The Princess's Revenge Chapter 20

Valencia's POV

The wind howled through the trees, but I didn't feel cold. But as the hours passed, other problems became clear.

My stomach cramped with hunger. My mouth felt dry despite the snow everywhere. And exhaustion pulled at my limbs like weights.

I needed to find shelter. Food. Water. Here, there was nothing but snow and trees and mountains that seemed to stretch forever into the grey sky.

By afternoon, the snowfall had turned into a proper storm. I could barely see three feet in front of me. The wind howled through the trees, making them creak and groan like they were in pain.

I remembered what my mother had taught me about survival. "Find bark from birch trees," she'd said. "You can eat it if you have to. And snow—you can melt it for water, but don't eat too much at once or it'll make you sick."

I found a tree with pale bark and used my fingernails to scrape some off. It was harder than I expected, and my fingers started bleeding. When I finally got enough to try eating, I put a piece in my mouth.

The taste made me gag immediately. Bitter and woody and wrong. I forced myself to chew anyway, to swallow. My stomach cramped in protest, and moments later, I was on my knees in the snow, vomiting up the bark and what little remained in my stomach from yesterday.

I knelt there, shaking, my hands pressed into the snow.

This was a mistake. I'm going to die out here.

The thought came unbidden, and with it, a wave of despair so strong it nearly crushed me.

I thought of Mistmarsh. Of the beatings, yes. The starvation. But also the familiar rhythm of survival. I'd known what to expect there. Known how to navigate the cruelty.

This was different. This was nature, indifferent and deadly.

And if I died here, I would never find Kai. The thought of my brother hit me like a physical blow.

"I can't die here," I whispered to the falling snow. "I can't."

The storm grew worse as evening approached. Even though I couldn't feel the cold the way others did, my body was beginning to shake. Not from temperature, but from exhaustion and hunger and the beginning stages of hypothermia that my strange constitution could only delay, not prevent entirely.

I stumbled through the deepening snow, my vision blurring. My foot caught on a hidden root, and I went down hard. Pain shot through my knee, but I barely felt it through the numbness spreading through my limbs.

Get up, I ordered myself. Get up or you'll die here.

But my body wouldn't obey. The snow was actually comfortable. Soft. Like a bed.

My eyes started to close.

Then I saw her.

My mother stood in the distance, her form hazy through the falling snow. She was smiling, reaching out her hand to me.

"Mama?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"Come, Valencia. It's time to rest."

No. Some part of my mind—the part that was still rational—knew this was a hallucination. A trick of my dying brain.

But another part wanted so badly to take her hand. To let go.

Then, cutting through the storm and my fading consciousness, came a sound that made my eyes snap open.

A howl. Powerful and wild.

It wasn't close, but it was real. That sound anchored me back to reality, to my body lying in the snow.

Move. You have to move.

I dug my fingers into the snow and pulled myself forward. Then again. My mother's image faded, replaced by the harsh reality of the storm.

I don't know how long I crawled. Time lost all meaning. But eventually, I saw it—a dark opening in the rocks ahead. A cave.

I dragged myself inside and collapsed just past the entrance, gasping for breath. The cave smelled of earth and something else. Something animal.

When I could finally lift my head and look around, my blood went cold.

Claw marks. Fresh ones, carved deep into the stone walls. And there, in the dirt—paw prints. Huge ones.

A bear. This was a bear's den.

I had two choices: stay here and possibly be killed by a bear, or go back out into the storm and definitely freeze to death.

I chose the bear.

I gathered what dry branches I could find near the cave entrance and dragged them inside. I arranged them across the opening—not a barrier, but a warning system. If something large came in, the branches would make noise.

Then I found a sharp stone and gripped it tight in my bleeding hand. It was a pathetic weapon, but it was all I had.

I pressed myself against the back wall of the cave and waited.

Every sound made me jump. The wind howling outside. Small rocks falling from the cave ceiling. My own rapid breathing.

I thought about Logan, suddenly. About how he spent every full moon fighting his own battle. Alone. In pain. Terrified of what he might become.

Is this what it feels like? I wondered. This constant fear? This exhausted vigilance?

At least I only had to survive three days. He had to do this every month for his entire life.

The thought gave me strength somehow. If he could endure that, I could endure this.

I didn't sleep that night. Just sat there, clutching my stone, watching the cave entrance, waiting for dawn.

When the first grey light of morning finally appeared, I almost cried with relief. I'd made it through one night.

Two more to go.

I ventured carefully out of the cave, scanning for any signs of the bear. Nothing. The storm had passed, leaving behind a world transformed by fresh snow.

And there, just outside the cave entrance, I saw something strange.

The snow around the cave had been disturbed. Not by me—I'd crawled straight in last night and hadn't moved since. These were different tracks, circling the cave entrance.

I bent down to look closer, but the prints were unclear. Too large for a wolf, too small for a bear. And there was something odd about them, like they'd been deliberately obscured.

Someone was here, I realized. Or something.

But what? And why hadn't it come into the cave?

I shook my head, pushing the mystery aside. I had more immediate problems. Like food.

My stomach cramped painfully, reminding me that I'd vomited up everything yesterday. I needed to eat something. Anything.

I spent the morning trying to make a trap for rabbits, using techniques I'd seen the hunters use back in Moonfall Ridge. But my hands were clumsy with cold and hunger, and the trap fell apart three times before I gave up.

Then I saw it—a rabbit, not twenty feet away, nibbling on something beneath the snow.

I froze, hardly daring to breathe. If I could catch it, I'd have meat. Real food.

I lunged.

The rabbit bolted. Of course it did. The rabbit disappeared into the underbrush in seconds.

I stood there in the snow, watching it go, and felt something inside me break.

I sank to my knees and cried. Not dramatic sobs—just tears running hot down my frozen cheeks. Tears for everything I wasn't. Everything I could never be.

If I had a wolf, I could have caught that rabbit easily. If I had a pack, someone would have taught me to hunt properly. If I was anything but what I was—wolfless, broken, useless—I wouldn't be here at all.

The tears froze on my face. I wiped them away roughly.

Crying won't fill your stomach, I told myself. I stood up, brushed the snow from my dress, and started thinking.

I didn't have a wolf's speed or strength. But I had something else. The ability to use tools. To think strategically.

I just had to figure out how.

Around midday, I found a small stream. Most of it was frozen, but I could hear water running beneath the ice.

Fish, I thought. There might be fish.

I found a heavy rock and slammed it down on the ice. Pain shot through my hands as the impact jarred my arms, but the ice cracked. I hit it again. And again.

Finally, it broke through.

Dark water swirled below. And there—a flash of silver. Fish.

I looked around until I found a straight branch. I used a sharp rock to whittle one end into a point. It took forever, and I cut my palm badly in the process, but eventually I had something resembling a spear.

Then I waited by the broken ice, spear raised, watching for movement.

The first fish that passed, I missed completely. The second one, I stabbed at too late. The third time, I adjusted my timing, aimed for where the fish would be rather than where it was—

And I got it.

The fish thrashed on my spear, and I quickly pulled it onto the ice before it could escape. It was small, barely the length of my hand, but it was food.

Real food.

I knew I should make fire, cook it properly. But I was too hungry to wait. I used my sharp rock to scale it, to gut it, then forced myself to eat it raw.

The taste made me gag. Raw fish was slimy and awful and nothing like any food I'd ever eaten. But I swallowed it down, piece by piece, until nothing remained but bones.

Then I caught another one. And another.

By the time the sun started to set, I'd eaten three small fish and felt stronger than I had all day.

I did it.

I was heading back to the cave, feeling almost hopeful, when I heard it.

A low growl behind me.

I turned slowly, my blood turning to ice in my veins.

Three wolves stood there, blocking my path. Their yellow eyes were fixed on me with predatory intensity.