|chapter 19|

|chapter 19|
|Talitha|

Erna’s small footsteps patter beside mine, her hand warm and trusting within my own as we make our way down the hallway. When we near the double doors that guard the grand dining hall, the maid clears her throat with trembling breath.

“My lady… forgive me,” she murmurs. “Her Little Highness is to dine separately, in the adjoining chamber. With the nursemaids.”

I stop short. “Her what?”

The maid fidgets, unable to meet my gaze. “That is the title bestowed by the palace, my lady. It—it honours her as the King’s ward.”

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can swallow it. “The King’s ward. Of course.”

I draw Erna close against me, and my voice hardens. “We dine together, or not at all.”

The maid’s eyes widen in panic. “Please, my lady. I beg you, it would be unwise to—”

But I am already moving. “Then let us be unwise.”

Her slippers whisper tap against the marble as she hurries to keep pace. Erna tugs my hand. “Mama, where are we going?”

“To dinner, my love.”

We round the final corner and the maid makes one last attempt to stop us, but before she can speak, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Let them both dine with me.”

The maid gasps and drops into a bow so swift her breath catches. Demetrius stands at the end of the corridor, broad-shouldered, utterly composed. The torchlight gleams on the dark embroidery of his tunic; his hair is loosely tied, his presence an empire unto itself.

“The cub will not be a disturbance,” he says, passing us without a glance. “Now move along.”

The maid bows again, relief softening her trembling form. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Erna whispers, “He’s scary when he talks like that.”

I squeeze her small hand. “Do not fret, my heart. Mama’s got you.”

The doors open before us, and the dining hall unfolds like a cathedral of gold and glass. Chandeliers descend from the heavens, scattering light like captive stars upon floors of polished marble. Demetrius sits at the head of the table, and the attendants bow as we draw near. I curtsy, my palms damp against my gown.

His gaze finds me at once.

“Sit,” he says simply, gesturing to the chair beside him. Instinctively, I obey, guiding Erna to the seat next to mine. Her small feet dangle freely above the floor.

“I had not meant to separate you,” he says, his tone level. “The adjoining chamber simply bears higher chairs for the cub.”

Before I can answer, he signals to a maid. “Bring some cushions.”

“No,” I say, too quickly. “She will sit with me.”

He studies me, then inclines his head a fraction. “As you wish.”

The servants withdraw, and a hush settles over the hall. Only the soft crackle of the hearth and the muted clink of cutlery remain. Erna perches upon my lap, humming quietly as she dips small fingers into her milk.

Demetrius is the first to break the silence.

“You’ve not had anything to eat since morning.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Then eat for strength, not for pleasure.”

I tear a piece of bread, offering it to Erna. “We manage fine without your counsel, Your Majesty.”

“You manage poorly, Wildling.” His voice lowers, “Even wolves need tending.”

“I am not yours to tend,” I whisper.

His fork pauses mid-air. “Tell me, Talitha. Who is the father of the cub?”

I still, staring at him. The suddenness of his question takes me off guard and I promptly lose my appetite at the subject. “That is none of your concern.”

“I think it is,” he replies, voice soft but edged. “You are my fated and you live beneath my roof now. All that concerns you, concerns me.”

Erna suddenly asks, blinking up at him, unbothered that she had just cut right into our conversation. “What does ‘concerns’ mean, Mister King?”

The atmosphere in the room appears to freeze, but Demetrius surprised me by actually answering her, his gaze even softening a fraction. “It means something that matters, little cub. In this case, it matters to your mother.”

Her brow furrows. “Are you angry with her?”

“Not quite,” he says quietly, shifting his gaze to me. “You could say that I'm merely… curious.”

I glare. “Curiosity is no license to pry.”

“Then why hide it?” His eyes sharpen at my defiance. “Unless the man still holds your heart. Or your bed.”

My breath catches in my throat. “How dare you?”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

The air in the room thickens and even the servants seem to hold their breath, the silence drawn taut as a bowstring.

“Mama?” Erna’s voice is small. “What’s wrong?”

I force a smile. “Nothing, love. You, just eat.”

“But you’re sad again,” she murmurs. I lower my head, hiding the tremor of my hands. Demetrius exhales slowly, not with anger, but something weary, almost human. “You think I wish to make you fear me,” he says. “But I only seek to understand the woman Fate bound to me.”

“Fate is cruel,” I whisper.

“Perhaps.” His voice softens. “But it chose well.”

A brittle laugh escapes me. “If this is what you call being chosen, then I pity your Goddess.”

“You push at every attempt I make to break down your walls. Why, Wildling?”

“Because I do not need within my walls.”

“You would fight even peace itself.”

“I would fight anything that demands my surrender.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The fire crackles. Somewhere in the hall, a servant breathes too loudly, and the sound dies swiftly. At last, Demetrius leans back, his tone quiet, final. “You will not keep pushing me away forever. Fate does not grow tired.”

“I will. I tire enough for both of us.”

“Careful, Wildling. I might start to enjoy your defiance.”

The words stir something I do not wish named. I meet his gaze, and this time, he is the one who looks away first. The great doors at the far end of the hall swing open. A tall woman enters, grace and authority woven into every step. Her gown shimmers like spilled moonlight; her hair, dark as ink, flows over her shoulders.

“Brother,” she says, her voice smooth, melodic, assured. “You began without me.”

Demetrius rises slightly in acknowledgment, the faintest curve at his lips. I remain still, the air thick about me. Brother. So, there are more of them. Yet it seems she is nothing like him. Her warmth carries its own quiet power, her smile its own promise of danger.

And as her eyes meet mine, I know that her arrival, too, will demand its due.

|Demetrius|

The hall lies quiet and still. Her scent is faint upon the air, sweet and ruinous as smoke. It winds through me, down to the beast that stirs beneath my ribs, restless, starving.

She defies me, I remind myself. She stands before me, proud and untamed…like a flame that refuses to bend before the wind. And yet…

She is ours.

Talitha sits upright across from me, her face composed, yet beneath that calm I scent the flutter of unease, as faint and fragile as a heartbeat in the dark. Even in defiance, she is beautiful. I loathe that my eyes betray me, seeking her again and again as though drawn by the very danger of her.

“You will not keep pushing me away forever,” I say, “Fate does not grow tired.”

“I will,” she replies. “I tire enough for both of us.”

The servants stiffen for the umpteenth time where they stand, most likely surprised that someone would dare to speak to me like she is and I almost smile at that. Though more from a sort of dark admiration rather than amusement.

‘She has teeth,’ Fenrir murmurs, purring deep in my blood.

“Careful, Wildling,” I say softly. “I might begin to enjoy your defiance.”

Her gaze meets mine, fierce as tempered steel. I look away first. There is a strange, dangerous pleasure in yielding that inch. Before I may speak again, the doors at the far end of the hall swing open.

“Brother.”

The voice cuts through the air like light through smoke and I look up at the approaching figure of my sister. I exhale slowly and rise from my seat. “Selene.”

She glides toward us, her gown trailing silver-blue like dawn spilling across a battlefield. Firelight catches in the darkness of her luscious hair. Her presence tempers the air itself, such that even my ever rebellious wolf quietens.

“You began without me,” she says, tone chiding but fond.

“You’re late,” I answer, though there is no anger in it.

Her gaze drifts from me to Talitha, sharp with the same curiosity she has always carried like a blade hidden in silk. Then her lips curve.

“And this,” she says, with a smile that holds both warmth and knowledge, “must be Lady Talitha.”