When she opened them again, she was under a warm leather blanket, on a feather mattress with cushions equally filled that had slipped off from behind her head. The bed's hangings were drawn open.
Daylight streamed through two open windows in a stone room decorated with tapestries. Two women were sit on stools at her side as a third, at her spinning wheel, only glanced at her when they saw she had awoken.
Both ladies turned to the closed door and called:
"She is awake!"
"Silence!" The older woman ordered them. "Go and fetch them!"
"Oh, what's the harm…" One grumbled.
But the other had already got up.
"I'll go find them. You stay with her."
Still lying down she wanted to move or talk but winced and looked at her body. Under the linen shift were bandages over her wounds long healed.
What hurt was how stiff her muscles were, after hours of holding her appearance.
She sighed in relief.
"Don't worry, you are safe now." The woman that stood at her side held her hand.
She found the strength to mutter: "Who are you?"
And in response the woman showed her that person on the spinning wheel.
"This is lady Mirabelle of Pivert, who is offering you shelter under her roof."
By then she had already figured that this was a castle. The furniture, wooden pillars and tapestries all screamed of nobility. The working woman, by contrast, had only a simple dress, no jewelry and a hard face focused on her labor only.
It seemed the realm didn't exist for her but for the thread she kept producing, that flowed in front of her eyes so steadily.
"But what's your name?"
And the woman, on her stool, got anxious.
"Me? Well, my name is Adele."
"My name is Adele, milady!" Lady Mirabelle scolded from her station. "You can't even address the nobility right you trull."
She didn't like that tone and as a werewolf she didn't have to let it slide. But the moment she tried to get up she felt Adele pressing her gently, a silent plea to do nothing. Her green eyes didn't even bear any anger, just a sad resignation.
Steps were reaching the door that opened a second later.
The man who entered looked too mature for his age. His hair a fierce ginger mirrored sharp clothes and motions. A sword hung at the belt, tabard over his tunic, he still wore his mantle on one shoulder, let it whip when he stopped.
His steel blue eyes had struck hers.
"You are awake. Good. Now you can tell us who you are."
"My lord!" The woman got up from her stool, protesting. "She is still recovering!"
"Really? That's easy to…"
"I am fine." She cut them.
And to confirm that she pushed herself up, still holding the blanket over her body. She would feel weak for the rest of her life, no amount of rest would change that.
The man only smirked. He put his back on the wall, crossed his arms.
"Then, your name?"
"I would rather not say."
And before the man could laugh, that woman at the spinning wheel raised her voice.
"We already know who you are! A lady lost in the forest, please! You are Joan of Cormoran."
"Again, mother," the man retorted, "you said Joan was a blonde."
"Blonde, white, who cares! She got ill, she got cursed, who will prove me wrong? All those who knew her have turned to ash. She is Joan, no doubt."
The man sighed, gestured for Adele to leave the room and gauged that woman on the bed once more.
"Joan, then."
"As you wish." She answered, her tone identical to his.
But while no human could perceive it, she was truly being submissive. And from now on Lyra swore that Joan was her name.
"You need to drink, eat and take a bath. After that, father will decide your fate."
She simply nodded. He was about to leave when Mirabelle, once more, got a bout of anger.
"You take her with you! I am not staying alone with that stranger!"
For a moment it seemed the man was about to lose his calm, but he took a second to breathe, then removed his mantle and let someone in the hallway hold on to it.
"Fine. Take her to the hall, make her a meal and prepare a bath. And tell Adele to clean the bed, we have disturbed mother long enough."
"What about clothes?" The woman in the hallway asked.
"Give me back my mantle when she is presentable."
Her rushed out and the woman, who presented herself as Ophelie, entered again, offered her the cloak with which she wrapped herself to follow outside.
This was a castle. It was austere, with wooden floorboards cold and dry on her naked feet. Narrow corridors and staircase led to the great hall where a single table and bench remained from noon.
Ophelie installed her there, excused herself and went to the kitchen.
As she waited, Joan, Joan could not help but feel excited. It was almost troubling how easily she had been able to mingle with humans. Her every instincts was telling her this was a trap but she had been given a name and clothes.
Downstairs through the floor she could hear rumors of a quarrel.
Then someone came up, not Ophelie but two men, one of them the same red-haired noble she had met. Except he was in chainmail, the metallic hood at his hand and she noticed, the sword was held on the other side of the belt.
She remembered having seen two faces before losing consciousness.
So Joan got up and walked toward them as they entered. She didn't know whether to bow or shake hands, assumed it was the former.
"Good day," she said, "I am Joan of Cormoran."
"Oh, so mother was…"
"Careful, my lord." The other man warned.
He too was young, and far from a noble looked wild and fierce. His black hair were disheveled, his skin tarnished, shirt and trousers stained by dirt and still he looked not just imposing, tall and muscled, but also refined.
His clear pride was a short beard he had to cut every morning to keep it so sharp.
That such a man, whose clothes denoted the standing of a commoner, could talk so openly suggested either fame or recklessness.
Not just that: he had physically held the noble back. His brown eyes hostile to her.
"She is…"
"Enough!" The man cut him. "Keep your drivel for yourself or leave our castle."
"I'm telling you…"
"And I will warn you one last time, hunter."
That hunter had more words at his mouth but groaned and, after a long glare at her, turned away to leave the room.
"Sorry for that, lady Joan." The noble calmed down. "Since we found you in the forest, rumors have inevitably spread."
She could not help but look in the direction he had left, at that open door. Something was telling her to follow. Because he was a threat? Or because he was strong. Because of his wild looks, her heart could not help but beat.
"Who was he?" She wondered aloud.
"No one." The man's tone got annoyed. "Just some hunter we sheltered for the night. He will be gone soon enough."
He knew. That hunter knew. From the moment their eyes had crossed that human had seen through her disguise with ease.
It made her tremble. It made her smile. This feeling of being hunted, she had missed it.