It had been a whole week since the dinner with Uncle Lucian who mentioned her cousin Remi was coming. For Anwen, that felt like forever. Every day she circled the same thoughts like a restless butterfly.
What did werewolves eat? Raw meat? Bones? Did they turn into wolves under the sun, or only under the moon? Would Remi like her?
She tried asking Laia, but the maid only laughed. Fredrinn gave even less. "You'll see soon," he had said, maddeningly calm as always.
So Anwen buried herself in books to pass time. The Valdemar library was huge, but still not enough. She read about vampire corruption: how it seeped into their blood, made them violent and lost control like mindless monsters. But the books never explained why, how or when. The words kept turning into confusing riddles about balance and decay.
And when she searched for anything about Fae, there was nothing. Not a single page. It was like the whole world had agreed to pretend her kind didn't exist.
But how is Roarke able to figure it out when Dorian doesn't even have a book about it?
Frustrated, she asked Laia about it one evening. Laia leaned close and whispered about the Imperial Library in the capital. "Every book in the world is kept there," she said, eyes shining. "If you really want answers, that's the place."
Anwen's heart had leapt at that as she made a note in her head: Ask Duke Dorian or Master Aimes to take me there during one of their visits.
Today, she stood in the middle of her room, drowning in a sea of dresses. Pink silk, blue satin, lavender lace—so many options, and not a Laia in sight to save her. Her maid had been sent off on errands, leaving Anwen with the terrifying mission of dressing herself.
Her fingers trailed over the lace sleeves of one gown, then the frills of another. Why do nobles need so many clothes? She could live inside one of these skirts, build a house with the sleeves, and still have leftovers.
She huffed, holding up a yellow gown against her chest, then tossed it aside. "Too bright. I'll look like a fruit tart."
A knock came and Fredrinn entered, tall and steady as ever. "You aren't dressed? Your etiquette tutor has been waiting for some time."
Anwen groaned. "I can't pick! Laia always does it. If I wear green, will the tutor faint? Or if I wear purple, will she complain it's too bold?"
Fredrinn's gaze swept the racks, then without hesitation, he pulled out a blood-red dress. A simple cut, but rich and deep, like a drop of wine in the sunlight.
Anwen blinked. "Red? I've never worn red. Laia says pastels make me look sweet."
"You look sweet regardless," Fredrinn said plainly, draping it over her arms. "This color says you're a Valdemar."
Her chest swelled a little at that. A Valdemar. She liked the sound of it.
The lesson with the etiquette tutor—Baroness Clarisse, as she introduced herself—was long and prickly. Forks here, napkins there, don't slouch, smile like this.
Anwen tried her best, but she couldn't help noticing the way the Baroness kept slipping questions about the Duke into her chatter.
"Does he often ride in the mornings?"
"What shade of cloak does he prefer?"
"Would you say his eyes are more blood red, or fiery?"
Anwen tilted her head, puzzled. Did the lady like Father? She barely corrected Anwen's grip on the spoon before swooning over his schedule again.
By the time the class ended, Anwen was certain of two things: one, noble ladies were strange. And two, she needed juice.
The kitchen staff already knew her routine. Every day at noon, a chilled glass of cranberry juice was poured and handed to her. Today, she balanced it carefully in both hands, heading toward the training yard.
But when she arrived, the place was noisy only with guards sparring. Aimes wasn't there.
Her stomach dropped. Was he avoiding me?
"Looking for me?"
Anwen spun, nearly spilling the juice. Aimes stood just behind her, his training shirt clinging to his shoulders and his usual calm mask in place.
"You scared me!" she squeaked, but hurried to hold up the glass. "Here. For you."
He took it without a word and drank it all in one go. His throat moved as he swallowed, and when he lowered the glass, there was the faintest ease in his expression.
"You didn't have to—" he began.
"Yes, I did!" she cut in quickly. "If I don't, who will make sure you don't collapse from training too hard?"
His brows arched faintly. But instead of arguing, he asked, "How was your first lesson?"
Anwen blinked, caught off guard. "You…you knew?"
"Jacques told me," Aimes said evenly.
Her cheeks warmed. "It was…okay. The tutor kept asking about Father, though. She barely cared if I was holding the fork wrong. I wonder if she has a crush on him"
Aimes' mouth twitched just a little. "Half the court has a crush on him."
"Ewww" Anwen wrinkled her nose. "But he's old."
"He's not that old."
She grinned at his faintly defensive tone. Then, a curious spark lightened her eyes, she blurted, "Is Remi scary?"
Aimes paused. "Scary?"
"Well, he is a werewolf. Do they growl all the time? Bite things? Will he bite me?"
His gaze sharpened. "If he tried, he wouldn't leave here alive."
Anwen's eyes went round. "…Oh."
"He won't bite you," he added. "He's…tolerable."
"Tolerable? That's not very nice."
"It's generous."
She rocked on her toes, eyes glittering. "Do werewolves really turn into big dogs when the moon comes out?"
"They're not dogs."
"But they howl."
"Dogs bark. Do you think I'm a dog because I have fangs?"
"No! You're a…" She scrambled, then burst out, "You're a very grumpy bat!"
For a moment—just a flicker—his lips almost curved. But then he pressed two fingers to her forehead, silencing her. "Quiet."
"You always do that," she muttered, rubbing the spot.
"Because you don't stop."
"But you keep answering me," she shot back triumphantly.
He made a low sound—half annoyance, half something else. Not quite a denial.
Just then, a butler approached. "Young master, your tutor has arrived."
Aimes set the empty glass back into her hands. "Next time," he said, "bring two."
"Huh?"
"You look like you'll pass out walking all the way from the kitchen"
Anwen blinked, then beamed so hard her cheeks hurt. "Two juices. Got it!"