Chapter 7

Then she collapsed directly into his arms as if she had been waiting for that exact moment to fall. Viktor caught her at once, instinctive and desperate, holding her as though she were made of fragile moonglass that would shatter under the slightest breath.

“Nyra… Nyra, stay with me,” he said, panic cracking through his voice as he pressed his palm to her cheek, checking her pulse, her breath, her every tremor as if the world itself depended on it. “Someone—fetch a healer. Now!”

I remained where I knelt. Blood had already soaked through my dress and pooled beneath me, warm and heavy, but I did not move. I did not speak. I did not even lift my head.

He lifted Nyra into his arms as though she were sacred, as though she were something blessed by the Moon Goddess herself, and turned toward the door with urgent strides.

Before he left, he paused and looked back at me.

His eyes were no longer human. They were sharpened blades.

“Do not move,” he said lowly. “Do not even breathe loudly. Think about what you have done here.”

I said nothing.

“You do not deserve a bed,” he added, each word deliberate, carved out of something colder than hatred.

Then he left.

The door shut behind them with final finality, and the hall returned to silence so complete it felt like burial.

I did not know how long I stayed there. Time lost meaning after a while, as though the estate itself had swallowed it whole. My legs had gone numb beneath me, my body refusing to acknowledge itself. Even pain began to fade into something distant and unimportant.

Then the door creaked again.

At first I did not look up. I thought it was a servant passing through, or perhaps another echo of the house shifting in its sleep. But then I heard small, deliberate footsteps crossing the stone floor.

A child’s steps.

“Why are you sitting like that?” Elric asked.

I slowly lifted my gaze.

He stood there holding a small wooden toy carved in the shape of a hunting beast, painted blue along its sides. His clothes were fresh, his hair brushed neatly, as though he had only just risen from a warm bed and been dressed by careful hands. There was no fear in his face. No confusion. Only calm curiosity, as though I were an object placed incorrectly in his path.

He squatted down beside me, resting one elbow on his knee as he studied me like something beneath his interest.

“My mother is a wonderful actress, isn’t she?” he said, smiling faintly. “Bitch.”

My lips parted, but no sound came.

He smiled wider, pleased with himself.

“Father always believes her,” he continued. “Every single time.”

He pushed the toy lightly across the floor. It rolled once, then stopped. After that, he rose again and hummed to himself as he walked away, unbothered, unburdened, as though nothing in this world had ever demanded remorse from him.

He did not look back.

And I remained there, staring at the place where he had stood, while something inside me quietly stopped resisting.

Soon, I thought.

Soon this will end.

I had already given my order to the pack scribe. The divorce parchment had been sent forward, carried through proper channels. Once it was sealed by the elders, I would no longer belong here.

Then I would be free.

Then I would make them remember.

He returned before dawn.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him. They were heavier than before, but slower, controlled, as though whatever storm had lived in him the night before had burned itself out and left only ash behind.

He did not speak at first.

He simply placed a vial of bitter healer’s draught on the table before me.

“Take it,” he said flatly. “And try not to bring ruin upon anyone else next time.”

I did not respond.

He turned toward the door, then paused as if something had only just occurred to him.

“My parents’ gathering is this weekend,” he said without looking back. “You are still bound to me. You will attend.”

A pause.

“And bring Evander.”

Silence settled between us.

“You heard me,” he added. “Bring him. Clean him. Stand properly. Smile when required. You know your place.”

Then he left again, as if I were already something he had finished with.

The day of the gathering came beneath a sky too clear to be merciful.

I was placed in the carriage, not beside him, but beside the driver’s bench, as though I were part of the escort rather than the house itself. I did not protest. I did not speak.

Behind us, Nyra sat comfortably within the carriage with Elric tucked against her side like a favored heir. Her fingers moved through his hair with practiced gentleness, and he leaned into her as though he had always belonged there.

A perfect picture of what they had decided was family.

I sat in silence, dressed in a plain black gown that felt like mourning cloth stolen from someone else’s grief. Around me, everything else shone—finery, embroidered silks, jewelry that caught the light like blessings.

Nyra wore white.

Of course she did.

White like purity. White like innocence. White like something untouched by consequence.

No one spoke to me.

Not even Elric.

Not even once.

We arrived at the ancestral estate as the sun dipped low, casting gold across the gates. The outer grounds were already filled with waiting attendants and visiting nobles. Torchlight flickered along the stone paths like watchful spirits.

Viktor stepped out first, adjusting his sleeves, straightening himself as though entering a war council rather than a family gathering.

Then he opened Nyra’s door.

She stepped out gracefully, smiling at the gathered eyes as though she had been born into this bloodline. Elric followed at her side without hesitation, holding her hand as though it were the most natural place for him to be.

I stepped out last.

No hand reached for me.

No acknowledgment followed.

My shoes pressed into gravel that had been polished for better feet than mine.

“Do not speak unless spoken to,” Viktor said without turning.

I gave a small nod.

He did not see it.

He was already walking forward, Nyra at his side like a chosen blessing.

Inside, the hall had been transformed into celebration.

The ancestral ballroom glowed with chandeliers suspended like captured stars. Long tables overflowed with offerings, wine aged in sacred barrels, and musicians played softly in the corner as though even sound had been instructed to behave.

Viktor raised his glass before we had even fully entered.

“Everyone,” he announced, voice carrying easily across the hall, “this is Nyra. The woman who will stand beside me in the years to come.”

Applause followed.

Nyra lowered her head gracefully, accepting it as though it had always been hers.

“And this,” Viktor continued, gesturing toward Elric, “is the future of this house.”

The elders rose. Smiled. Blessed him. Touched his shoulders. Called him strong, promising, worthy.

I stood near the edge of the hall, where shadows gathered beneath the coat racks. I did not belong among gold or celebration. I had been placed where forgotten things were kept.

Someone nearby asked about me.

Viktor’s mother answered without hesitation.

“Oh, that one,” she said with a faint smile. “The former wife. The one who could not even keep her own child alive in dignity. Where is that sick boy now? Hidden away, as always?”

Nyra placed a hand over her heart, soft and sorrowful in performance.

“Evander is resting,” she said gently. “He is too delicate for travel. It would not be suitable.”

Then she looked at me, eyes soft with practiced pity.

“How unfortunate,” she murmured.

And she kissed Viktor’s cheek as though I were not standing there at all.

My fingers curled once at my side, then loosened.

I said nothing.

A servant dropped a silver tray near the banquet tables. The sound echoed sharply, cutting through laughter and conversation.

The hall turned.

Viktor’s father laughed first.

“We have guests of importance,” he said loudly. “Not clumsy distractions. If she wishes to be useful, she may clean it.”

A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd.

Nyra stepped forward again, smiling sweetly.

“She used to be so helpful,” she said softly. “Perhaps she can assist the servants until they finish.”

Viktor said nothing.

That was answer enough.

So I walked forward.

I picked up the tray.

And I began to serve.

Flutes. Plates. Napkins. Smiles I no longer felt required to own.

Whispers followed me like insects.

“The former Luna… is that really her?”

“I heard she was cast out of favor.”

“They say she brought death into the house.”

“She looks like she is already gone.”

I did not look at them.

I did not stop.

Because none of them understood yet.

Not a single one.

And soon—when the final seal broke—I would no longer be the one serving.