The Lost Heiress Of The Bleeding Throne

For the first time in forever, when I woke up, the world wasn't spinning. 

In fact, it was silent, too silent, and too warm to be on the forest floor.

The roof above me was new, with smooth black wood beams, and sunlight seeping between the curtains in narrow strips. 

My fingers were clenched in a blanket that was soft, not tattered like my normal one, and scented lightly with something herbal and fresh.

The last thing I remembered-

I took a breath as it hit me like a punch.

Baron's smirk. The laughter of the pack. The wolves.

The metallic taste of blood in my mouth, as I ran for my life.

And then, I remembered the golden-brown eyes that paralyzed me before everything went black.

I sat up too fast, my heart racing, and froze. 

I was in a bed - not my pallet on the dirty floor, not even a pack-house cot. 

A bed, neatly drawn-up sheets, and I was wearing... something else.

It was a gray, loose cotton shirt and matching soft trousers, too. 

My skin was clean, and there was no dried blood, no grime. 

The sharp sting of my wounds was dulled under neat bandages.

My throat tightened.

Who touched me?

The door opened suddenly, and I suddenly jumped in my bed, ready to bolt, until I saw him.

The man was tall-taller than me with a good head. His broad shoulders took up the doorway, but not in a menacing sort of way. 

His blonde hair caught the light, curling a little at the ends, and his eyes were a pale blue, like glacier water. 

He was young, definitely around my age, but something in the way he stood, with confidence, poise, negated his age.

He smiled weakly, holding up his hands in an open, relaxed gesture. "Don't worry," he said easily, coming closer.

A man didn't get you dressed. You can be assured of that, I promise."

I gazed at him. My muscles were still tense, but... some of the panic seeped out of me.

"I'm Dylan," he went on, pulling a chair up next to the bed. "You're safe here."

Safe. I almost laughed-if I could. Safe was a word that didn't exist in my vocabulary.

"You've been out for a while," Dylan went on. Two days, actually. 

Your injuries were bad, but we cleaned you up, and sewed what needed sewing. Thought you'd wake up sooner, but... guess you're stubborn."

I frowned at him.

"Sorry," he said immediately. That didn't come out right. 

Stubborn's good. Means you struggle to stay alive."

I tipped my head, studying him. His tone wasn't as patronizing as I expected. It was actually... warm.

He watched me hesitate and leaned back, giving me room. "Do you remember everything that happened?"

I hesitated, then nodded once.

His eyes softened. "That will be okay for the time being." 

"You don't need to say more if you don't want to-" He paused, a realization striking him. Wait. Can you... talk?"

The question punched breath from my lungs. I hesitated for a while before I shook my head slowly.

Understanding broke out in his face. "Right. Then we'll figure something out."

He smiled, a slight but genuine one. "It's all right." I can-"

The door opened again, and it was like all the air in the room shifted.

The man who walked in seemed to pull the light in behind him.

He was tall-even taller than Dylan-and he had dark hair that looked like black silk, smoothly combed back.

His shoulders were squared in a way that spoke of power and those eyes-golden-brown, intense, and burning.

Those were the same eyes I saw before I passed out.

My breath caught in my chest.

He looked at me the way a hawk looks at prey-measuring, and calculating. "Who is she?" he asked Dylan, not taking his eyes off me.

"She's the one we found on the border," Dylan replied evenly.

"I'm aware of that, Dylan," the man muttered as he took a step closer. "What were you doing in my territory?"

I flinched before I could stop myself. His voice was low and even, but it had an edge that rubbed wrongly along my spine.

When I didn't answer-couldn't actually-he gritted his jaw. "You don't belong here. So tell me now, who sent you?"

My hands trembled beneath the blanket, and I shook my head.

"Can't you speak?" he asked in a flat voice.

I nodded once.

He breathed out slowly, as if my silence was an inconvenience. "So you can't tell me anything useful."

I swallowed hard.

"Do you at least have a name?" he asked again.

I hesitated, then signed the first letters out of habit before remembering no one here would understand.

His forehead furrowed. "I did ask you a question."

My heart rate spiked, and I heard my wolf whine in the back of my mind.

That is it. This is how I die.

"She's not a threat," Dylan said suddenly, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The golden-eyed man shot him a slashing glance. "You don't know that."

"I do," Dylan said, calm but firm. You pulled her off the ground yourself. If she was dangerous, you'd have felt it."

The man didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on me for another long moment, searching, measuring. 

Then, finally, he turned and walked to the door.

"Keep her here," he ordered Dylan. "Don't let her wander."

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, but it felt like a slammed gate.

I let out a long, deep breath, feeling the tension drain from my shoulders.

Dylan faced me again, a little smile on his lips returning. 

Then, silently, he raised his hands and signed" Don't worry. I got you.

I stared at him, my eyes wide.

He knew sign language. Oh my God, he knows sign language!

There was a crack in my chest-something that had been closed off for years. 

My lips curved, hesitantly at first, then fully, into a smile. 

The first in... I couldn't even remember how long.

Dylan smiled back at me. "See? Not so bad here."

And for the first time in years, I think I almost believed it.