The Hidden Werewolf Princess

Shadows danced on the walls of Isabelle’s room as she sat by the frosted window, clutching the faintly glowing crescent pendant her mother had given her before she left the palace. It pulsed softly against her palm, a comforting reminder of the Moon Goddess’s presence and the divine lineage she carried in her veins.

She had fought to stay in the Ironclaw Pack, her heart foolishly believing in love and promises. "I love him," she had pleaded with her family. "Please, let me stay. I’ll be safe. I swear!"

Logan, her second elder brother, had been the fiercest in his opposition, his eyes blazing with fury. “They’ll never protect you like we can, Isabelle! You’re the ice princess, for the Moon’s sake. Do you think they even understand what you are? What’s at stake?”

But she had ignored his warnings, choosing instead to believe that Gabriel would keep her safe. After all, he had saved her once—three years ago, during the kidnapping attempt orchestrated by a rebel organization. That day, when he pulled her from the brink of death, she had believed he was her destiny.

Her knight in shining armor.

Now, she could barely recognize the man she once adored. The truth was undeniable: Gabriel wasn’t her protector. He was her downfall.

The morning came with a fever that refused to break, her body betraying her once more. Isabelle dragged herself to the pack hospital, each step heavier than the last.

The healer, a kind woman with silver streaks in her hair, examined her with gentle hands. “Your body is still reacting to the loss,” she said softly, her gaze pitying. “You need to rest, child. You’re still recovering.”

Isabelle nodded numbly, but rest wouldn’t heal the ache in her chest. The loss of her child—the one connection she had to a future—felt like a wound that would never close.

When she returned to the pack house, Gabriel was absent, as always. Yna, her only confidante, greeted her with a troubled expression.

“He’s with her again,” Yna murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Isabelle stiffened. She didn’t need to ask who “her” was.

“Did he say when he’d be back?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm.

Yna hesitated, her gaze darting away. “They’re planning their wedding. The pack… they’ve been told to keep it from you.”

For a moment, Isabelle felt the world tilt beneath her feet. But then she laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that echoed in the empty hall. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He wanted me to stay blind and obedient.”

Her voice dropped, laced with quiet resolve. “But I’m done, Yna. I’m leaving.”

Later that night, unable to sleep, Isabelle wandered downstairs to get some water. The pack house was eerily quiet, the air thick with the kind of stillness that made her skin crawl.

As she reached the kitchen, hushed voices floated toward her from the shadows.

“I still can’t believe someone murdered him,” Charlotte’s sweet, venomous voice carried through the dark. “The prince’s death… Do you think—”

“Shut it,” Gabriel hissed, his tone sharp and urgent. “We shouldn’t speak of his death here.”

Isabelle’s blood ran cold. They were talking about William, her brother.

Charlotte scoffed, her voice turning impatient. “You’re too cautious, Gabriel. Then what about the princess?”

Gabriel’s voice dropped, his words muffled but tense. “… hard… find...”

Her pulse quickened, unease clawing at her chest. Why were they talking about her family?

The floor creaked beneath her, and the voices fell silent.

“Who’s there?” Gabriel’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.