|chapter 12|
|chapter 12|
|Talitha|
Night has fully claimed Eldwyn, casting long shadows across Mother Elvyra’s stone-walled office. The lone lantern on her oak desk flickers, its flame dancing as though unsettled by the weight in the room. The air smells faintly of dried herbs and incense, which would normally be soothing, but tonight it only tightens the knot in my chest.
I sit stiffly in one of the carved chairs, hands limp on my lap, staring at nothing—truly nothing. My mind is adrift, untethered, and still reeling from the Alpha King’s arrival, his claim, his threats. My so-called second mate. My undoing.
Across from me, Mother Elvyra and the town head speak in low, urgent tones.
Town Head Gareth—broad-shouldered, grey at the temples, always smelling faintly of pipe smoke—leans forward with the air of a man who has already made up his mind hours ago. His voice comes out firm and clipped, with all authority and no softness whatsoever.
“Mother Elvyra, we waste precious time by discussing this. The lass must do as the Alpha King commands. Eldwyn cannot afford to anger him further.”
Mother Elvyra shakes her head, calm but unyielding. “Gareth, listen well. This entire event came upon Talitha suddenly, upon all of us. The poor child has been shaken to the bone. Forcing her hand this night solves nothing. Let her gather her wits.”
“Gather her wits?” he scoffs. “Did you not hear the king’s threat? Should she refuse him, the whole town is doomed.” He slams a calloused palm on the desk. “Doomed, Elvyra! You would risk our people because the girl is a mere maiden of needless theatrics?”
His words punch me square in the gut, and I blink hard, surfacing from my haze.
“I am not being theatrical, Town Head,” I whisper hoarsely, my voice cracking. “Please… I only need time. If you would just—”
He wheels on me so suddenly I flinch.
“Time?” Gareth erupts. “The Alpha King gave you till dawn, and even that was after the priestess's negotiations. If it were up to me, you would have been wheeled off alongside the King the moment he claimed you as his. Time will not save us if you continue this needless stubbornness!”
My breath stutters. “I’m not trying to be—”
“You were never one of us anyway,” Gareth spits, gesturing sharply. “And still we took you in when you were gutter-low and broken. We fed you and your child, sheltered you, and practically gave you a second chance at life. Yet now you want to repay us by inviting bloodshed upon our town? By provoking the wrath of a king?”
My heart plummets to my feet. The town head's words are a well-sharpened blade, hacking cleanly through the smidgen of hope I'd held.
Mother Elvyra straightens in her seat, her expression contorting sharply. “Gareth, mind your tongue. Whether Talitha was born in Eldwyn or brought here by fate, she is one of us. You will not speak as though she were a stray we picked out of the gutters.”
He snorts, the sound dismissive as he rises to his feet, dusting imaginary dust off his shoulders. “Oh, spare me your sermons, old mother.” Then he steps toward the door, his boots scraping stone. “Truth is truth. Any other lass in the realm would kill for the honour she’s so carelessly tossing aside. Claimed by the Alpha King himself? And she—” he gestures at me with disgust “—she sits here ungrateful as sin.”
I swallow harshly at his bitter words, my throat aching with the effort it takes to hold my emotions at bay. I feel… hollow, split open, and utterly drained.
Gareth grips the door handle and throws me one last disdainful glance as he says, “Count your blessings, girl. Your Moon Goddess has favoured you, so try to be grateful for once and not spit on her gift.”
The door slams behind him, and for a moment, silence reigns within the space, until a sound erupts from my mouth—an ugly, humourless laugh I barely recognise.
“Blessings,” I choke, leaning back in the chair as the laughter warps into something sharp and pitiful. “A ‘Goddess-given gift’ indeed.”
Mother Elvyra’s face softens, but she says nothing. What more could she possibly say than she already has? How much more could she possibly intercede on my behalf without being dragged into the crossfire herself?
The laughter dies in my throat at that realisation, leaving only rawness behind.