Chapter 218: A villan needs a witness
Maris’s POV
The guest quarters overlooked the eastern gardens, where late-summer roses climbed trellises that had survived three generations of Alphas. It was almost offensive how beautiful Lazarus’s pack was. Children ran freely between stone paths, women laughed while hanging fresh linen beneath the morning sun, and smoke curled lazily from cottage chimneys into a sky so clear it looked painted. Peace lived here as naturally as breathing.
It irritated me.
Peace made people careless.
Careless people were easy to manipulate.
I stood behind the lace curtain of our cabin window, dressed in a wine-colored gown that hugged my waist before falling in soft folds to my ankles. A cream shawl rested over my shoulders against the morning chill, and every strand of my dark hair had been pinned neatly into place. Presentation mattered. People trusted women who looked composed.
Outside, two pack women stopped beside the herb garden with woven baskets hanging from their arms.
I couldn’t hear every word.
I didn’t need to.
One of them glanced toward the Alpha’s cabin.
The other instinctively rested a hand against her stomach.
Then they both lowered their voices.
A slow smile touched my lips.
Perfect.
I hadn’t told them Nova was infertile.
I had been much smarter than that.
Yesterday I’d merely sighed while discussing grandchildren. I’d spoken about Seth’s old dreams of becoming a father. I’d let my own eyes grow suspiciously damp before saying I wished everyone found happiness eventually.
Then I’d stopped talking.
Silence always did the hardest work.
People hated unfinished thoughts.
They completed them themselves.
By sunset, it was no longer my rumor.
It belonged to the pack.
A knock sounded lightly against the cabin door.
I turned.
“Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Seth.
He’d already changed into a fresh charcoal tunic, though the fabric hung more loosely on him than it once had. The deep circles beneath his eyes hadn’t disappeared despite the sleep he’d supposedly gotten, and his hair remained slightly damp from a hurried wash. He looked like a man who’d spent years carrying guilt heavy enough to bend his spine.
His eyes found me immediately.
“You’ve been talking.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
I calmly crossed the room and placed my gloves on the polished oak table.
“I’ve been socializing.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I lifted one shoulder.
“I usually do.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed.
“I heard them whispering.”
“Good.”
He blinked.
“You wanted that?”
I turned slowly until I faced him fully, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from my sleeve.
“I wanted people to start paying attention.”
“To Nova?”
“To patterns.”
His expression darkened.
“You’re poisoning people against her.”
I smiled—not brightly, but patiently, as though I were explaining something obvious to a child.
“No.”
I walked toward the fireplace, where dying embers still glowed faintly beneath ash.
“I’m giving people reasons to ask questions.”
Seth’s boots creaked against the wooden floor as he followed.
“You’re making them believe she’s broken.”
I stopped.
Then looked back over my shoulder.
“Tell me.”
My voice became deceptively gentle.
“Did she ever have children?”
He went silent.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“Did people talk?”
His silence stretched longer.
“That isn’t the point.”
“Isn’t it?”
I folded my arms.
“I’m not inventing pain.”
“I’m weaponizing pain.”
His face twisted.
For the first time since we’d arrived, real anger flashed across it.
“You’re cruel.”
The word floated between us.
I studied him quietly.
Then laughed.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
“Oh, Seth.”
I shook my head.
“You’re finally noticing?”
He looked away first.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“You’re still defending her.”
“I feel guilty.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
The sunlight caught the gold stitching near my sleeves as I stopped within arm’s reach of him.
“You’re remembering.”
His breathing changed.
Subtle.
But I noticed.
“You loved her.”
He swallowed hard.
“She was my mate.”
“Before you rejected her.”
The room became painfully quiet.
I watched shame settle across his features like a physical weight.
He whispered,
“I know.”
I searched his face carefully.
Remorse.
Regret.
Confusion.
Not enough hatred.
That was becoming dangerous.
“You’re my husband now.”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking at another man’s Luna like she’s still yours.”
His eyes snapped up.
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I look at someone I failed.”
I held his gaze.
For one brief second…
I almost believed him.
Almost.
Then I remembered the northern woods.
The pendant.
The conversation Nova wasn’t supposed to hear.
No.
Guilt could become courage.
And courage would destroy everything.
Seth’s POV
The cabin suddenly felt too small.
The polished wooden walls, the embroidered curtains, even the vase of fresh daisies sitting on the table—they all felt strangely artificial, like props in someone else’s life.
Maris moved through the room with effortless precision, adjusting flowers that didn’t need adjusting and folding blankets that weren’t wrinkled.
She always did that when she was thinking.
Organizing.
Straightening.
Controlling.
“You’re frightened.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
She paused.
Then smiled without turning around.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
She finished adjusting the flowers before facing me again.
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?”
I stepped closer.
“You’ve mentioned that night four times.”
Her expression changed.
Barely.
Enough.
“You keep stopping yourself.”
Silence.
“You keep acting like Nova remembering something is worse than Magnus being here.”
She walked toward me slowly.
Each step was measured.
Deliberate.
Until she stopped close enough that I could smell the lavender perfume she always wore.
“She cannot remember.”
The softness in her voice frightened me more than shouting would’ve.
“Why?”
“She just can’t.”
“Tell me why.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
She stared at me for several seconds before whispering something that made my blood run cold.
“Some people survive because everyone agrees to lie.”
My heart stumbled.
“What does that mean?”
She closed her eyes briefly.
When they opened again…
The softness was gone.
“You know enough already.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“I know almost nothing.”
She reached out and straightened my collar.
The gesture looked affectionate.
It wasn’t.
It felt like being positioned.
“Then keep it that way.”
She walked past me.
I turned.
“Maris.”
She stopped at the door.
“If Nova remembers everything…”
She didn’t look back.
“None of us survive what’s left afterward.”
Then she left.
Maris’s POV
The healer’s gardens sat behind the infirmary, enclosed by low stone walls wrapped in ivy. Rows of herbs stretched beneath the morning sun in careful, fragrant lines—lavender swaying beside rosemary, bundles of sage hanging beneath wooden awnings, delicate moonvine climbing thin lattice frames.
Beautiful.
Organized.
Trusting.
No guards.
Why would there be?
This pack still believed safety came from loyalty.
I carried an empty wicker basket against my hip as I crossed the path, smiling politely whenever someone greeted me.
An apprentice waved enthusiastically.
I waved back.
Another healer nodded respectfully.
I thanked her for yesterday’s tea.
Every interaction mattered.
People remembered kindness.
Especially before betrayal.
Inside the herb store, sunlight spilled through high windows onto shelves packed with labeled bundles tied in colored twine.
Moonvine.
There.
I found it immediately.
My fingers hovered over the pale silver-green leaves.
Just one bundle.
Not enough to notice immediately.
Enough to matter later.
Footsteps echoed outside.
I slipped behind a drying rack just as two young apprentices entered carrying fresh-cut lavender.
They chatted about harvest schedules.
One complained about sore feet.
The other laughed.
Neither noticed me.
When they finally left, I waited another full minute.
Patience kept people alive.
Impatience buried them.
I stepped back into the empty room, slipped the moonvine into my basket beneath ordinary sage and mint, and adjusted everything until nothing looked disturbed.
Perfect.
By tonight…
The right herbs would be in the kitchens.
By tomorrow…
No one would question what they thought they’d witnessed.
Because the strongest lies—
Were always the ones people believed they’d seen with their own eyes.