Page 81 of Spar of Hearts

Rock after rock yielded no relief. Her arms began to ache as she slowly lost count of her throws, panting with effort.

The human part of her wanted to curse the heavenly body, to keep blaming all of these troubles on the moon and her Wereish heritage—but the spirited wolf in her chest was more persistent than ever before.

You love our Mother Moon, it whispered, incredibly gentle and loud all at once. She brings life and love; she watches over us even when the clouds hide her from our sight. Her plans are greater than our own.

Anya started to lean into the wolf’s words. There was comfort in them. Truth. But the truth hurt.

Lean on your pack. Dance, sing, teach, and learn. You need them. They need you—

What pack? Anya thought, snuffing out the voice. Her heart sunk as she dropped the final stone beside her and fell to her knees.

Each lap of the waves before her cooled one of the tongues of fire that kept her spirit going. Admissions spilled out of her heart, pushing aside the regal duties and academia that kept them at bay. Her parents loved her, as a girl, at least. She knew that. But they weren’t pack, and they hated every wolfish part about her. She wished they had loved her unconditionally—enough to let her inner wolf run free through those gilded halls, to howl and bound under the moonlight. Instead, they forced her to hide her paws in the shadows.

Was the damage already done?

Had every cage, every cut claw and hushed howl slowly frayed the lines that tied her to her ancestors? Would she ever have a true pack or a mate?

Or was she just a human in a Lycanian shell?

Tears dripped down her cheeks, dotting the dry sand below as she stared down at her dark claws. They were the longest they’d been her whole life. Not that it mattered. When she returned to the palace, she’d put them in the guillotine once again. It was a small price to pay for Valeria’s future.

The thought drew a whimper from her chest. Do not hide me away, the wolf cried. Listen, listen. Do not hide.

But she wanted to hide—hide under the covers and cry, just like she did every time her parents finally released her from the crate. They tried to embrace her. Apologize. Shower her with kisses and candies and toys. But she didn’t want any of it. She wanted to mourn the slivers of herself that fell away with each missed moon and caged cry. As soon as she grew old enough to bite back, her ability to control her shifts evolved. At first, she tried to resist the urge to shift, to please her parents. But it never lasted. Being in her ancestral form under the full moon was everything. It was healing. It was breathing. But the moment she spotted an iron muzzle sitting on top of that stars-forsaken crate, fear quickly took over and forced her back. She swore to never shift again. And she didn’t.

Not in front of them, at least.

Oh, how pleased they were.

The Princess is back, her mother would say. Our little girl is back.

I am so sorry, love, father had said through choked-up breaths. There was no other way.

Isn’t this better, Anya?

You understand now, don’t you, Anya?

This is for your kingdom, Anya.

This is for the good of your people, Anya.

She growled in protest. No. No. No. She didn’t understand. There were other options, but her parents made that choice—just like how they had claimed to rule with love and equity, yet they signed the Gathering order and the testing order. Even if some folk lauded them as pillars of progress, they were the King and Queen of hypocrisy behind closed doors. Every shake of her head brought a metal bar down in front of her. They were still there. Her cage had only grown.

“No. No, no, no, no, no!”

“Anya?”

Anya whirled her head to the voice, finding Roderick standing ten feet away with an armload of firewood. The moment their eyes locked, he dropped the firewood and ran to her.

“What happened? Why are you crying?” He fell to his knees and cupped her cheek, stroking a thumb just below her lashes.

“I see the bars, the bars, they’re still there…” Anya shivered and squeezed her eyes shut, but the bars remained.

“It’s all right. I’m here. There’s no bars. Just you. Just me.”

“It’s there—the cage, it’s still there—” A shudder rolled down her spine.

“There’s no cage. If there was, could I do this?” Roderick’s hands found hers, twining their fingers together so tightly her claws dug into his skin, but he didn’t flinch.