Chapter One: The Forbidden One

(Kaelia's POV)

The scent of lavender and lemon clung to the air of the Royal Palace, lingering in its corridors and grand halls. It was a pleasant fragrance, one carefully chosen to make the palace smell as pristine as its inhabitants wished the kingdom to be.

I had always thought it rather ironic.

Beneath the perfumed soaps and the scent-blocking balm applied to my skin, I was an Omega. Not just any Omega, but a Lupherian hybrid— the child of a werewolf and a moon-born spirit.

A bloodline so forbidden that most people wouldn't dare mention it aloud.

In Valeria, blood was more than inheritance. It was identity, status, and power. The kingdom took immense pride in its pure-blooded werewolves, whose strength and connection to their wolf spirits had earned Valeria respect across neighbouring kingdoms. Its alliances were highly sought after, and its royal bloodline was regarded as one of the kingdom's greatest treasures.

To Valerians, preserving that pure blood was a matter of honour.

Hybrids were considered a corruption of that honour. Their existence was viewed as a threat to the strength and purity of werewolf blood, and the kingdom had little tolerance for them.

And then there were Lupherians.

My kind.

We weren't simply regarded as unfortunate mixtures of two bloodlines. We were forbidden. An abomination that had no place in a kingdom that prided itself on pure werewolf heritage.

I wasn't supposed to exist.

Yet, somehow, I did.

So I lived disguised as a Beta servant, concealing my scent, my strength, and every other part of myself that could betray what I was. My existence depended on a little jar of scent-blocking balm, a convincing lie, and the ability to keep my head down.

It wasn't much of a life, but it was a life.

And I intended to keep it.

“Kaelia! Are you planning to stand there all day?”

Barnaby's booming voice dragged me out of my thoughts.

He's one of the palace's head cook. He stood across the kitchen, his thick arms folded over his chest and his usual scowl firmly in place.

“Those vegetables aren't going to chop themselves! Prince Alarion's birthday feast must be perfect, and I won't have you ruining it with your daydreaming!”

“Sorry, Barnaby.”

I hurried towards the basket of carrots, picked up a knife, and began slicing.

The kitchen was already bustling with activity. Servants hurried between tables, pots bubbled over open flames, and the cooks shouted instructions over the clatter of dishes. Everyone had something to do, and nobody seemed particularly interested in what I was doing as long as I did it properly.

That was how I liked it.

Work was repetitive, exhausting, and mostly thankless, but it kept me occupied. More importantly, it gave me somewhere to hide in plain sight.

“You're as clumsy as a newborn pup,” Barnaby muttered as he passed behind me.

I glanced down at my neatly sliced carrots.

I wasn't sure what he'd expected me to do differently, but arguing with Barnaby was rarely worth the trouble.

Besides, I'd heard worse.

Being small and rather delicate-looking had never helped my situation. I was supposed to be a Beta, but I lacked the sturdiness people expected from one. It made me an easy target for anyone looking for someone to ridicule.

“Heard the Prince is turning thirty-one,” a voice said nearby.

I recognized it before I even looked up.

Gareth.

A Beta by birth, Alpha by attitude. He had a remarkable talent for making an ordinary conversation feel like an insult.

“Still unmated, too,” he continued, leaning against the counter. “Imagine that. A future king without an heir. What's wrong with him, I wonder? Too picky? Or perhaps he's waiting for someone special.”

I kept my eyes on the carrots. “I wouldn't know.”

Gareth chuckled. “Oh, but you might. You're always delivering food to his chambers, aren't you?”

My knife slowed.

“Maybe one day you'll brush against him and—” He snapped his fingers. “Boom! Sparks fly. Imagine the mighty Prince Alarion falling for a plain little Beta like you.”

The knife slipped slightly in my grip.

“Leave her alone, Gareth.”

Maeve's voice cut through his laughter.

She worked in the laundry, but somehow always found an excuse to come to the kitchen.

Gareth straightened, grinning at her.

“Touchy today, aren't we?”

“Go slither back into the wine cellar. I'm sure someone there will appreciate your company.”

He laughed again, raising his hands in mock surrender before walking away.

“Just saying. Everyone has a use. Even her.”

I watched him leave, then returned my attention to the carrots.

Maeve gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before going back to her duties.

By midday, the palace was in a frenzy.

Prince Alarion's birthday was one of the grandest celebrations in Valeria, and the servants were working tirelessly to prepare the palace for the banquet.

There was more food to cook, more floors to polish, more decorations to arrange…

I spent part of the afternoon scrubbing the marble floors near the eastern corridor when a group of maids passed nearby.

“He's too proud,” one whispered. “He's turned down dozens of suitable mates.”

“Perhaps he's waiting for a sign,” another replied with a giggle. “The Moon Goddess works in mysterious ways. Surely there's someone destined for him.”

They dissolved into laughter.

I continued scrubbing.

Prince Alarion's marriage was a matter of considerable interest to the nobles. As the Crown Prince, he was expected to marry an Omega of suitable bloodline and produce an heir worthy of Valeria's royal heritage.

It was hardly surprising that so many noble families were eager to offer their daughters.

And it was equally unsurprising that a servant like me had no place in such conversations.

Destiny was a luxury I couldn't afford.

My only concern was survival. Mine and my mother's.

My break couldn't come soon enough.

I found my mother in the palace garden, tending to a bed of wild roses. She was bent over the flowers, carefully removing the weeds around their roots.

“Kaelia.”

She looked up when she heard my footsteps, giving me a tired smile.

“You look exhausted, my child.”

“They're treating me well,” I said, lowering myself beside her. “It's just the preparations for the Prince's birthday banquet. Everyone is running around like the palace is about to collapse.”

She chuckled softly, and I knew she didn't believe my lie.

“You shouldn't push yourself so hard,” she said.

“I have to work.”

“You have to be careful. That's more important.”

Her gaze moved briefly towards the palace buildings before returning to me.

“The kitchen is a dangerous place for you. Too many people, too many different scents. The closer you are to them, the more likely someone is to notice that something about you isn't right.”

“I'm careful, Mother.”

“I know you try to be.”

She reached for my hand. Her fingers were cool against my calloused palm.

“Have you been using the balm properly?”

“Of course, mother.”

“Kaelia.”

I sighed.

“Yes. Every day.”

“Don't forget to reapply it. And don't let anyone get too close to you.”

“I know.”

She studied my face for a moment, her expression troubled.

I understood her concern. We had spent years being careful, and I had no intention of throwing everything away because I wanted to make friends or enjoy the occasional conversation.

Still, I wished she wouldn't look at me as though the world were constantly waiting for an opportunity to swallow me whole.

“I wish I could have taken you far away from this place,” she murmured. “Somewhere you could have grown up without fear.”

I squeezed her hand. “You saved me from being slaughtered as a baby, you gave me life, and I don't want you to ever regret that.”

Her eyes softened, but the sadness didn't leave them.

“Are the blockers still working ?”

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

I hesitated.

My scent has been growing stronger lately. The balm still helped, but I had noticed that it didn't seem to last as long as it used to. Sometimes, even after applying it, I could catch a faint trace of something sweet beneath the familiar lavender and lemon.

I had started using it more frequently, hoping to keep whatever was happening under control.

I hadn't told her how much.

"They're working," I assured her. "I just have to be more careful."

She looked unconvinced.

"Don't take chances with your life, Kaelia."

"I won't."

She brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.

"You have your father's eyes, you know."

My smile faded.

"Let's not talk about him."

She fell silent.

We rarely spoke about my father. According to the little she had told me, he had been a royal wolf who eventually turned rogue. Whatever had happened between them, it had left my mother with a daughter who could never safely claim her father's name.

I had long since learned not to ask questions.

Some answers were better left buried.

That evening, the palace came alive with celebrations.

Laughter spilled from the ballroom, music drifted through the corridors, and the scent of roasted meat and expensive wine followed the nobles wherever they went.

The servants were still busy, of course. While the guests enjoyed themselves, we were expected to remain invisible, appearing only when something needed to be served or cleared away.

By the time I finally returned to the servants' dormitory, my feet ached and my shoulders were sore.

I collapsed onto my narrow bed, which consisted of little more than a thin mattress and a blanket that had seen better days.

The room smelled of old wood, damp straw, and the faint perfume of lavender that seemed to have followed me everywhere.

I stared at the cracked ceiling.

Somewhere in the palace, Prince Alarion was probably enjoying the festive spirit of his upcoming birthday. Perhaps he was dancing with one of the noble Omegas who had dressed themselves in their finest gowns just for his gaze. Perhaps he was surrounded by admirers, all eager to earn a smile from the future King.

I had only ever seen him from a distance.

His tall, commanding figure. His sharp jawline. His striking presence that seemed to draw every eye whenever he entered a room.

He looked every inch the Crown Prince of Valeria.

But there was something about his eyes that had always caught my attention. Even from afar, they sometimes seemed tired, as though the weight of his responsibilities rested heavily on his shoulders.

I wondered if he ever wished he could put them down.

If he ever dreamed of a life without royal duties, political expectations, or the constant attention of people who wanted something from him.

I wondered if he ever thought about love, not as an obligation to the crown, but as something he might want for himself.

Then again, what would I know about such things?

I was a servant. An Omega pretending to be a Beta. A forbidden child of a bloodline that Valeria would rather erase than acknowledge.

And he was the Prince.

The distance between us wasn't merely the difference in our positions. It was the difference between the life I was allowed to live and the life he had been born into.

Still, I couldn't help admiring him.

It was harmless, really. A little daydreaming had never hurt anyone.

At least, I hoped it hadn't.

I turned onto my side, pulling the thin blanket over myself.

Tomorrow would bring more work, more careful smiles, and another day of pretending to be someone I wasn't.

I didn't need anything extraordinary from life. I didn't dream of riches or titles. I only wanted my mother and me to remain safe.

To live without looking over my shoulder.

To wake up each morning without wondering whether someone had finally discovered the truth.

And perhaps, in some small, foolish corner of my heart, I wanted to be seen.

Not as an unworthy, strange, Beta servant girl who doesn't quite belong.

Just as myself.

But that was a dangerous wish for someone like me.

So I closed my eyes and pushed it away.

For now, surviving was enough.