Lyra's POV
I was still wondering what was happening, staring down at my own body, when the door opened with a low, aching cry.
I lifted my gaze to the door to watch a host of ladies pouring in. They were dressed in the same uniform pinafore, the kind one would expect on a maid.
One carried a wash basin, another a bucket of water, and another a wash towel. The others just followed.
The moment their gazes landed on me, a roar of gasps seized the large room, echoing and ringing off the ornate stone walls. Then there was a collective squeal of what could be mortification or shock.
The lady with the wash basin almost dropped the massive golden metal. She quickly snatched it back midair and gripped it tighter.
That still did nothing to dent the extreme shock devouring her eyes and those of her colleagues. One of them finally broke the jinx with a loud yell. "The Luna is awake. She is awake." She screamed and dashed out of the room like she was being chased.
Another maid joined her, while the others resumed hushed whispers, their eyes flitting on and off me.
I just sat there, speechless, an object of their continuous curiosity and gossip, wondering why they looked so shocked about me, and at the same time, so scared.
They tried not to make it obvious, but I could see their jittering arms and legs, their eyes restless, bouncing on and off me.
They'd called me Luna, but I'd never remembered any of them at Valen Palace, nor did this place look like the home I grew up in.
News of an approaching uproar beyond the door had both the maids and me looking expectantly to the corridor. The uproar grew steadily in momentum until the previous maids came running in with a couple of ladies dressed in designer wear, and then, finally, a man.
He approached rather slowly, unlike everyone else, each step deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. The crowd of people staring at me as if I were a creature completely different from them parted like a sea for him to pass.
I recognized him immediately, the powerful and muscular build, the handsome features, so definite, yet so cold, and seemed to be wrought from stone. The piercing amber orbs that could pierce through any soul--Alpha Kaelen Drax, the most feared Alpha in the North.
Unlike the others who stared at me with a mix of curiosity and shock, when his piercing eyes landed on me, they seemed like they aimed to carve me open, studying me as if I were some specimen in a lab.
He glanced over his shoulder at the crowd behind him. "Everyone, leave." He said. His voice was low and velvety, but there was a menace and authority to the way he spoke and the way he moved that the whole crowd hearkened to his command immediately.
They scampered out of the room like a pack of prey at the sight of an apex predator.
"Shut the door behind you," he said to the last person.
Once the door slammed closed to its hinges with a massive bang that rattled the room, his eyes came to rest on me, harder than before. Now they didn't just study, they burrowed through me.
"I see you are awake, wife." He said, a tight inflection to the word wife, like he hated to utter it.
I was less concerned with that, but rather with why he would even call me his wife.
I'd never really seen Alpha Kaelen up close, and neither did I know him personally. While he was of the northern packs, I was off the southern packs. We only met at the cross-country lycan meeting. But I'd always heard he had a political wife, who was comatose for years. I stared down at myself again, at the arms that weren't mine, the dress that wasn't mine, and legs that weren't mine. Had I truly become his wife?
There had been myths about the moon goddess reincarnating aggrieved souls, but was it truly real and not a myth, as believed?
A low, aching grunt drew my eyes back to him. His handsome features marred disastrously by the hate that consumed them when he stared down at me. I might as well be the object of a nearby sewer.
"So now that you are awake, will you finally give me what I want?" He said, "Or should we go through the circle once again?" His jaw ticked from suppressed rage.
I was curious to know why he really hated the woman he just called wife, but more importantly, I wanted answers to questions about myself.
"How many years have I been bedridden for?" I asked, looking past the wall of hate he had carefully constructed around himself.
That seemed to throw him back for a moment. His brows lifted up a little, but it calmed fast. I thought I saw something like suspicion flicker in them, but I couldn't be sure. "Five years," he muttered finally.
I don't know why he was shocked at that question, but I was so desperate for answers that I didn't really care. "What year are we in?" I asked.
There was an uneasy pause and a much more uneasy silence before he responded, gaze narrowing again, tighter this time, "2015," he muttered again, his tone suggesting he hated to answer my questions.
My breath stilled at his answer, and I repeated it in my head. 2015. This was three years after I died, two years after Adrian plotted my death. Three good years. How was this even possible? Even if reincarnation happens, was it supposed to take that long... three years?
A sharper grunt stole my attention again. I followed the crack of his Oxfords against the tiles as he drew nearer to my bed.
"It seems to me you have forgotten my question, wife." He demanded.
I wondered what it would take to thaw the coldness in his face--if I'd had to guess with the level of hate he wore on, I'ld say a miracle.
"What question?" I lifted narrowed brows up at him.
His jaw clenched as he spoke. "The question about giving me what I wanted years ago, before you dramatically threw yourself down the castle walls."
"Was that how she--" I was about to blurt out from curiosity, until I held back.
I sat up against the pillow, trying to look away from his eyes, but they trapped mine. He made looking away not an option.
"And what was that thing you wanted?"
There was a short pause, and he seemed to watch me carefully, so much so that I felt my nerves beginning to stretch.
His stare finally eased, but not the coldness in his voice. "There is only one thing I would want from you, Leila, and you know what it is,"
I tried to respond to that, and hesitated, realizing what kind of a fix I was in. I didn't know how Leila talked, acted, or did with him. One wrong move and he would know I am not his wife.
Silence stretched on between us for a while as I contemplated what to do.
But when his gaze burrowed me down for a reply, I decided to go for the obvious, the bitchy mode. If he could hate her this much, and the only thing he cared about after she woke up from a six-year coma was about what he wanted, then she must be a real bitch to him. And there was only one thing he could want so desperately from such a wife--freedom.
"Are you still on about the divorce thing?" I said, sounding unconcerned, and watching closely for his reaction.
If there was any, then he didn't show it. He just strolled forward, closer to the bed, footsteps echoing loudly in the room.
"So when are you going to give that to me?" He asked. "I already have the papers prepared."
I bit down hard on my lower lip, running through a series of scenarios in my head. If I disagreed with the divorce, then I would have to continue being his wife, but if I agreed to his request, then I could leave here a free woman, then I would have all the time in the world to chase after the bastard that killed me---Adrian and make him pay for his crimes. I could find Elias, I could reclaim my kingdom. I could do everything I wanted without having to be stuck here playing wife to a man who hated the very word.
The opportunity was too good to pass up. I leaned out my hand to him, and I said with the most bitchy tone I could make up. "Can I have the papers then. I would like to go through them--"
The rest of my words died in my throat, where a million clogs now settled, stifling my breath. Steel flashed in the air with a metallic cry and stopped just before my neck.
I lifted my eyes to meet his. They were cold and cruel. It was then that I realized I had missed the suspicion in his eyes all along. It was like a tiny fleck budding at the corner of his eyes before. Now, it devoured his whole orbs.
"Who are you?" he demanded, and the blade pressed against my throat. "You aren't Leila. She would never give me a divorce. She knows that would mean her death. So speak," he said coldly. "Or I will have to cut the truth out of you."