𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 | 𝟏𝟖+

iii. to the courts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

▬▬▬▬▬

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐒, 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏. She can't help but part her lips, kicking her head back against the pillow as the two auras brush past one another. With creature against were, pleasure suddenly writhes beneath her skin at the close proximity of the alpha. Her creature seeks another touch of his aura, just another caress of him against her, but his wolf pulls back, resisting the invisible cord that binds them together.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's all just a mere sensation, a dream of sorts. She forces her eyes to open.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sunlight pools over her as she lays in a vast bed. Translucent fabric drapes over where she sleeps, prohibiting the strength of the sun to scorch her porcelain skin. There, her silver irises search for the owner of that sound, knowing exactly who it belongs to.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Except, it's only a woman in the room. Not the phantom black wyng she remembers from the previous night.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He just left," she says with a brief smile crossing her lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A tall quintessential lady approaches the foot of the bed, her hair tied in a thick braid woven with almond hair. Her full lips curve into the softest of smiles, and Elowen falls in complete awe of her. She's beautiful compared to Elowen's sickly self. The woman dresses in loose sky coloured silks, doused in honeysweet perfume.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen frowns. "Ronyn was here?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, Morrow," she smirks as she speaks his name. "Although Ronyn has been bothering me with questions about you. Apparently both of them regretted finding out your name. Bunch of ignorant dumbasses they are."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She must be in Tabrien, and judging by the luxury of her surroundings, she must be held captive in the palace. Exquisite furnishing elaborates the expansive space, diaphanous curtains floating without gravity in the slight breeze before the balcony doors. The bedroom appears cosy with houseplants scattered everywhere, each one of them lush with life. The only thing in the room that doesn't belong is Elowen. Her tattered clothes. Her wild hair. The grime caked onto her skin from years of concealing herself in the woods.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm Cordea," the woman explains, now talking to fill the deafening silence. "I'm another one of the betas around here. Morrow told me to wait with you until you woke up."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen holds her tongue, still refusing to give them the satisfaction of her name.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you need anything? Coffee? Water? Tea?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No response.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cordea bites her lower lip before anxiously setting the cup down on the night table. "Well, I did bring you tea, anyway. It might help you feel a little better."