The morning air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of damp stone and blooming roses from the palace gardens. Celine sat stiffly at the long dining table in the royal hall, staring at the untouched plate of food before her.
Three days had passed since she had arrived at the palace. Three days of suffocating etiquette lessons, forced civility, and constant reminders that she did not belong here.
And now, she was expected to have breakfast with the people who had abandoned her.
King Alaric sat at the head of the table, regal and unreadable as always. Across from her, Queen Helena moved with a quiet grace, sipping her tea, her gaze flicking toward Celine every so often as if waiting for her to speak.
Celine didn't.
A servant hesitantly refilled her goblet with a rich golden wine, but she ignored it. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," the king finally said, cutting into the silence with a measured tone.
Celine lifted a brow. "I wasn't aware I was expected to perform at breakfast."
A sharp inhale came from one of the attendants standing by the wall. The queen lowered her cup, a flicker of amusement passing through her eyes before she hid it behind a neutral expression.
Alaric, however, simply leaned back in his chair, studying her. "A sharp tongue won't serve you well."
Celine gave him a saccharine smile. "Neither will an empty stomach." She gestured vaguely to her plate, which, despite the extravagant spread, remained untouched. "Though I suppose it's fitting. I wasn't exactly raised to dine with kings, after all."
The queen exhaled slowly, setting her goblet down. "Celine…"
Celine braced herself, expecting another, This is your home now speech.
Instead, the queen's voice softened. "We are trying."
For the first time, something in Celine hesitated.
But before she could form a response, a steward entered the hall, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, the royal advisor has gathered the council for Princess Celine's induction into court. He awaits her in the Great Hall."
Celine blinked.
Oh, right. The princess training.
Because apparently, surviving Ravenshire hadn't been enough.
She pushed her chair back with deliberate slowness, glancing at her so-called parents. "Well. Duty calls."
The king only nodded, already returning his attention to his meal.
The queen, however, watched her with an expression Celine couldn't quite place.
Something between regret… and hope.
She ignored the way it made her chest tighten.
The Great Hall was massive, its high ceilings adorned with shimmering chandeliers and banners displaying the royal crest. But Celine barely had time to admire it before a sharp, clipped voice sliced through the air.
"You're late."
Celine turned to see an older man standing near the center of the room, his robes pristine, his silver-rimmed spectacles perched low on his nose. His sharp eyes flicked over her as if assessing every flaw.
Lord Edric. The royal advisor.
Celine folded her arms. "I wasn't aware I was on a schedule."
"You are always on a schedule, Your Highness," he said, motioning to the others in the hall, several noble figures, high-ranking officials, and an assortment of tutors who all stared at her as if waiting for her to fail.
Celine exhaled through her nose. This is going to be a long day.
It was worse than she had imagined.
By midday, she had sat through a lecture on the kingdom's noble hierarchy because apparently, knowing which self-important noble had the biggest ego was vital information, she suffered through etiquette training where an elderly woman slapped her wrist every time she picked up the wrong fork, and endured a painfully dull history lesson on the great wars of the werewolf kingdoms.
By the time she was ushered into the palace gardens for a break, she was ready to fling herself into a rosebush.
"You look like you're plotting someone's demise," a familiar voice murmured.
Celine turned to find Queen Helena standing beside her, hands clasped in front of her elegant gown.
"Not someone," Celine muttered, stretching her fingers. "Just… a very specific etiquette instructor."
The queen hummed in amusement. "Lady Agnes has trained every royal for three generations. She is thorough."
"She's vicious," Celine corrected. "I think she enjoys making people suffer."
The queen actually smiled at that, though it was brief.
They stood in silence for a moment, the afternoon breeze stirring through,
Then, unexpectedly, the queen spoke.
"When we realized you 'our only daughter' had been swapped with whom we have lived believing she was our princes, the kingdom was immediately thrown into chaos. Your father, the King and I searched relentlessly, sending knights and spies across the land, questioning every midwife and healer, but the trail had gone cold. I wept for my lost daughter but the King never gave up, time passed. And then, eighteen years later, fate has finally led you back to us.."
Celine's breath hitched.
The queen's gaze softened. "I don't expect you to forgive us, Celine. But I need you to know… I have never stopped searching for you."
Something twisted in Celine's chest.
A response was on the tip of her tongue, something sharp, something meant to keep distance between them.
But before she could speak, a guard approached, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness, the king requests the princess's presence immediately."
Celine's brows furrowed. "Why?"
The guard hesitated. "He… wishes to test her strength."
Celine's stomach dropped.
The royal training grounds were located behind the palace, a sprawling courtyard lined with weapon racks and sparring rings.
King Alaric stood at the center, watching as a group of warriors trained in formation.
When Celine arrived, he barely spared her a glance.
"Choose a weapon," he said, motioning to the racks.
Celine stared at Him. "Excuse me?"
"You wish to remain in this palace," the king continued, his tone calm but firm. "You will prove that you are worthy of your place here. Choose a weapon."
Celine clenched her jaw. "I wasn't raised as a warrior."
"Then you should learn quickly," he said, finally turning to her. "Because in this world, weakness will get you killed."
The air between them grew heavy.
Celine glanced at the weapons.
A sword felt too bulky. A spear too long.
Her fingers brushed over a pair of daggers.
Something about them felt right.
She picked one up, the weight surprisingly comfortable in her hands.
King Alaric nodded once before turning to a waiting warrior. "Spar with her."
Celine barely had time to protest before the man lunged.
Instinct took over.
She dodged, fast. Faster than she should have been able to.
Gasps echoed around the courtyard.
Celine barely noticed.
Because something inside her had awakened.
Her pulse thundered. Her breath came quicker. Her grip tightened on the dagger, a thrill running through her veins.
The warrior came at her again, but this time, she anticipated his movements.
She moved without thinking.
A swift dodge, a pivot, then she struck.
The dagger sliced cleanly through the air, stopping just before his throat.
Silence.
Then, King Alaric spoke.
"Interesting."
Celine barely heard him over the pounding of her own heart.
Something was wrong.
She felt too strong. Too fast.
She dropped the dagger, staring at her hands.
They were shaking.
Her nails, just for a second, had darkened at the tips.
Her breath caught.
'What the hell is happening to me?'