Page 22 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
Maya’s expression shifts slightly. “Elina. She’s one of his lieutenants.”
“She touched him like she had the right,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I wanted them to. “And I felt...” I struggle once again to name the emotion.
“Jealous?” Maya supplies gently.
I nod, embarrassed by the admission. “I don’t understand why. I’m so confused.” I can’t find the words to explain the baffling tangle of emotions Erik stirs in me.
Maya guides me to a comfortable reading nook by one of the tall windows. “Those are valid feelings. There’s no rush to figure them all out. You’ve been through so much, Fiona. Give yourself time.”
I look at the queen. “I want to be like her,” I say suddenly. “Like Elina. She’s so confident. So sure of herself and her place here. I want to understand this world, to catch up on everything I’ve missed. I want to belong here.”
Maya’s eyes soften. “You already do, Fiona. But if you want to learn, I’ll help you. We can start with books about our history,our customs. About shifters and what it means to be one. About anything you want to know.”
“Really?” Hope flutters in my chest.
“Really,” she confirms with a smile. “Your ability to remember and understand quickly will be a tremendous advantage. We can help you catch up on all the years you missed.”
I glance at the thousands of books surrounding us. “I want to know everything.”
Maya laughs, the sound bright and genuine. “I guess we’d better get started, then.”
As she begins selecting books from the shelves, explaining their contents and significance, I feel something new taking root inside me. Not just hope, but purpose. I may not fully understand what freedom means or how to navigate this new world I’ve been thrust into, but I know this: I refuse to remain a victim. I will learn. I will grow. I will become strong.
Chapter 4
Erik
I watch her from the entrance to the library, careful to stay hidden behind the massive oak doors. Fiona sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books that tower over her small frame. Her fingers trail across the pages with reverence, as if each word is a treasure she has been denied her entire life. In many ways, that’s exactly what they are.
Two months. That’s how long she’s been here. Sometimes it feels like she arrived yesterday, trembling and feral and terrified of her own shadow. Other times, when I catch her like this—absorbed in learning, her face alight with discovery—it seems like she has always belonged in these halls.
Her capacity to learn is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Maya tells me it’s extraordinary—not just her perfect recall, but her ability to synthesize information, to make connections where others might miss them. In eight weeks, she has devoured entire sections of the library. History. Science. Literature. Culture. Everything she was denied for twenty years.
She turns a page, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The gesture is so normal, so casual, that it makes my chestache. Her hair has been growing, and she won’t let Maya cut it. From here, she looks like any young woman enjoying a book. But I know better. I know what lies beneath the loose sweaters she always wears, even in the warmth of the palace.
Scars. So many scars.
I saw them that first night—evidence of torture I still can’t bring myself to imagine. She doesn’t know I’ve seen them since. Doesn’t know that three weeks ago, I passed her quarters late at night and found her door slightly ajar. I should have kept walking. I didn’t.
She was standing before a mirror, her back to the door, examining her reflection with detached curiosity. She lifted her shirt, exposing the latticework of raised tissue across her torso. Methodical cuts, too precise to be anything but intentional. She traced them with her fingertips, her expression not one of horror or grief, but of analytical distance—as if studying artifacts from someone else’s life.
I slipped away before she could sense me. I haven’t been able to erase the image from my mind ever since.
“Commander Wild.”
The voice pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to find Darrens, one of my newest recruits, standing at attention.
“The scouting reports from the eastern border are ready for your review, sir.”
“I’ll be there shortly,” I reply, my voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath.
As Darrens retreats, I cast one last glance at Fiona. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t sensed my presence. Good. It’s better this way.
Better that I keep my distance.
“You’re an idiot,” Griffin says bluntly, refilling his glass with amber liquid that catches the firelight.
We sit in his private study, the hour late enough that most of the palace has retired for the night. My brother’s candor is something I’ve always valued, but tonight it grates against my already raw nerves.
