in her chest. "What happened?"
Lord Alfred hesitated, his expression troubled. He was careful, cautious—he didn't want to reveal everything. He couldn't.
He didn't want to say that her mother was a witch. No one truly knew who she had been. Now that Penelope's wolf had awakened, he was relieved. She had taken after him, and he was glad that she was safe. There was no way she could be a witch.
"Father…" Penelope called softly, noticing that her father had drifted away in his thoughts.
Lord Alfred blinked, then met her gaze. "I fell in love with your mother when I was still married to Lady Eleanor. The Moon chose her as my mate, and we could not be together. She had to leave."
Penelope felt her stomach twist with confusion and anger. *The Moon chose her?* she thought bitterly. *Why can't we choose who we love?*
"So, Lady Eleanor… isn't my real mother?" Penelope asked, her voice almost trembling as she pieced everything together.
Lord Alfred looked away, avoiding her gaze. "No, she isn't. But she did love you, Penelope. She did her best to be your mother."
Penelope's heart ached with the weight of the words. "That's why she hates me?" she said, almost as if she were asking herself.
Lord Alfred looked at her, his face sorrowful. "She doesn't hate you. She just hasn't gotten over the circumstances of your birth."
Penelope's chest tightened. *Seventeen years is enough time to forgive,* she thought bitterly. *She must hate me.*
"So, where is my mother?" Penelope asked, her voice shaky.
"I don't know," Lord Alfred replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could tell you. But one thing I do know is that she loved you, Penelope. She loved you more than anything." Lord Alfred replied his mind drifting to the last time he saw her.
He cannot disclose Penelope biological mother's identity to her.
He does not want her at risk.
Penelope's thoughts swirled with a storm of emotions—shock, anger, sorrow, and something else she couldn't quite identify. The woman she had called mother for so long was not the one who had given her life, and the truth about her real mother was still shrouded in mystery.
But one thing was clear: her journey was far from over. The answers she sought were out there, and at that moment, Penelope knew one thing for certain: she would do anything to find her mother.