Chapter 17: |chapter 16|

|Talitha|

I wake to the gentlest touch, small fingers brushing my cheek, a soft voice whispering, “Mama… wake up.”

For a fleeting moment, I know not where I am. The bed beneath me is too soft then my eyes open to a ceiling gilded with faint gold that catches the morning light.

Erna’s round face hovers above mine, her curls tangled from sleep. She beams when I blink at her, her nose crinkling with delight. “You were sleeping for so long,” she says, her little voice full of wonder and reproach.

A weary smile touches my lips though my chest aches. “Was I, baby?”

She nods solemnly, then clambers onto my stomach, giggling as though the world were not strange about us. “Mama, where are we?”

The question cuts deep. I sit upright, drawing her against me as the silk sheets whisper beneath us. “We are… visiting, little one.”

“Visiting who?” she asks, inquisitive as always.

I force a faint smile. “A very important man.”

Her brow furrows as her memory stirs. “The big scary man that looks like a lion?” she whispers, clutching my sleeve.

A slight tremor runs through me. “Yes,” I say softly. “He is the King.”

Her eyes widen, wonder dawning upon her as morning. “A King? Like in my books? Is this his castle?!”

The way she breathes the word, pure awe and innocence, draws both a smile and a sting to my heart. “It seems so,” I murmur.

She wriggles free and runs to the tall arched windows. Sunlight spills through the crimson drapes, bathing her curls like fire. “It’s so big, Mama! Do you think the King has dragons too?”

I swallow hard. If only he did, I think, then his cruelty might make sense.

“No dragons, love,” I say aloud. “Only scary men.”

Her laughter fades, and she turns back, confusion dimming her eyes. “But why did he bring us here? And why couldn’t Grandmama come with us?”

I cannot answer. The ache in my chest spreads like frost. I draw her close, her small head beneath my chin. “Hush now,” I whisper. “We shall be all right.”

But even as I say it, I do not believe it.

A knock disturbs the silence, followed by the soft click of the latch. I stiffen. Two maidservants step into the chamber, both the same from the night before. They curtsy low, silver basins of steaming water poised in their hands, towels folded with precision across their arms.

“My lady,” one begins gently, “it is near noon. Forgive our intrusion, but we feared you unwell, for none were summoned this morn. We have brought the Luna’s morning bath and attire.”

The title strikes at my core.

“I require no such attendance,” I say, steady but kind. “I can tend to myself. Thank you.”

The maids exchange a brief glance. The taller of the two, with ash-brown hair neatly plaited, gathers her courage. “As you wish, my lady.”

Something in her quiet tone softens me, and before they can retreat, I ask, “What are your names?”

Both seem taken aback by the question. The first dips her head respectfully. “I am Illya, my lady.”

“And I am Mira,” says the other, her voice gentle as rain.

I nod, smiling softly. “Illya. Mira. Thank you. And please, call me Talitha.”

They glance at each other once more, in mild alarm then Illya shakes her head quickly. “Forgive us, my lady, but we cannot. It would be unseemly to call the Alpha King’s fated mate, our future Luna Queen, by her given name.”

There it is again. Future Luna Queen. My breath catches before I can stop it.

“I understand,” I murmur, though the title feels heavy and ill-fitting upon me. “Then I thank you both, truly.”

The maids bow and begin to withdraw, until Erna’s small voice stops them. “Mama, my tummy’s making noises,” she mumbles.

I meet the maids’ eyes at my daughter's request. “If you could bring us a little food instead.” They nod quickly and vanish, leaving the faint scent of rose oil behind.

When silence returns, I kneel before Erna, brushing her curls back. The chamber looms vast and cold. The carved oak, the tapestries, the gilded walls that catch the light. All gleam with splendor, yet none with warmth.

“Is it really a castle, Mama?”

“Yes, love.”

“Will the King show us around his castle?”

Her innocent wonder pulls at me. “Perhaps, if he wishes.”

“I miss Julie. Can she come see it too?”

Her words twist my heart. “I don’t know. I miss her too,” I whisper, then gather her and carry her to the adjoining chamber to wash.

When we return to the room, the maids have come again, this time with trays of food. Warm bread, roasted quail, wildberry jam, and milk in silver goblets. Erna’s eyes glimmer at all the delicacies, and I have to admit, so do mine. But before we can indulge, I notice that, behind the maids, stands another figure.

Her hair is the hue of polished copper, her eyes pale as green glass. Her gown, silky emerald, flows like water. Each step radiates grace.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she says in a refined voice. “I am Lady Cathwulf, a close friend to His Majesty. When I heard he had returned with his fated mate, I could not resist paying my respects.”

The maids bow and retreat swiftly, leaving me with the unknown woman.

Not wanting to make more enemies, besides the King himself, I incline my head in greeting. “My lady.”

Cathwulf studies me, her gaze too measured to be kind. “You are even lovelier than I imagined,” she says at last, smiling like one bestowing favor. “No wonder His Majesty was so taken.”

I say nothing in response, my hand instinctively finding Erna’s shoulder.

Her eyes soften as she crouches before the child. “And this must be your daughter.”

Erna brightens. “I’m Erna!”

“What a charming name,” Cathwulf purrs. “You look just like a little princess.”

Erna giggles, fumbling her name. “Miss Cat—Catw—Miss Cat—”

Cathwulf laughs lightly. “You may call me Cath.”

“Okay, Miss Cath. Are you a princess?”

A delicate smile curves her lips. “Some might say so.”

Erna gasps. “Then this is a castle!”

“It is indeed,” Cathwulf says warmly. “And if you’re very good, perhaps one day I shall show you the garden filled with silver roses that bloom under the moon.”

Erna’s eyes widen in awe. “Mama, did you hear?”

“I did,” I say softly. “But do not trouble the lady, sweetheart.”

“Nonsense,” Cathwulf says, rising smoothly. “She is delightful.” Her smile remains perfect. “Have you rested well, my lady? The journey from Eldwyn must have been wearisome.”

“It was,” I answer cautiously. “But we are managing.”

Her tone lightens, but her eyes sharpen. “And the little one’s father?” she asks as if idly. “Was he… delayed in joining you?”

I blink, unsettled. “Pardon?”

She tilts her head. “Forgive me, I only wondered if His Majesty had kept his mate and child hidden all these years. A secret family, revealed at last?”

Heat flares in my chest, not shame but anger. “You are mistaken,” I say quietly.

Cathwulf laughs, a sound like glass. “Of course. How foolish of me. Only… she bears no resemblance to the King. Fortunate, truly. You must have remarkable lineage.”

My jaw tightens, but before I can speak, she clasps her hands in mock apology. “Forgive me! I sound dreadful. It is only that this court grows so dull, and I so rarely meet another she-wolf near my age. You must think me insufferable.” Her tone is honey, but her eyes remain as cold as frost—I have no idea which one to believe.

I breathe slowly, choosing to be wary. “No apology is needed.”

Cathwulf leans nearer, her perfume sharp with jasmine. “Between us, this palace can be frighteningly serious. Even Demetrius himself can be…,” her lips curve, “…rather grave.”

The name catches my mind. Demetrius. She speaks it without title or hesitation. The familiarity stings me, for some odd reason, but I murmur something polite, unwilling to show it.

Her smile brightens again. “We shall be friends, you and I. I shall see that you are shown the royal gardens, the galleries, and the east wing. You mustn’t feel lonely here.”

I hesitate, then incline my head. “That is kind.”

“Then it is settled.” She dips gracefully. “I shall call again soon.”

As she turns to leave, her smile lingers. But I glimpse the flicker in her eyes before it fades. The silence that follows is heavy, and I exhale a breath I had not known I held, steadying my hands. Erna sits happily at the table, swinging her legs as she reaches for another slice of bread.

The scent of food anchors me. I busy myself cutting her bread, spreading jam, refilling her cup. Watching her eat brings the only peace I have known here.

When she is full, I smooth a hand over her hair and rise. “Eat a little more if you wish, love. Mama will return shortly.”

The bath chamber still steams faintly. I sink into the water, letting warmth ease the ache in my limbs. Yet peace will not come. In the quiet, his face returns to me, plaguing me.

I scrub harder, as if to wash away his claim, the bond, the curse of fate. When at last I rise, I realise too late that I have left my garments beyond reach. With a sigh, I wrap a thin shawl about me and step through the doorway.

And freeze, because...

There he is.

Demetrius stands in the center of the chamber, sunlight pouring over him like molten gold. Broad-shouldered, still as stone, his eyes burn like chaos contained as he stares down at my daughter. Erna sits at the table, staring right back even though her small hands are clutching her cutlery as though it might shield her—her fear apparent.

My breath shakes, and I clutch the shawl tighter as I swiftly move between him and my child.

“You, what are you doing here?” I whisper.