Chapter 6: The Truth of Blood
**Thelma Zane’s POV**
“Don’t push yourself too hard. Take things slowly,” the tall, slender girl said in a calm, reassuring tone. She had been the voice I’d heard in my restless dreams, a presence that coaxed me into sleep when the pain became unbearable.
Her voice softened further as she continued, “The doctor mentioned that overthinking could delay the healing of your wound. Please, try to rest.”
Another voice chimed in, just as comforting but slightly more formal. “There’s no need to worry, Your Highness. Someone has already informed your parents. They’ve been here for at long time, but they had to leave temporarily to deal with matters concerning the Lycans. They’re on their way back to see you now,”
Parents? Lycans? The words didn’t make any sense to me.
The girls hovered near my bed, speaking in soft, melodic voices, but instead of clarifying my confusion, they only deepened it. Their words felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together, leaving me frustrated and disoriented.
What were they even talking about? How could my parents suddenly be Lycans? And what did that make me? Was Rhode a Lycan prince now? How long had I been unconscious? My mind raced with questions, and I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“What year is it?” I asked, my voice betraying my desperation.
The girls exchanged amused glances, their soft laughter making me feel as though I were the butt of some elaborate joke.
“You’ve only been unconscious for a day,” one of them replied. “There’s nothing to worry about, Your Highness.”
Their words did little to soothe me. If anything, their casual confidence only added to my unease. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d stumbled into a world I didn’t belong to, where everyone else understood the rules but me.
I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to block out the chatter. “Please, just leave,” I said. wearily. “I need time to think. My head hurts too much for this.”
The tall girl hesitated before stepping closer to my bedside. She tucked the blanket around me with gentle precision and handed me a small bottle filled with a pale blue liquid.
“This will help with the headache,” she said, her light brown eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze. “Drink it, and you’ll feel better. And please don’t doubt my words, Everything I’ve told you is true.”
She gestured toward the hem of her dress, where a golden pattern shimmered under the dim
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light. “This symbol,” she explained, “is a mark of the Lycans‘ royal lineage. It represents their glory and heritage. You’ve likely seen it before, though you might not remember.”
The intricacy of the design caught my attention. The pattern was beautiful, almost mesmerizing, and seemed to carry an air of significance. I couldn’t deny the possibility that she was telling the truth, though it only made me more uneasy.
I accepted the bottle and drank the liquid in one gulp, the strange taste lingering on my tongue.
The girl gave me a small, knowing smile before retreating. The others followed her lead, their departure leaving the room quieter but no less heavy with questions.
Before stepping out, the girl adjusted the lights to a faint glow. “Your eyes aren’t ready for bright light yet,” she said softly. “I hope this is more comfortable for you.”
I nodded weakly, watching as she closed the door behind her.
Alone at last, I stared at the dimly lit ceiling, my thoughts racing. They had called me a princess, but what did that even mean? Were the people who were coming my biological parents, or were they my adoptive parents? The distinction felt impossibly significant, but I had no way of knowing the truth.
The weight of it all pressed down on me. If these strangers were right, then everything I’d known about myself was a lie. And if they were wrong, then why were they treating me with such reverence?
A voice from outside broke through my spiraling thoughts.
“The princess has woken up,” someone announced, their words muffled but unmistakable.
My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was an audience.
A soft knock at the door followed. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Come in,” I managed to
say.
The door creaked open, revealing a small group of people. At their center stood a woman whose presence filled the room. She was elegant, her every movement radiating grace and authority. Her dress was intricate, adorned with patterns that echoed the golden embroidery the girl had shown me earlier.
As I studied her, an unsettling realization took root in my mind. This woman wasn’t my adoptive mother. That much was clear.
Relief and apprehension washed over me in equal measure. I hadn’t been ready to face my adoptive mother, to confront the pain I’d caused her. But now, I had to contend with the possibility that this woman, this stranger, might be my real mother.
She paused at the door, her expression unreadable, as if she were holding back an ocean of
emotions.
Chantera The Truth of Blood
The moment broke when the woman beside her gave her a gentle nudge. “Helena,” she said softly, and the woman’s composure crumbled.
Helena–or my mother–crossed the room in swift, almost frantic strides. Tears welled in her eyes, and her trembling hands reached for mine. When she finally took my wrist, the warmth of her touch sent a jolt through me.
“My child,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My poor child.”
The tears came then, hot and unrelenting. They fell onto the back of my hand, each drop. carrying a weight I couldn’t understand.
She pulled me into an embrace, her arms trembling as they held me tightly. Her words spilled out in a rush, raw and desperate.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought the gods were punishing me, taking you away because of our mistakes. But you’re here. You’re alive.“.
I sat frozen in her arms, unsure of how to respond. The faint scent of lavender clung to her, a soft, soothing fragrance that reminded me of something distant and familiar. Hesitantly, I lifted a hand and patted her back.
She was so thin, her body fragile beneath her elegant exterior. It was hard to reconcile her frailty with the strength sho
projected.
“If your father and I were wrong,” she continued, her tears flowing freely now, “then let the punishment fall on us. Not you. Never you.
Her words broke something inside me. The raw sincerity in her voice made it impossible to
doubt her.
“L…” My voice faltered, and before I could say anything more, she pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to say anything. You’re safe now. You’re home. Whatever you’ve endured, we’ll face it together.”
Her hands framed my face, her gaze searching mine with an intensity that made me feel as though she could see straight into my
soul.
I didn’t know how to process it all. This was nothing like I’d imagined. The reunion, the emotions, the overwhelming sense of belonging it was too much, too fast.
For now, all I could do was sit there, letting her hold me as if she might lose me again.
