Chapter 4: Twists of Fate

Luna

Freedom was supposed to feel exhilarating. It was supposed to feel like salvation, like an open sky or a world full of possibilities. But as I fled through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, my heart racing and my breath coming in short, frantic bursts, it felt more like a curse than a blessing.

I couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, the cruel way fate seemed to twist my life at every turn. The worst part wasn’t even the accusations or the brutal pain of the interrogations; it was that I was alone. My own pack had turned against me, their ears tuned only to Crystal’s lies. Her voice was sweet poison, dripped into the ears of those who wanted to believe her. They’d taken her word that I, Luna Cross—no, Lana, the witch maid—had hexed the Lycan King into believing I was his mate.

I clenched my jaw, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Evidence had magically appeared in my room, some strange herbs and a blackened candle burned down to the wick. I hadn’t placed them there. Of course, no one wanted to believe the maid who couldn’t even shift properly or hold her wolf’s strength. Moon had been my only companion, and she was a ghostly presence in my mind, a wolf made feeble by my witch blood.

“You need to stay focused,” Moon whispered, her voice stronger than it had been in weeks. It was a small comfort, but comfort all the same. “The palace is a labyrinth, but we can get out. Trust your instincts, Luna.”

I moved with practiced precision, slipping through the shadows cast by the ornate, moonlit windows. I was no stranger to sneaking around. My childhood in the streets had been a harsh teacher, and picking locks and moving quietly were skills I’d honed out of necessity. It was those very skills that had freed me from my cell. But getting out of the palace entirely? That was another challenge, one I couldn’t afford to fail.

Pulling the hood of my stolen servant’s cloak tighter around my face, I made my way down a grand hallway.

The rich tapestries and polished marble floors seemed to mock me with their opulence, a stark reminder of the power that loomed over my life. I could hear voices up ahead, laughter of the pack members, and my stomach twisted with anxiety.

“You can’t afford to draw attention,” Moon murmured, her presence pulsing through me. “Act natural. You’re just a servant.”

I slipped my hands into the wide sleeves of my borrowed uniform, trying to hide the tremor in my fingers. My mouth felt dry as sand, but I kept my head down and my steps measured. A group of maids rushed past, giggling about the festivities in the great hall. None of them recognized me, why would they?

To them, I was nobody. Just Lana, the witch maid, easily forgotten and often ignored.

But then one maid stopped, her eyes narrowing as she took me in. My heart skipped a beat.

“You there!” she called, her voice sharp. I froze, every muscle in my body tensed for flight. She strode over, looking me up and down. “Where have you been? The kitchens are in chaos, and you’re standing around? We have a VIP guest waiting for his refreshment.”

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to bolt. “I... I was just—”

She thrust a silver tray into my hands, nearly making me drop it. I maintain holding the tray well, the rich, spiced scent of mulled wine curled into my nostrils.

“Take this,” the maid ordered, not even giving me a chance to protest. “Room twelve, east wing. You’re already late, and the guards won’t let anyone out without the guest being served.”

Panic prickled under my skin. Deliver a drink? To a guest? My mind spun, trying to think of a way out, but Moon’s voice cut through my chaos. “We can use this,” she said, her tone urgent. “Play along. It’s our best chance to slip past the guards.”

With a reluctant nod, I clutched the tray and hurried off, my footsteps muffled on the lush carpet. The maid didn’t spare me a second glance, too busy chattering with her companions about the grand ceremony. If only they knew the truth, the darkness that hung over tonight like a storm cloud. But to them, it was all splendor and celebration.

I approached the guarded entrance to the main building, my heart pounding in my chest. The guards were imposing, their armor gleaming, and I knew they had been briefed about the escaped prisoner—about me. I forced myself to breathe steadily, trying to quell the fear that threatened to choke me.

“Delivery for the VIP guest,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could. One of the guards, a broad-shouldered man with a gruff expression, eyed me suspiciously.

He grunted. “Which room?”

“Twelve, east wing,” I replied, gripping the tray tighter. The guard exchanged a glance with his companion, then nodded.

“Escort her,” he said to a younger guard. My stomach sank, but I plastered on a neutral expression as the guard stepped forward to accompany me. His presence loomed beside me, a silent threat, but he didn’t seem to recognize me.

The palace halls grew quieter as we walked, the festivities fading into the background. The guard stopped at a large hallway, down the hall way are intricately carved door. “Here is the east wing, walk straight counting the doors till you reach the one you looking for,” he said, then lingered as if waiting for something.

I couldn’t let my nerves show. “Ahh, oh, thank you,” I murmured, shifting my weight awkwardly until he finally turned and walked back toward his post.

I exhaled shakily, staring at the doors in front of me. Room one, two I count as I walked holding the juice my steps slowly as my mind was filled with many thoughts as I search for a way to escape from here?

Room four, five.

Should I deliver the drink or just find my escape. But if the drink isn't delivered I'll grab more attention.

I kept walking till I reach room twelve. The air felt thick with something unexplainable, an almost tangible energy that made my skin prickle. I reached out, my fingers trembling, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn. The scent of something musky and sweet filled the room, mingling with the sharp tang of wine from the goblet. My breath caught as I stepped forward, unsure if the occupant was even awake. The silence felt almost oppressive, pressing in from every side.

“Put it on the table,” a voice drawled, making me jump. It was smooth, dangerously so, and I couldn’t quite see where it came from. The shadows seemed to shift, and my instincts screamed that something was wrong.

I moved to set the tray down, every nerve on high alert. Task completed, I turned to leave, my steps careful and measured. But just as I reached the door, that voice came again.

“Wait.”

I froze, my hand hovering over the doorknob, dread pooling in my stomach. Moon growled low in my mind, a warning that echoed my own fear. I didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare move. Whoever this guest was, they had an aura that made my hair stand on end.

And I had a terrible feeling that I was about to face yet another cruel twist of fate.