Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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She bore the look of a queen of the beasts.
Elegance in all its splendor she stood, graced in the exotic, traditional wear for the marking ceremony that would take place under the mercy of the moon. Wrapped in fur and deerskin which insulated her but didn't fail to make her body look fuller and healthier. Her eyes bore the look of wonder, sparkling with admiration yet wavering with nervousness. Her heart pounded fiercely, she could feel its wrath beating in her palms.
Her reflection stared back at her, as radiant as ever, yet she still picked at her insecurities. She found flaws in her appearance, beneath all the beauty she withheld, she found pain and ugliness.
She turned her back on the reflection that taunted her, mocked her, shamed her. She could look at it no longer and found comfort when she sat down on the bed she had been sharing with her mate for the last month.
He gently knocked on the door, waiting for Adalia's consent to come in. He only entered when he heard the soft murmurings of permission escape her lips, and when he saw his queen sitting on the bed, his jaw dropped.
Her beauty rivaled the she-wolves. Her strength was growing. Weight she had gained, and that weight was dispersed throughout her body, much of the weight was from muscle she had received from regular training.
She was still underweight, but he could notice the difference in her health and appearance. She was truly making a remarkable recovery, and her will to fight was strong.
"Why do you do that?" He asked her, shattering the silence.
She sat on the bed, shoulders slumped and refusing to look at him. She knew. She knew what he meant, yet she questioned it anyway. He observed her profile, the way her head was downcast, the way she rested her hands on her knees, the way her hair fell loosely over her shoulders and dangled in her face.
"Do what?" Her voice was but a mere whisper.
"Question yourself," He said gruffly, "You look at yourself as if you're some sort of disgusting, dejected being."
She drew random patterns with her fingers into the fur she sat upon as she searched for an answer. Silence dwelled among them now, but even in the stillness, she struggled.
She did not have an answer.
Well, not a proper one, any way.
"I don't know. I just feel like I'm.....nothing compared to you, compared to your people. They are everything, and I am nothing-"
"You're strong, are you not?" He asked of her, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall.
She sniffled. "I don't know, mayb-"
"You're alive, Adalia. You're alive and that is enough to prove your strength to me. You're not pathetic, you're not weak, and you don't need to prove yourself to me or anyone here, for that matter." He spoke swiftly, feeling upset that she would have such a negative view upon herself.
