Amarah's POv
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't lying on the cold stone floor of that dungeon but nestled in layers of velvet and silk. I was wrapped in soft blankets that smelled like lavender..
I sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in my limbs, and took in my surroundings. My body though bruised and weary was cradled in a bed far too soft to be real. I sat upright, startled by the warmth,
I was alone. And the room…
gods.
It was beautiful.
The room looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of a princess's fairytale.
Sunlight filtered in through sheer pink curtains that danced gently with the breeze, casting a rosy glow over everything. The walls were painted a soft blush with delicate white molding, and hand-painted vines of gold leaf twined up toward the ceiling, which sparkled faintly with embedded crystals, like stars caught in plaster.
To my right stood a vanity carved from ivory wood, its surface cluttered with delicate glass perfume bottles and silver hairbrushes with rose motifs. A vase overflowing with fresh peonies sat beside them, their scent mingling with the lingering lavender from the bed. Beside the vanity was a floor-length mirror framed with tiny pearls, reflecting the sunlight in soft halos.
The bed I lay in was queen size, its canopy draped with layers of soft pink stitched with tiny embroidered moons and stars. Plush pillows in varying shades of cream, blush, and lilac were heaped around me.
I'd never slept in anywhere as decent as this in the past decade.
On the far side of the room, a white wardrobe stood open just slightly, revealing glimpses of gowns in pastel colors—lace, chiffon, velvet some glimmering with beads and others embroidered with flowers. A pair of satin slippers sat on a round, tufted ottoman at the foot of the bed, as if waiting for their owner to wake.
Even the floor was perfect: thick, white carpet..
It was a dream. It had to be.
After the cold, damp nightmare of the dungeon, this place didn't feel real. I've never even experienced half a comfort to what I experienced the first decade of my life yet this feels far more better.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
Before I could respond, the door opened with an elegance that felt rehearsed. A woman entered as though the room had been made for her.
The woman moved like royalty- graceful, her long silver-blonde hair coiled in intricate braids. She was tall, cloaked in a deep indigo gown that trailed behind her. Her face was ageless.
"Amarah, my dear" she said, her voice gentle and low "You are safe here."
I said nothing. I didn't trust my voice not to lash out.
"I am Lady Syrene," she continued, moving closer with the quiet certainty of someone used to being obeyed. "Matriarch of the House of Noctis. And mother to the three brothers you are destined to meet."
My breath caught.
Brothers.
" You might not know this my darling but I was the closest friend to your mother."
I froze. "My mother?"
"I know it's overwhelming, all this happening since you were young" she said gently. "But you'll have answers. In time. For now, my sons are eager to meet you properly."
The moment she said it, the door opened wider, and three towering figures stepped into the room.
My breath hitched.
The first was the silver-eyed Lycan—the one who'd saved me from being blood drenched and the same asshole that had made my twentieth birthday a flop, killed my grandmother and forced me to his kingdom or pack or whatever. His gaze were unreadable. His dark hair was tousled like he hadn't slept, and there was a scar running down the side of his jaw that only made him look more dangerous.
"This," Lady Syrene said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "is Alaric."
Alaric nodded to me. "We've met."
Understatement of the century.
Because I'd deny that every opportunity I get.
The second stepped forward with a slow, confident swagger. His golden hair was pulled into a fashionable style and a wicked grin tugged at his lips. His amber eyes flicked over me with interest.
"I'm Lucien ," he said, his voice deep and stretchy. "Middle brother"
"And the most annoying one is me," said the third, a quieter presence with stormy blue eyes and shoulder-length raven-black hair. He looked at me with something close to curiosity, "I'm Zaiden. Youngest Of the triplets. Wait" his brows furrowed.
"Aren't you the werewolf girl? Red?"
I blinked at him and at all of them all. My mouth opened. Then closed again.
"I—" I started, then stopped.