Chapter 86

Rowena

Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and shook my head as if that would somehow dispel the exhaustion that had settled in my bones. My room was lit solely by the small lamp on my desk and the early morning sunlight seeping in beneath my curtains. It was early—but I hadn’t slept all night.

How could I sleep? How could I give myself that time to relax when Eric was currently locked up in quarantine, his condition worsening by the day?

With a stretch, I resumed reading the textbook laid out in front of me. The words had begun to swim on the page, but I didn’t care. I needed to focus on finding a cure for Eric. For everyone with the Wolf’s Fury virus.

And I was determined to do just that; after all, I had made a vow when I saw him being dragged away from me by the men in hazmat suits.

I turned the page and let out a low groan. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” I muttered, snapping the book shut and tossing it to the side. It hit the carpeted floor with a muted thud, but I was already on to the next book: “The History of Viral Infections in the North and South”. A rather old textbook with a frayed cover and crinkled pages, but… I was running out of options.

Maybe I would find what I was looking for here, I figured. Maybe, just maybe, some forgotten history would be the key to finding the cure for this disease.

As I read, no matter how hard I tried to shove them away, Heather’s words kept echoing through my mind.

“The only cure is death,” she had said. “If the professionals can’t figure it out, what makes you think that you can?”

Yeah, well, I wasn’t one of the professionals. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to let Eric die. Not now. Not when I knew that we weren’t related, when we could finally confess our love for each other. Not when we had finally gotten to the bottom of why we felt so intensely for each other.

That was the edge that I had over the professionals: love.

“Wolf’s Fury,” I mumbled to myself, tracing my finger along the index at the front of the book. “Let’s see… Aha!”

Finding the page, I flipped to the section about Wolf’s Fury and began to read.

“Originally known as ‘Mad Wolf Disease’, Wolf’s Fury was first discovered in the year 1605 by Doctor Patrick Newman…”

I furrowed my brow, skimming over the text. It was just as I figured: the first outbreak occurred in a small region and blossomed outwards, spreading rapidly. Symptoms included foaming at the mouth, pupils being unresponsive to sunlight, and unprovoked rage.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, flipping to the next page. I already knew all of this; what I didn’t know, however, was how they had cured it in the first place. After all, Wolf’s Fury hadn’t been active in nearly three hundred years.

Surely someone had found a cure. Or at least something to treat the symptoms.

“Eventually, Wolf’s Fury spread to the Northern King’s army. During a time of war, the army’s health was crucial; therefore, when the warriors began falling ill and dying within mere days of contracting the disease, the King scrambled to find a cure.”

“The King employed the top alchemists and apothecaries in all the kingdoms,” I read out loud under my breath. “But none could find a cure… Only certain herbal concoctions could extend the lifespan of those infected, delaying their symptoms.”

Groaning, I went to shut the book. Nothing of use, just as I suspected.

But then, just as I was about to close the book with a slam, I saw it: one paragraph that changed everything.

“When the King’s wife fell ill with the disease, his efforts intensified. No potions, holistic treatments, or surgeries would help. The King grew terrified of losing his beloved wife… and began taking extreme measures.”

The more I read, the more my eyes widened: apparently, the King eventually hired a rather experimental physician who claimed that the cure to Wolf’s Fury was in the blood. The physician began drawing the blood of the King’s family, various noblemen and noblewomen from across the kingdom, and even those who had already been infected.

And then… He found it. An anomaly in the princess’s blood.

“The princess’s blood was found to have red blood cells with a slightly different structure than all the others,” the textbook read. “With the Queen on her deathbed, the physician desperately began creating different concoctions with this strange blood. And then…”

“He eventually discovered that, combined with a few basic alchemical solutions, the blood… cured the Queen of Wolf’s Fury.”

I let out a soft gasp as I flipped to the next page. But then my heart sank when I read the following paragraphs.

The special gene in the princess’s blood was found to be exclusive to the Northern royalty’s bloodline.

But none of the princess’s children went on to possess the gene. That had been nearly three hundred years ago, and now…

Suddenly a knock on the door pulled me out of my reverie. By the time I looked up, the door was already cracking open to reveal my mother and my father standing in the doorway.

“Rowena?” my mother said tentatively. “Are you alright, honey? Have you slept?”

I shook my head and looked away—partially unable to look either of them in the eyes now that I knew the truth: that I wasn’t their biological daughter. But I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell either of them yet.

My parents stepped into the room and peered over my shoulder. “What’s this?” my father asked.

“I’m trying to find a cure for Wolf’s Fury.”

Exchanging glances, my parents fell silent for a moment before my mother spoke. “Honey, we know you’re worried about Eric, but—”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Whirling around to face them, I blurted out, “I know you’re not my real parents.”

A long, tense silence followed. My father clenched his jaw, my mother’s face went ashen. And in that moment, I knew—I knew it for certain. Part of me had wondered if maybe the DNA test results were a mistake, but now…

“Rowena—what makes you think that?” my father muttered haltingly.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my phone and tapped at the screen until I had navigated to my ancestry results. I then shoved my phone into their faces, watching with my arms folded across my chest as they both studied the screen.

“This must be a mistake,” my father growled, clearly growing worried. “Rowena, why would you do this without talking to us?”

“Because I think a part of me has always known.” I sighed, looking back and forth between the two of them. They were both so tall, with that signature Griffith blonde hair and blue eyes, athletic figures and simply perfect all around.

And then there was me. Short, skinny, pale, curly brown hair and bad eyesight. All I shared with them was the color of my eyes. Nothing else.

Suddenly, a sob wracked my mother’s frame. She covered her mouth and turned toward my father, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve.

“We have to tell her,” she cried. “We have to tell her…”

I drew in a shuddering breath. “Tell me what?” I whispered, although I think I already knew the answer.

For a moment, my father was tense and silent. And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sank down onto the end of my bed and lowered his head into his hands.

“Okay,” he said, his voice strained and choked for the first time since… well, forever. “It’s time you learn about your true lineage… Princess.”