The Princess's Revenge Chapter 17

Valencia’s POV

He stared at me for a long moment. His face showed nothing. No anger, no concern, no warmth. Just that cold, blank expression I was starting to know too well.

The silence stretched between us. I waited. Surely he would say something. Give me some explanation for everything that had happened.

But he just turned toward the door and called out.

"Maya."

A young woman appeared almost immediately. She had mousy brown hair and kept her eyes down. She wore the plain dress of a servant.

"Yes, Alpha?"

"Take her to the room next door. Treat her wounds. Make sure she has everything she needs."

"Yes, Alpha."

Logan walked out without another word. Without even glancing back at me. The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt like a slap.

I stood there, blood still on my face, my head pounding, staring at the empty doorway.

Maya approached me carefully, like I might break. "Miss? Let me help you."

I let her guide me out of Logan's chambers and into the hallway. We stopped at the door right next door. Maya pushed it open.

My breath caught.

The room was beautiful. A large bed with soft-looking blankets dominated one wall. Real curtains hung at the windows. There was a desk, a chair, even a small fireplace with wood already stacked beside it.

Maya brought water and clean cloth. She worked gently, cleaning the blood from my face and checking my injuries.

She wrapped a bandage around my head where Amara had slammed me into the wall. Her hands were gentle, her touch careful.

"Is there anything else you need right now?"

"No. Thank you."

She left, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of sleeping on floors, in corners, in dungeons. And now I had this.

A room. A real room. With a door I could close. A bed I could sleep in. A window that looked out over mountains instead of stone walls.

I should have felt grateful. Relief. Something.

Instead, I just felt confused.

Why would Logan give me this room but refuse to answer my questions? Why save me from Amara but treat me like I didn't deserve an explanation?

What does he want from me?

The next four days passed in a strange blur.

Maya came three times a day with food. Real food. Bread that was fresh, meat that wasn't scraps, vegetables I'd only seen on masters' tables.

"Alpha Logan's orders," she said each time I tried to refuse. "You're to eat everything."

No one gave me work. No one told me what to do. I just existed in this beautiful room, eating good food, sleeping in a soft bed.

It should have been paradise.

Instead, it made me anxious. This emptiness felt wrong.

I didn't see Logan once. Not in the hallways, not in the courtyard I could see from my window. It was like he was avoiding me.

Or maybe he'd simply forgotten I existed.

On the fourth night, I lay in the comfortable bed and stared at the ceiling. The room was too quiet. Time moved too slowly.

What am I doing here? What does he want? Am I a prisoner or a guest or something else entirely?

I needed answers.

I threw off the covers and stood up. My injuries had healed enough that I could move without pain. I walked to the door and pressed my ear against it.

Silence.

I opened the door carefully. The hallway stretched in both directions, lit only by scattered torches. The stone floor was cold under my bare feet.

My heart pounded as I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

Just look around. Learn the layout. That's all.

The fourth floor seemed mostly residential. Portraits lined the walls—stern-faced Alphas and elegant Lunas from generations past. Their painted eyes followed me as I passed. I paused before the most recent portrait. A young man with sharp features and golden hair— resembling Logan, though this wasn't him. Perhaps his father in his youth, or another ancestor.

Movement on the stairs drew my attention. I descended to the third floor, hoping to familiarize myself with the castle's layout. Maybe find the kitchens, or the great hall, or—

"Watch where you're going, slave."

I jerked back as a blonde woman deliberately stepped into my path. Two others flanked her—a redhead and a brunette, both wearing the kind of fine leather armor that marked them as warriors.

The blonde's lip curled as she looked me up and down. "So you're the thing Alpha brought back."

I kept my eyes downcast, years of survival instincts kicking in. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?" The redhead cut me off. "Exist? Too late for that."

The brunette laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "Look at her collar. She's not even trying to hide what she is."

My hand moved instinctively to the iron band around my neck. I'd worn it so long, I barely noticed it anymore. But now, under their contemptuous stares, it felt like it was choking me.

"Pathetic," the blonde spat. She deliberately shoulder-checked me as she passed, sending me stumbling into the wall.

I caught myself, biting back a gasp of pain. The women continued down the hall, their laughter echoing behind them.

"Did you see her flinch?"

"Like a beaten dog."

"Can't believe she's sleeping next door to Alpha's chambers. It's disgusting."

Their voices faded, but the shame burned hot in my chest. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone wall, willing my heart to slow down.

You've dealt with worse, I reminded myself. Much worse. This is nothing.

I pushed off the wall and continued walking, determined not to let their cruelty drive me back to my room. The third-floor corridor branched in several directions. I chose the left path, following it around a corner. The air grew noticeably cooler here, and the torches were spaced farther apart. Dust covered everything. This part of the castle was obviously abandoned.

I should turn back. Find my way to the inhabited areas. But something pulled me forward—that same inexplicable curiosity that had driven me into the forest last night.

The hallway ended at a door unlike any other I'd seen in Cliffwatch. The silver door handle had oxidized to black with age. While most doors were simple, this one was beautifully carved with an intricate pattern of lavender. My breath caught.

Then I smelled it. Faint, almost imperceptible—lavender. The scent hit me like a physical blow. Suddenly I was three years old again, clutching my mother's skirts as she tended her garden. She'd loved lavender. When I couldn't sleep, she'd tuck sprigs of it under my pillow and sing me lullabies.

The memory was so vivid it hurt. I'd pushed it down for so long. But this scent... it unlocked something I'd thought I'd forgotten.

My hand reached for the door handle before I could stop it. The handle turned with surprising ease, and the door swung inward with a long, low creak.

I hesitated, looking back down the empty hallway. No one had seen me come here. I could close the door and walk away. Logan would never know.

But that lavender scent called to me. Something about it felt familiar. Safe. Like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. I stepped inside.

The darkness was absolute. I fumbled along the wall until my fingers found a torch mounted in a bracket. It took several tries with the flint beside it, but eventually, the torch sputtered to life.

Golden light spilled across the room, and I gasped.

Time had stopped here. Dust lay thick over every surface, disturbed only by my footsteps.

The room was clearly a bedchamber. A large four-poster bed dominated one wall. The fabric was silk—real silk, not the rough cotton servants used. Someone important had slept here.

I moved closer to the bed, the torchlight revealing more details. On the nightstand sat a silver hairbrush. Next to it, a small leather-bound book and a half-burned candle. Bottles of perfume, jewelry boxes, a hand mirror—all arranged as if their owner might return at any moment.

But it was the window that drew me next. Dried lavender filled the entire sill. More lavender hung in small cloth sachets from the bedposts and around the room's perimeter. Despite being decades old, they still released that haunting scent.

My mother had done the same thing. Hung lavender everywhere, claiming it brought peace and protection.

A bookshelf lined one wall, crammed with volumes on every subject imaginable. I scanned the titles—herbology, ancient history, mythology, healing arts. I moved to the desk. Quill pens. An inkwell long since dried. And there, partially hidden beneath a stack of papers—a journal.

I knew I shouldn't touch anything. But my hands moved of their own accord, reaching for the leather-bound journal.

The cover was soft with age, the gold-embossed "L" on the front still visible. I opened it, the spine cracking slightly from disuse.

The first page bore a date and a few lines of text:

Year 995, Spring

This is my third month at Cliffwatch. They still do not accept me. Because I am Lycan. Because my bloodline is "evil." But Logan needs me. My son needs his mother. I will not leave. No matter how they try to drive me away.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Logan's mother. This had been her room.

I flipped through more pages.

Year 997, Winter

Logan's wolf is becoming stronger. Knox is magnificent—so powerful for such a young child. But I fear what will happen when Axel awakens. My beautiful boy already struggles so much...

Year 1001, Autumn

I found it. After years of searching, I finally found a reference in the old texts. The prophecy speaks of "the purple-eyed child who will bridge two worlds and bring vengeance at last." If it's true, my mission is complete.

I turned the page, desperate to read more, but the rest of the journal was blank. Purple-eyed child. The words burned in my mind. My hand moved to touch my own face.

What did it mean? What’s the mission? Why had Logan's mother been researching purple eyes? Why had she seemed so desperate to find—

"What are you doing here?"

The voice cracked through the room like a whip. I spun around so fast the journal flew from my hands, hitting the floor with a thud.

Logan stood in the doorway.