A/N: Warning: Pretty long chapter ahead. ;) )

Grayson's POV.

It has been three months since I woke up with a dark blue cloth tied to my wrist. I definitely didn't go to bed with it. I don't know where it came from, but to be honest I don't really care. Although its smell was strangely calming and gave my senses deja vu. 

The mere object seemed close to me, even though I'd never seen it before. Strange. Was my favourite colour even blue? I don't remember it being... 

It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. As I sit on the throne, my chin on my hand, I thought about things I tried my hardest not to think about. My kingdom. The subjects. The ones who hated me with a passion. 

Why you ask? Because I'm different. And not in no stereotypical, clique, mary sue, 'I'm not like other girls' trope. I'm literally, genetically different. My mother is a purebred Lycadian. A shapeshifting species. My father on the other hand is-was...human. A soft-skinned, kind-hearted human. 

Because of past falling outs with humans, the Lycadians didn't approve of my mother permitting my father live on Amarog let along in Lycadia. But she was queen so they couldn't say anything. But when I was born, I was seen as an abomination.

A bastard offspring and an outcast. Growing up, the only friend I had was Drace. The orphaned boy adopted by Malik, the stable keeper and combat trainer. But once he reached a certain age, he shunned me like everyone else. 

However, he never physically hurt me. Only gave me death glares and regarded my words with rough grunts. He became my captain of the guard when he grew old enough. My father died in a war between humans and Lycadians. 

That battle made the lycadians hate me even more as they saw my father as the bringer of the human invaders. Even though he was killed himself by humans for taking the side of the Lycadians. 

My mother died while out hunting. Torn apart by Znichars. That was what I was told by Axelia. Although I never believed it. My mother was the strongest, most stubborn person I've ever known. She was the one person I ever felt safe near other than my dad...

But mom always had this aura of home.... She smelt of home. She had a radiating warmth of motherly protection and love. It was my comfort when dad died and when she died I was left with nothing.

Axelia was nothing like a mother. She never did and never could radiate the love and warmth my mother had. When she died I became Alpha. Queen over the whole Lycadian kingdom. A twelve-year-old queen who ruled over a kingdom who hated her for merely being born. 

That is when daring, adventurous Grayson became closed up, emotional, weak, quiet Grayson. But I've grown used to it. Seven years later I am now 19 and not as emotional and soft skinned. My ears tend to tune out the whispered jeers and gossip. 

What do they think I am, a monster? It doesn't matter. I've grown deaf to their negativity. 

3rd Person's POV.

That is just what Grayson tells herself. She is still that little girl who cried her lonesome self to sleep night after night after her mother died. The girl grits her teeth as the delicate memory of her mother's loving smile slips into her mind's eye. 

She had been the same girl until last month when a recent challenge had caused her to forget all her father told her about loyalty and mercy and grace. Drace. The one person she trusted more than Axelia. He had stabbed her in the back, challenging her for the throne. 

Drace had hurled horrid insults at her. Calling her a worthless mutt. A Znichar offspring. A half-breed mongrel. The list went on. She still remembers the fight. He had lain beneath her, an angry, hateful snarl on his face. 

Grayson had held her sword over him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. "GO ON!" He had shouted. "Do it! Kill me!" She had shaken her head, trembling. Blood flowed from his nose and random cuts on his body. Her mouth leaked the similar red liquid and her arm ached from recently healing broken bones. 

"I can't!" She screamed at him. "After all you've done to me! I still can't do it! Why?! What have I ever done to you Drace?" She pleaded, tears mixing with blood rolling down her face. "We used to play in the courtyard together! The forest and stables! Don't you remember all that?!" 

Her former friend had stared up at her unfazed. He wasn't the same little kid who had given her piggyback rides and taught her how to tie a fish hook. The same kid she took naps with, in the haystacks. 

Drace had narrowed his gaze and raised his head. "I'd rather die than live in the same universe where a half-blood mutt like you rules." He had spat. Grayson's heart thumped against her bruised ribcage and her fingers trembled. 

"Drace...." She had pleaded for the last time. 

Then he had said it. 

"You are a cursed monster! You brought the humans to invade us. Your mother died because of you." 

That did it. Grayson's eyes had widened and her heart stopped. He had gone too far and even he knew it. Anger clouded the young girl's vision and mind and she ran the sword through his chest. Kneeling in the arena, Grayson had screamed, tears streaming down her face. 

Later, Axelia had tried to deny her part in the betrayal, but Grayson had sent a dagger in her heart. The Grayson who left the arena that day was not the Grayson who had walked in.

Now the Grayson who sits on the throne presently was not a carelessly hated Grayson. She is now a fearfully obeyed Grayson. Her soft brown eyes are dark and unpredictable.

Looking up, Grayson who carelessly toys with a dagger, watched the throne room doors open. A blond man is escorted into the throne room. The natural sunlight blinds him temporarily and he winces. The two guards holding his arms lead him inside, bringing him before the throne.

The young Alpha doesn't look at the traitor as she begins to speak. "You're the one who cut down ten of my warriors alive." She deadpans, lifting her eyes to look at him. It isn't a question. It is an accusation.

The man lifts his chin. "You're the one who sent them there to kill us." He counters, his voice strong and daring. Grayson doesn't react, only takes the dagger and places the tip of the blade on the arm of the throne, as she looks at the man without a reaction.

"Do you have an answer for me? Fenris of the Cloak pack?" Grayson asks, ignoring the man's previous quip. "You wouldn't listen to me if I told you. If I even make you an offer-" He begins. The girl cuts him off roughly. "This is not a negotiation, traitor."

The man is roughly forced to his knees and he shuts his trap. "You and your pack have separated yourself from the rest of us and constantly raise riots and steal supplies. To what end?" She asks, gazing at the man somewhat amused.

The man looks up slowly as if he knows his next words might very well be his last. "We were wrong to taunt you as a child for being born....a mongrel." He winces at his words. Like a child who spoke out of turn and awaiting a head cuffing.

Grayson doesn't react. The man continues, lifting his head to look his queen straight in the eyes. "Kill me if you must, but I shall not bow to a queen who wears a crown studded with jewels for every life she's taken." 

Grayson stands and strides down to the man who is hoisted to his feet. Grayson narrows her gaze. "I take the lives of those who defy me. You have made me realize that Lycadia doesn't want a merciful child to rule it. You all want an iron fist. And I shall give it to you." 

She lifts the dagger to the man's stomach, digging the blade into the flesh slightly, drawing blood. "Have you any words for yourself?" She asks. The man winces. "You are making a mistake. You are ruling in a way your mother would never want. This isn't who you are."

Blood rushes to Grayson's head and her knuckles whiten around the knife handle. "You want to know who I really am?" She whispers, pushing the knife a few inches further into the man's stomach. "I am Grayson Scott. Daughter of the royal-born Lysandra, Alpha of Lycadia. She was my mother and she set the example for me to rule with dignity and justice. I have given you that luxury. But it seems you don't want that."

The man winces as the blade glides out of his skin smoothly, his chest heaving. "So I am giving you the Alpha you want." Slowly, Grayson hands her dagger to the closest soldier and unsheaths her sword.

She steps toward the man again. His eyes flicker a bright blue. "Blood must have blood." She mutters gravely in the Lycadian language as she runs the sleek silver blade through the Rogue's chest.

Welp here is your first angsty chapter. Yes, time happened differently because, without the turtles' influence, the events happen differently. Let me know what you think of this first chapter! Yes, there is a wild ride to be had in the near future.