It's been several hours since I woke up. I didn't wait for any of our nurses to discharge me from the infirmary. I think I know the health of my own heart better than them, and unless they can somehow repair the emotional damage it endured today, then I don't want their help.

Now, it's nearing midnight, and I'm alone in my room. Well, as alone as I can be with my maid, Sarah. As a noble, I am supposed to have at least one maid to attend to me. It's just how it works, but I don't like the system. I don't like the idea of someone feeling obligated to tend to me when I am perfectly capable of doing everything by myself. I'd told Sarah as much the moment she'd been assigned to me, and though I'd often shooed her away when it came to dressing myself and bathing, her persistence had quickly worn me down. I agreed to let her touch up my appearance when needed, and it quickly became routine for her to do my hair in the morning, before dinner, and before bed.

So now, I sit before my vanity mirror, staring blankly at my reflection as Sarah braids my hair. Just like my skin, my hair is the shade of freshly fallen snow. In the flickering candlelight of my room, though, it looks a little golden.

Sarah hums a soft tune. I can tell she enjoys tending to me, though I can never understand why. I don't understand how anyone could ever find joy in serving someone else.

"Quiet tonight, Madame."

I meet Sarah's gaze in the mirror. Unlike me, she has a lot of colour on her face, with her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. Sarah was born in the isles of Triule, the territory ruled by the Nirnsich house. I've always wanted to visit Triule for their beaches, but Agnarys don't really associate with the Nirnsich. Maybe it's because we differ too much in what we embody. Agnarys pride themselves on their heightened strength and durability, while Nirnsich favours grace and speed. Besides, the element Nirnsich represents is water, and any fool knows water does not mix with fire.

"Arrhythmias," I say simply.

She frowns. "Again? How did it occur this time?"

"A hunt. I exerted myself. I got close to catching the hare before my siblings, but..." My chest tightens as the scene replays in my head. "...But I lost anyway."

Sarah clicks her tongue. "You cannot blame yourself for that, Madame. You have a heart condition. The fact that you came close is an achievement in itself."

"Only because I took a shortcut."

"Sometimes brains outweigh brawn."

"I know. I just wish I didn't have to always rely on my head for an advantage."

"We cannot all get what we want, madame." Sarah's gaze locks mine in the mirror. "For instance, if I could have anything, it would be your eyes."

"My eyes?" I blink towards her, then stifle a giggle. "Then you're going to need to ditch your tan and blonde hair. Albinism is a package deal."

Sarah steps away from me. I twist on my hips to look at her. "I'm serious, Madame," she says. "You never see colourings quite like yours, especially with your eyes. I think albinism is beautiful in that way."

I scoff. I hate being an albino. I look so sickly and pale every time I go out into the sun, and half of my senses are dulled because of it. My vision goes wonky when there's too much light, and my hearing isn't as sharp as it should be.

Still, I don't protest as she gently turns my head to face the mirror.

"Just look."

I sigh, but I find my eyes in an instant. They're nearly impossible not to notice, given they're the only colour on my face. My irises are an even blend of pale red and purple, creating a unique shade of pale magenta. In the candlelight, my eyes look a little redder than usual. I know because when I look into the mirror during the daytime, they appear more purple.

Either way, Sarah is right – it is not a colour you see often, but that's not necessarily a good thing. I don't want to be different. I want to be just like everyone else, with a normal body and a working heart. I want to be able to run for hours without getting exhausted. I want to be able to fight and play like the rest of my siblings without worrying about hurting myself. I want to be what a werewolf should be: strong and durable, not a girl with a body made of glass.

Sarah may wish to have my eyes, but she has no idea what I'd give to have hers.

Just as I am about to respond, a curt knock comes on my door. Several beats later, Mother is peering inside, and my muscles tense as I lock her dark gaze. I've never had a typical mother-daughter relationship with her, but that's just what it's like as a noble. Noble parents view their offspring as successors rather than children; their love is shown in the form of pride and acknowledgement rather than hugs and kisses. But even then, it's not something I experience often. Whatever bond I have with my parents feels cold, dead.

Sarah stiffens beside me, obviously a little stunned by my mother's sudden presence, but is quick to compose herself and bow her head.

"Lady Agnarys," she says. Mother nods in her direction, which is usually a maid's cue to leave the room. However, just as Sarah is about to pass her, Mother holds out a delicate hand.

"No, Mrs. Greenward, please remain. You may be able to give Naomi some advice once I... depart."

Sarah blinks at her, then at me, but I am just as lost. What does she mean by that? My heart rate ticks up, but I am determined not to let the apprehension show on my face.

Remembering herself, Sarah steps to the side and bows her head. "Of course, Lady Agnarys."

Holding my gaze, Mother steps into the room. Steepling her fingers, she walks around in an elaborate sweep before finally settling beside my four-poster bed across the room.

The silence drags on for several more moments as we stare at each other. There's a strange look in my mother's eyes; had I not known better, I would have called it hesitancy. But Mother never hesitates. She has no reason to, for she always knows what's best.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, she speaks. "Naomi... what do you know about the Queenstrials?"

I blink. What kind of question is that?

"What do you mean, Mother?"

Her brows furrow. "Define it for me, child. What are the Queenstrials?"

I'm confused, but I'm not about to disobey my mother. "It's a competition held when the crown prince is of age. Every eligible daughter from the five noble bloodlines will compete for his heart in a set series of trials, designed to narrow the competition down to the strongest contestants."

Mother smiles. I must have done something right, because she rarely smiles at me. "That's correct, child. The competition is designed to narrow down contestants by strength, speed, durability, etc., all so the prince can make his final decision. Even then, only the strongest will succeed because Gahndor royals always favour the strongest females, all and any feelings aside. Weak werewolves do not stand a chance."

I don't like where she's going with this. "What are you trying to tell me, Mother?"

Her smile disappears, and she's regarding me like I'm incompetent now. I almost wish I hadn't said anything. "What I mean, child, is that competitors need to be strong both in health and physicality in order to stand a chance. You're neither, which is why..."

She pauses, and my entire body stiffens. I know she's about to say something bad, something that may shatter me, but there's nothing I can do other than stand and wait.

"...Which is why your father and I decided to pull you out of the Queenstrials."

It feels like she just dropped two tonnes of steel on my head. "Wh... what?"

She gives an impatient huff, almost as though this is just another inconvenience out of her day, when she has much better things to do. "You will not be competing in the Queenstrials, child."

I'm speechless. I want to ask why, but I can't even form the word. It seems Mother reads the question on my face, though, for she says, "You simply do not meet the requirements for a valid competitor, let alone a potential future queen of Raelia. A Raelian queen must be in a league of her own, one above everyone else: strongest, fastest, most beautiful. She must be able to sire optimal offspring for the king, and you don't meet any of those criteria, child. You are simply unfit to sire an heir, given all your... health conditions." She pauses, as though considering. "And not only that, but you are eighteen and have yet to have your first bleed. I think it's fair to assume you are infertile."

I feel like I'm about to cry again. I can't believe what I'm hearing. "But... but that's not your decision to make—"

"Do not insult me, child, this decision is well within my rights," Mother snaps. "I will not have an invalid such as yourself representing my house or my bloodline. You do not embody the qualities of an Agnarys, and never will. I will not degrade the Agnarys name by allowing my Invalid to participate in a competition made for women above her calibre."

Invalid. She called me her Invalid.

That stings.

Tears begin to roll down my cheeks, but my mother takes it as a sign of acceptance rather than defiance. She leans back into the poster of my bed and, as though she hadn't just completely shattered my self-worth, continues in a calmer tone, "Usually, we would wed you off to a smaller house of nobility, but we decided you were not even fit for that. We cannot marry you off if you cannot even conceive a child, or at least a healthy one at that."

She pauses. I don't know if it's possible, but somehow, I get the feeling her next announcement will be worse than anything she's just said.

I brace myself.

"We looked into the next best thing and found you a position in the royal palace. There, you will serve under King Gahndor as a maid."

It's like she just slapped me. For a moment, I cannot think. I don't think. Somehow, though, it's enough to make me speak.

"This isn't fair."

Mother draws to her full height, glaring me down. "Life is not fair, child, but facts do not care for feelings. Either you agree to this, or we'll exile you from Agnarys and you'll live out the rest of your days as a rogue. I have no qualms with doing the latter."

Her dark eyes pin me to the spot. This is a silent fight for dominance—she's searching for any signs of defiance, but she's not going to get any resistance from me. Instead, I stand there, shedding silent tears as my head spins. Rogue. I cannot go rogue. Exile is every werewolf's worst nightmare, worse than heart conditions or infertility. Worse than being sentenced to servitude for life.

My glare is the only power I have left in this situation, so I do not waste it. For the first time in my life, I pin my mother with a long, hard glare, one that speaks volumes about how I feel. Then, I bow my head in submission.

Because, the truth is, I have no power over Mother. I never will.

Satisfied, she continues, "You will leave for the palace the day after tomorrow, a little earlier than your sisters are to leave." She looks around my room, her nose crinkling at the small mess of clothes on the black-carpeted floor. "I suggest you use tomorrow to pack everything you need for your stay at the royal palace. A carriage will be waiting outside at six that morning. Do not be late."

With that, she whirls on her heels and storms for the door, shutting it with a resounding thud.

Silence settles over the room. My ears ring, and I can feel hot tears carving their way down my cheeks. Just like that. Just like that, all my plans are ruined. My one chance to prove myself has been ripped away from me, ripped apart, left in pieces on the floor.

"Madame?"

I almost forgot Sarah was in the room. I know I should feel humiliated that she heard everything, but I can't bring myself to. I just feel so numb.

With what little strength I have left, I ask, "May I have some space, please, Sarah?"

Silence. I can almost picture Sarah bowing her head before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind her. The moment it clicks shut, I drop to my knees. My breathing gets heavier, my chest heaves, and before I know it, I'm sobbing. Deep, guttural sobs as I spill my sorrows all over the carpet beneath me. Never once have I wanted to be normal more than I do now, but that's all it is —a wish; a fantasy. I'll always just be me.

Naomi, the runt of her pack, the Invalid who'd had the chance of a lifetime ripped away from her.

What one hell of a story that would make.