Page 2 of An Enigma for the Lycan Crown Prince

Her gaze turns sad once again. “It’s not your fault, Flora. He left because he didn’t know how to handle the prophecy. He was scared.”

Grandma does that sometimes… talk about the prophecy. I don’t know what it means. It sounds like a fun little story, but Grandma never laughs when she mentions it. So, it has to be something bad.

“Daddy is scared of me?”

“No, of not being able to protect you and your mom.”

“Why is Mommy not here? Is she scared too?”

“Your mother can’t be here, but she-” she smiles warmly now. “She will always love you.”

one

A Friend

*FLORA*

Itry to stay away from the other children and instead spend time with my little companions. Small dots of light are circling around me wherever I go. They are becoming more and more distinctive now. When I first saw them, they were just like a blur of light, but now it seems they take on an actual form.

Right when I first began to see them, the alpha thought my vision might be impaired and sent me to the infirmary, although Grandma always said that I’m fine, that nothing was wrong.

The doctor agreed. Nothing was wrong.

The alpha is a fair leader, my grandma says, but not really a good man. I don’t know what she means by that, but I think shemeans I shouldn’t tell him everything. To my surprise, he and the beta and other ranks, like the royal lycans, are nice to me.

Grandma says it’s because of the prophecy and because of Dad’s blood.

I don’t know any prophecies aside from the one in the book Grandma is reading with me. It’s about a princess being locked in a golden cage. She is waiting for someone to save her, but eventually fights back herself. She runs, and on her way, she meets the prince, who is heavily wounded. She helps him heal, and he helps her accept herself. Their fates are connected. And then, they marry and have lots of babies and are super powerful couple.

It’s my favorite story.

When I am not listening to Grandma’s stories or in school, I am usually outside, roaming the forest for the voices I can hear. Today, the light leads me down a narrow path, away from the packhouse and deep into the forest. Some of the kids tend to play there, but I nevertheless go to follow the little dots of light. They want to show me something.

More and more dots join in, and soon it feels like the air around me is buzzing. It’s not uncomfortable, though. It makes me smile at how warm it makes me feel. They and Grandma are my only friends and would never harm me.

I don’t know how I know. I just do. They can’t talk, but I know they are my friends.

They lead me further down the path until we reach a beautiful tree. It’s crooked, its branches reaching out like it’s trying to protect everything beneath it. Right at its root, there is a tiny white flower. It looks so funny, like it has legs and a face. I think I have seen it in one of Grandma’s books. Looking at it closer, I see there are more tiny flowers sprinkled around me, and on the ground there are footsteps.

Oh no!

I try to shovel the whole plant free of the surrounding dirt. It looks like people trampled over it. The light circles it now. They seem sad, so sad. I don’t know why, but there are flowers they like in particular. I don’t understand, but it’s not important why they prefer one over the other, I just know I need to protect those they do.

Before I can do anything, a group of voices comes closer. I instantly notice them, they are pack members, kids my age. We go to the same primary school. They don’t like me, not even one bit. I contemplate hiding, but they have already spotted me, and are running towards me. Some boys tug me away, while others laugh and stomp on the flower.

“No!” I scream. “Don’t kill it!”

The hands holding me let go of me in shock. I never talk, I just don’t see why I should. I talk with Grandma and with the ranked members if they ask me something, but never just… like that.

“She can talk!?” one of the girls whispers.

I push the boy, who grabbed me aside, and hurry back to the little flower, covering it with my body, sobbing slightly at the sadness I feel. The little dots of light are circling me, but they are not a comfort this time.

Why don’t the children like me?

Why do they destroy something just because I like it?

“Don’t be dramatic,” one of the boys huffs, trying to tug me away. “It’s just a stupid flower.”