ISOLDE'S FANTASIES

Isolde sat on the edge of her small wooden cot, her fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the blanket beneath her. The servant’s quarters were quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards and the muffled voices from the pack house above. Her room was simple, with only a narrow bed by the side, a small chest for her belongings, and a single window overlooking the training grounds. Yet tonight, as she sat there, her thoughts were far from her modest surroundings.

Leaning back against the wall, the cool surface pressing into her spine, she closed her eyes. Her mind drifted to Kaelen, the Alpha. Her Alpha. She could still see him from earlier that day, standing tall and commanding during a pack meeting. His broad shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw, and the way his voice carried authority left her breathless.

In her imagination, she wasn’t just a maid in the shadows. She was more.

She pictured herself walking beside him into the grand hall. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to them. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, her fingers brushing against the firm muscles beneath his shirt. She was dressed in something elegant, soft silks that flowed around her like water so different from the coarse fabric of her servant’s uniform.

Kaelen looked at her in her dream with a softness she’d never seen before. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, held warmth, even pride, as if to say, This is my mate. My equal.

In her mind, she saw the envy in the eyes of the pack’s elite women, the ones who flaunted their wealth and power. They had always looked down on her, barely acknowledging her existence, but in this fantasy, their scorn melted away. Instead, they whispered among themselves, awed by the bond Kaelen and she shared.

“Isolde,” she imagined him saying, his voice low and intimate, meant only for her. “You belong here with me.”

Her heart ached as the vision faded, reality creeping back in as she glanced down at her hands calloused from scrubbing floors and carrying heavy loads. The simple cotton dress she wore was patched at the seams, reminding her of her place in the pack.

She let out a sigh, her thoughts drifting back to the times Kaelen had unknowingly made her heart race. There was the day she’d been arranging flowers in the dining hall. Kaelen had walked in, his stride confident and purposeful. She’d frozen, clutching a vase, unsure if she should acknowledge him or remain invisible, as always.

“Careful, you’ll drop that,” he had said, his voice startling her.

She had looked up, meeting his piercing blue eyes for the briefest of moments. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned and continued on his way. It was nothing, just a fleeting moment he likely forgot, but for her it was everything.

The following week, the pack gathered for a seasonal festival, it was the winter feast. She had been busy pouring wine for the guests, her head bowed as she moved from one table to the next. Kaelen had been seated at the head of the table, his presence commanding as ever even in the midst of laughter and conversation. She had felt his gaze on her, burning into her skin, though she dared not look up.

Later, as she cleared the plates, their hands had accidentally brushed when she reached for a goblet. She had stammered an apology, her cheeks burning, but he had only nodded, his expression unreadable.

Isolde opened her eyes, staring at the cracked ceiling above her. It was foolish to let her thoughts wander like this. Kaelen was the Alpha, destined to be with someone strong, powerful, and worthy of his title. She was just a maid, barely noticed by anyone.

Still, her heart clung to those fleeting moments, the ones that made her feel seen, even if only for a second.

“What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the tangles, as if to pull herself out of her foolish dreams.

But the dreams always came back.

The window in her room offered a small view of the training grounds, where the warriors often sparred under Kaelen’s watchful eye. She had seen him there countless times, barking orders, his presence dominating the space.

She thought of the grandeur of his world, the large pack house with its polished floors and ornate decorations, the way everyone seemed to move with purpose and deference when he was near. It was a world of power and prestige, so far removed from her own.

Her room, by contrast, was a world of simplicity. The cot creaked whenever she shifted, the blanket barely providing warmth, and the single candle she lit each night shone weakly, casting shadows on the walls. Yet it was in this tiny, humble space that her heart dared to dream of him.

Isolde sat up straighter, her hands curling into fists in her lap. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but it struck her with surprising clarity: What if I could be more?

It was ridiculous, of course. Kaelen would never look at her the way she wanted him to. Still, the thought lingered, stubborn and unyielding. What if she could prove herself? What if she could find a way to stand out, to be noticed?

Her mind drifted back to the women of the pack, they were strong warriors, confident leaders, everything she wasn’t. But maybe, just maybe, there was more to her than what others saw.

“I’m not just a maid,” she murmured, her voice steadying.

The thought gave her a strange sense of hope, something fragile but real.

As she settled back against the wall, another memory surfaced, one she tried not to think about too often. It was from years ago, not long after she had come to the pack. She had been younger then, quieter, unsure of her place.

Kaelen had been in the training yard, sparring with one of the senior warriors. She had watched from a distance, fascinated by his skill and strength. When the match ended, Kaelen had looked over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the area. For a moment, their eyes had met.

She remembered the way her breath had caught, the way her heart had pounded in her chest. It was a fleeting moment, over before she could process it, but it had stayed with her.

Even now, years later, she wondered if he had seen her that day or if she had been nothing more than a blur in the background.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled her from her thoughts. Isolde straightened, wiping at her face as if the act could erase the emotions lingering there. She couldn’t afford to get lost in her dreams, especially not when there was work to be done and a place to keep.

As she blew out the candle and lay down on her cot, she allowed herself one last indulgence, a brief fleeting vision of Kaelen standing beside her, his hand in hers, the world fading away around them.

It was a dream she would wake from in the morning, but for now, it was hers to hold.