Chapter 8

While I moved among the garden tables serving champagne, I tried to fold myself into the edges of the estate, into the places where light did not linger and eyes did not bother to look. The courtyard of House Viremont had been dressed like a noble court from old war tales—white marble chairs carved with gold filigree, long tables draped in embroidered linen, banners of the pack crest hanging from the stone arches as if to remind everyone whose blood ruled here.

Laughter drifted through the air like perfume. Easy. Careless. The kind of laughter that belonged to people who had never buried a child.

I kept my head lowered as I passed from guest to guest, tray steady in my hands though my fingers had begun to ache from holding it so tightly. Six times I caught the same words slipping between cups and smiles, spoken softly but never softly enough for someone like me not to hear.

“They suit each other so well,” one woman murmured behind her fan.

“Look at them,” another replied, voice warm with admiration. “A bonded pair blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.”

“Her son is so well-mannered,” a third voice added. “You can tell she raised him properly. Unlike some…”

“They were meant to rule together.”

“She even carries herself beautifully despite the pregnancy.”

“At last, Alpha Viktor chose correctly.”

I pretended not to hear. There was a kind of survival in pretending, in letting the world believe you were too broken to notice its cruelty. I moved between tables like a shadow bound to service, the black dress they had assigned me clinging like mourning cloth that did not belong to my body. Around me, the pack’s noble women shimmered in silks dyed with silver-threaded runes, jewels passed down through bloodlines that traced back to ancient pacts and wolf oaths. I felt like something misplaced among relics.

That was when it happened.

Elric did not even look at me as he extended his foot. It was deliberate in the way only children taught cruelty can be deliberate. The edge of his polished boot caught my heel, and the world tilted forward.

The tray slipped from my hands.

Crystal flutes shattered across the marble with a sound like breaking vows. Champagne spilled in golden arcs, staining white gowns and polished stone. One glass struck a noblewoman’s dress, spreading across her hip like a mark of disgrace. Gasps rose instantly, sharp and offended.

The music faltered. Even the wind seemed to hesitate in the courtyard.

I stood in the center of it all, hands trembling, palms empty.

I did not cry.

Elric straightened beside his chair, chin lifted with a child’s cruel certainty, as though he had been rewarded for it.

“She ruins everything,” he declared loudly, voice carrying across the stunned courtyard. “Just like she ruined my baby brother.”

Silence fell harder than any command.

Every gaze turned to me.

Nyra rose slowly from her seat, one hand resting gently over her abdomen as though she carried the future itself within her. Her expression softened into something delicate and wounded, perfectly arranged for witnesses.

“Please,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to be believed. “He is only a child. He does not understand what he says. He is frightened… frightened for me and for the child I carry. Ever since that cursed urn entered this house, he has not known peace.”

A ripple went through the crowd. Murmurs, sharper now.

“The urn…”

“The child’s ashes…”

“I heard something was destroyed…”

My lips parted. For a moment no sound came, as if even my voice had abandoned me. Then it returned, small and fractured.

“The cursed urn,” I whispered, almost to myself, “was what remained of my son after all of you broke him.”

No one reacted. Or perhaps they chose not to.

Then the air shifted.

Viktor crossed the courtyard like a storm given form, his presence heavy with command and fury. He seized my arm without warning, his grip iron-tight, forcing my body to turn with him.

“You have humiliated me,” he said through clenched teeth, dragging me away from the shattered glass. “You have ruined Nyra’s night.”

Before I could respond, his hand struck my face.

The impact rang through me, metallic and sharp. Blood filled my mouth, warm against my tongue. I did not fall. I refused to.

Footsteps followed.

Nyra again, appearing at the edge of his fury like a gentle illusion. She touched his arm lightly, her voice soft enough to soothe a beast.

“Please do not hurt her,” she said. “She is still the mother of your child.”

A few elders approached then, drawn by the commotion like vultures to scent. Viktor’s mother’s expression was carved from ice.

“End this,” she said coldly. “Remove her from this family. I will not tolerate such disgrace any longer.”

I lifted my head.

“No need,” I said, my voice unsteady but clear enough to carry. “I have already submitted the dissolution request. The bond is broken. You may keep your son.”

For a heartbeat, Viktor did not move. As though comprehension itself refused to enter him.

Then his mother stepped forward and struck me across the face.

The sound echoed through the courtyard.

“How dare you speak so freely in this house,” she snapped.

Whispers rose again, feeding on the moment.

“She is insane.”

“A dissolution?”

“She cannot survive alone.”

“She should be restrained.”

My hand moved to my pocket almost without thought.

The parchment seal had arrived that morning through the pack messenger, bearing the mark of the elders. I unfolded it slowly.

The bond is dissolved.

I stared at the words until they no longer felt like ink.

Then I smiled.

It was not joy. It was release. The kind that comes when chains finally fall away, even if your wrists are already raw.

I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

Then I turned and walked toward the great iron gate of House Viremont.

Behind me, Viktor’s voice rose.

“Where do you think you are going?”

I did not look back.

“To live,” I answered simply. “For myself.”

His footsteps moved after me. I felt him reaching.

But before his hand could close around my wrist, Nyra collapsed once more, perfectly timed, perfectly fragile, drawing every eye like a practiced spell. The courtyard erupted in movement. Concern. Panic. Attention redirected.

And I kept walking.

No one stopped me.

**

When I returned to the glass mansion, the servants opened the doors as though they had seen a ghost walking back into its own grave. I did not speak. I crossed the threshold alone, my dress torn, my steps steady.

Upstairs, Evander’s chamber remained untouched, preserved like a shrine no one dared to acknowledge. His scent still lingered faintly in the carved wood and woven blankets, a sweetness that no amount of time could erase.

I opened his drawers one by one, folding the small garments he had once worn, the toys he had carried everywhere, the worn storybooks marked with his small teeth. Each piece I pressed briefly against my chest before placing it into the travel chest as though preparing him for a journey he would finally be allowed to finish.

When I reached his pillow, I removed my wedding ring and set it down where his head used to rest.

The maid watched from the corridor but said nothing. Some grief does not need witnesses who speak.

I left the mansion without ceremony and walked to the waiting carriage. The driver did not ask questions. He only lowered his gaze.

As the wheels turned, I looked back once at the estate of glass and gold, at the place that had once called itself my home.

My voice left me in a whisper carried only by the wind.

“Viktor Viremont… when the reckoning comes, may even the Moon Goddess remember what you did.”

My fingers closed around the parchment seal in my pocket.

And I did not look back again.