A/N: Hello everyone, and thank you for reading my book. I really wanted to bring a new twist to the beastworld genre, and I'm very curious to hear what you think. Feel free to share your opinions, ideas, and even criticism. I'm looking forward to developing this story together with you.
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She awoke in a world that felt as though it had fallen straight out of a history book: feudal in structure, strictly hierarchical, and populated by beastfolk. With a severe overpopulation of men.
For that reason, power passed through the female line. Territories were ruled by noblewomen. Bloodlines followed strict rules Mirabelle only slowly began to understand.
She now inhabited the body of a beastwoman who bore the same name as herself: Mirabelle Luchs. As she had already noted with grim amusement, Luchs was not merely a name. In this world, daughters always inherited the animal aspect of their mother, and Mirabelle was the daughter of the Duchess of Luchsenstein — a territory at the edge of Berghain.
Berghain was a fertile land in a temperate climate, filled with forests and lush meadows, small mountain ranges and vast lakes.
A kingdom that had long been at war with the neighboring land of Zasar — and had lost.
Luchsenstein lay directly along the border.
And precisely because of that, and because she was a female without a bonded partner, all attention now rested on her: Mirabelle Luchs.
Or rather, on the woman who had been Mirabelle Luchs before.
Together with other unbound noblewomen, she was meant to strengthen the peace treaty by taking high-ranking bonded mates from Zasar. Her geographic proximity to the victorious nation was considered especially important in fostering good relations.
But Mirabelle had refused. She did not want to be paired for political reasons, even though this was common practice in Berghain as well.
The entire situation weighed on her so heavily that she went on a hunger strike — and eventually died from it.
It was not death she had chosen, but resistance and her body had paid the price for it.
No wonder the woman in the mirror looked so gaunt. As if to confirm it, her stomach growled in desperate protest.
Mirabelle — the new Mirabelle — turned toward the vast amounts of clothing and grabbed a wide blue robe. It was probably meant for private chambers, but she had no time to search for proper attire. Otherwise, she would starve again. And she had no intention of doing that.
This body had already crossed a threshold once. Whatever had brought her back, it demanded fuel — now. Without it, there would be no second chance.
The silken fabric with its floral pattern flowed around her like water as she strode back into the bedroom and threw open another door.
A bathroom. Flooded with light. Marble. Gold. Plants?
Later.
She closed the door with more force than necessary and turned toward the last one.
She opened this door with too much strength as well.
This body, despite its weakened state, was far stronger than her old one. She would have to get used to that.
There was much she needed to think through.
But first: food.
All of it could wait. Politics, bloodlines, wars.
None of it mattered if she did not survive the next hour.
As she stepped outside, she nearly stumbled over a man kneeling on the floor before her.
With wide, tear-filled eyes, a beastman stared up at her. He wore a simple butler's suit, his posture deeply bowed, as if he had been waiting there for quite some time.
"My Lady," he sobbed, tears gathering in his eyes. "Thank goodness you finally came out. I was so worried. You must eat something. Please, eat at least a little. Your mother is beside herself with worry."
He bowed even lower.
Owen.
The name rose within her, carried by memories that were not her own.
He was a servant who had been responsible for Mirabelle for many years. His mate was her personal maid. An older female of lower rank, no longer able to bear children.
It was rare in the beast world for women to work and serve others. Almost as rare as female nobles themselves.
"Stand up, Owen," she said, and the old man rose hastily. Despite the wrinkles and gray hair, he was remarkably well put together. Wolf ears twitched atop his head, lightly grayed as well.
"Lead me to the dining hall."
Mirabelle possessed the memories of the former owner of this body, but they felt incomplete, and so she did not know exactly where to go.
Owen bowed hastily. "Of course, my Lady."
He led her through the castle in silence. The corridors were long and lined with heavy carpets that muffled every step. Tall windows let in muted daylight, which broke against ornate candle chandeliers and wandered across framed paintings on the walls.
Between heavy curtains and stone pillars, plants thrived in large planters and climbing vines, as if nature had been deliberately invited inside rather than kept out.
Beastman servants they passed stepped aside with reverence and followed Mirabelle with their eyes. Admiration and desire lay there in equal measure. Their gazes slipped to her legs, drawn by the way the robe revealed far too much.
This was not how they knew the young mistress, who had always been careful about propriety.
But Mirabelle did not notice. All her aching stomach allowed her to think about was food. Perhaps that was why her senses, especially her sense of smell, felt so sharply focused.
The farther they walked, the stronger the scent of wax, greenery, and warm air grew in the hall, until the doors to the dining hall opened before them.
It was a beautiful room, the front half of it enclosed in glass like a small winter garden. Large plants stood there, and sunlight played across their leaves. A long table of dark wood with tall, comfortable chairs took up nearly the entire remaining space. A red runner was draped along the length of the table, and at its head stood countless steaming plates.
The scent of roasted food hit Mirabelle like a fist to the face.
Her mouth watered instantly.
Heavy platters of metal and ceramic carried roasted meat, its surface gleaming in the candlelight. Beside them stood bowls of steamed vegetables, fresh bread, and herbs that still smelled of earth and sun. In small dishes lay berries and sliced fruit, dark and ripe, accompanied by honey and thick cream.
Between pitchers of water and wine stood bowls of nuts, cheese, and pickled roots. It felt less like a feast prepared for guests and more like a careful invitation to someone who had not eaten in a very long time.
Gladly she accepted.
Her body leaned forward before she realized she had taken a step, drawn by the scent alone.
Then she noticed the three beastmen standing beside the door. Their presence pressed in on her, blunting her senses until even the smell of food no longer reached her.
Their auras weighed so heavily that Mirabelle's instincts stilled, tension coiling low and sharp beneath her skin.