The entire ride, Blue trembled from the cold. She had never traveled in the open before, and worst of all, it had rained all night, soaking her right down to her undergarments.
By the time Dasia helped her off the horse, her skin was pale, her lips trembling, and her teeth chattering.
"You have no tent now, Your Grace. I'll help start a fire to warm you," Dasia offered gently.
"Thank you, Dasia. And please... just call me Blue."
The girl nodded before running off. Blue felt a chill deeper than the weather as three heavy stares settled on her. She turned and there they were. The triplets. Standing together, their eyes cold, unreadable. Angry. Not one of them cracked even the faintest smile.
Before she could decide whether to look away or speak, a male approached them. Without a word, the three walked off with him.
"This way, Princess." Dasia had returned, guiding her toward a tent. But when they stepped inside, disappointment settled like a weight in her chest. It wasn't hers.
Inside, servants sprawled across the floor—talking, eating, sleeping. Some glanced her way, but none offered comfort.
"We lost your tent," Dasia explained, a little apologetic. "You'll have to make do with this one for now."
Blue offered a weak smile. "Thank you, Dasia. This is better than nothing."
She sat quietly in the corner Dasia pointed out, hiding her discomfort behind silence. The lycans in the tent eyed her, but only whispered among themselves. Maybe the fear of the triplets kept them from mocking her aloud, but their eyes said it all.
They hated her.
To them, she was the reason for this war. The outsider. The weak wolf. The witch who couldn't even summon her powers. A sheltered princess from Albenia—now a captive, handed over to the enemy.
"You should eat. If the porridge gets cold, you'll hate it," Dasia murmured, pulling Blue from her thoughts.
"Thank you," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. She ate and cried in silence, and Dasia didn't stop her. She just let her feel.
Later, Blue drifted into a short nap. But Dasia noticed her skin turning hot—too hot. The rain had done more than chill her; it had brought on a fever.
She shook her lightly, but Blue didn't stir.
"She's burning up. Go call the lords," Dasia said to a nearby girl, who ran off immediately.
"I'm fine…" Blue rasped, her breath short, her skin pale with a bluish tint.
"Hush now. You caught a fever from the rain."
"My body hurts so bad. That's all."
"I know. You'll feel better soon. I promise."
Dasia was already working fast, grabbing ointments and giving orders. A hot bowl of water was brought in. She soaked a cloth, wrung it out, and placed it gently on Blue's forehead.
The girl she'd sent returned with a solemn look. Dasia didn't need to ask—she already knew. They weren't coming.
Hours passed. Blue finally stirred, eyes blinking open. She was still in the servants' tent.
Dasia rushed over. "How do you feel, Princess?"
"Better than I deserve," Blue croaked, trying to sit up. But Dasia gently pushed her back down.
"You should rest. The fever's still there. My potions only helped a little."
"You took care of me. Why?" Blue asked, her pale eyes searching the girl's face.
Dasia shrugged and turned away, packing her basket.
"Because it's the right thing to do," she said quietly. "They all blame you for what happened. But I don't think you should suffer for it."
Blue sat up slowly on the thin mat, her head down in quiet agony. "Do they know I'm sick?"
"Yes," Dasia replied without turning around.
"Did they visit? Even once?"
Silence.
When Blue looked up, she saw the pity in Dasia's eyes.
There was her answer.
"You slept the whole day. You should get ready. We leave soon."
And just like that, Dasia was gone. Blue was alone again. Everything was getting harder, and with every passing hour, the burden grew heavier. So she cried. Because crying was the only thing left she could do.
This time, when the horn blew, Blue was wide awake. She followed Dasia, still the only person who seemed to care. They arrived at the horses. The carriage was gone.
She would have to ride.
Too bad she'd never learned how.
Even in her sick state, the triplets didn't glance her way. Not once did they ask how she felt. It was clear: she was on her own.
Dasia and Blue rode together, sharing one horse. The weight slowed them down, placing them last on the trail. But Blue didn't mind. Fewer eyes. Less shame.
Besides the fever in her bones and the pain from the saddle, it was better than being trapped in that crooked carriage.
Along the way, Dasia spoke of ancient Valeria, how the first lycan dwellers had built Winter's Keep—one of the oldest castles still standing.
Winter's Keep. Her new home.
"So what happened?" Blue asked, eager to hear more of Dasia's story. The girl had been recounting a memory from when she was little, and for once, Blue felt a flicker of excitement.
She thought of home. Her books. Her treasures. All gone now.
By the time they stopped to set up camp, she was drained. The fever still clung to her, making everything harder. They had made it to a small human town by dawn, its people still asleep.
They arrived at an inn. The owner stood out front, clearly expecting them. Draven dismounted and spoke briefly with the men. Rooms were handed out, and one by one, the group disappeared inside.
To Blue's relief, she got her own room. Her fever hadn't left, but it had eased slightly.
She stripped off her damp clothes, down to her undergarments. Her chest was bare when the door creaked open.
She barely had time to scream, clutching her arms to her chest as all three of them walked in.
They froze and stared. Not at her face.
At her breasts.
None of them blinked.