Chapter 112 What even is real?
Maureen Laskovic
After everything that happened yesterday, I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t. I didn’t sleep at all, and the worst part is… I don’t even trust myself right now.
Am I hallucinating? Dreaming? Is this just stress? And if it is stress, what the hell am I doing that’s causing it?
“Is there something on your mind?” Vuk’s voice came again—gentle, yet edged with quiet concern. This was the third time he had asked.
I still couldn’t bring myself to answer.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I simply didn’t know what to say.
I shook my head slowly and dropped my gaze to the untouched steak on my plate. The knife and fork felt unnaturally heavy in my hands as I forced myself to cut into the meat.
“I’m fine,” I lied. The words slipped out too quickly, too easily.
“Is it because of the court ladies?” he pressed, watching me closely. “The rules? If they’re bothering you, we can change them.”
My hands paused mid-motion for the briefest second before I continued cutting.
“I said I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. Something was wrong—deep inside me, where I couldn’t quite reach or name it. The question echoed in my head, heavy and accusing: Genuinely… what is wrong with me?
“I’m not hungry,” I murmured after a moment, pushing the plate away. Before Vuk could say another word, I stood and slipped from the table. “I’ll be back,” I added, though I had no idea where I was even going.
My feet carried me, almost on their own, toward the children’s room.
The moment I stepped inside, the air changed—softer, warmer. I nodded to one of the maids, and she understood at once, carefully placing little Lauren into my arms. The others stayed close, holding Lucien and Adrian.
I sat on the edge of the bed and drew Lauren against my chest, holding her closer than necessary. She was warm. Real. Mine. My fingers trembled slightly as I brushed them across her soft cheek.
“I’m here…” I whispered, more to myself than to her.
Time blurred. Minutes or perhaps much longer slipped by unnoticed. “Bring her some milk,” I said quietly to one of the maids. She nodded and left.
Lauren stirred lightly in my arms, and I began to hum a soft, broken melody—something half-remembered, something that rose from deep inside me without thinking. It was meant to calm her. It was meant to calm me.
When the maid returned with the bottle, I took it without a second thought and brought it to Lauren’s lips. She latched on eagerly.
For one fleeting moment, everything felt normal.
Then came the scream.
“My Luna—!”
The bottle was ripped from my hand so violently I barely registered what was happening. In the next instant, Lauren was pulled from my arms.
“What are you doing?!” I snapped, shooting to my feet, panic surging through me. “Give her back!”
The maid stared at me, her face pale with horror. “My Luna… what were you feeding her?”
The question stopped me cold. “What do you mean?”
She held up the bottle with shaking hands. The liquid inside was wrong—cloudy, thick, nothing like milk.
My breath caught in my throat. “No…”
I stepped forward and snatched the bottle from her. “This isn’t what you gave me.”
“My lady…” another maid said hesitantly, “you… you prepared it yourself.”
I turned on her sharply. “What?”
“You asked for the milk, but when we brought the tray, you said you would handle it. You took the bottle yourself.”
My head shook at once. “No. That’s not true.”
Even as the denial left my lips, something twisted painfully inside my chest. A gap. A blank. I couldn’t remember.
“I didn’t do that,” I insisted, though my voice had already begun to waver. “You’re lying.”
But the conviction was gone. Why can’t I remember?
The door opened, and Celeste stepped in. Her gaze swept quickly from me to the maids to the bottle in my hand. Concern flooded her expression.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What happened?”
One of the maids pointed silently at the bottle. Celeste’s eyes widened slightly.
“My Luna…” she said softly, moving closer. “Are you alright?”
I looked at her, then at the bottle, then down at my now-empty hands. “I… I didn’t… I wouldn’t…” The words dissolved before they could fully form. For the first time, I wasn’t sure.
The silence that followed was suffocating. My hands began to tremble—violently this time.
“My Luna…” Celeste’s voice was careful, as though she were approaching something fragile and dangerous. “You’re shaking.”
I hadn’t even noticed her hand settling gently on my arm, light but steady. My skin felt cold beneath her touch.
“I didn’t do that,” I whispered again, the strength draining from my voice. “I didn’t make that… I would never hurt her…”
“I know,” she said immediately, her tone smooth and soothing. “You’re overwhelmed. Anyone would be after everything you’ve been through. The pressure, the lack of rest—it’s catching up to you.”
Her thumb brushed lightly over my arm in slow, grounding circles. “Come. Let’s get you back to your room. You need to lie down.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically, but the words sounded weak even to me.
“You’re not,” she replied gently, yet with quiet firmness. “You can barely stand. Look at you.”
I didn’t argue again. I couldn’t. Exhaustion crashed over me suddenly, heavy and bone-deep, as if my body had been waiting for permission to give in. Before I realized what was happening, I was letting her guide me away.
\---
The walk back to my room passed in a hazy blur. I was dimly aware of Celeste beside me, her voice soft and reassuring, though I couldn’t quite catch the words—only the gentle, calming tone.
“You just need to rest…”
“It will pass…”
“I’m here…”
I don’t remember lying down. I don’t remember closing my eyes. Only her voice fading into the dark.
“Sleep, my Luna…”
And then—nothing.
\---
When I opened my eyes again, the room felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Dim grey light barely reached the corners, neither fully night nor morning. For a long moment I simply lay there, listening, waiting.
Nothing.
A sharp unease coiled in my chest as I pushed myself up. My head felt heavy, my movements sluggish. How long had I been asleep?
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor grounding me just enough. The room was empty—no maids, no sound of the babies, no movement at all.
That wasn’t right.
I moved quickly into the corridor, my footsteps soft but hurried. The halls were strangely silent. No voices. No people. Nothing.
My pace quickened as I passed the main hall and the sitting area, heading toward the office wing. Then I saw them—through the open doors that led to the backyard.
Vuk and Celeste.
They stood close together, partially framed by the pale early morning light, speaking in low, private tones. Something about the scene made my chest tighten with discomfort.
“Vuk…”
My voice, though soft, broke the quiet.
Both of them turned at once. Celeste’s expression shifted seamlessly into one of gentle concern. “My lady,” she said, dipping her head slightly. “You’re awake.” She stepped back gracefully. “I’ll take my leave.”
She didn’t linger. As she passed me, our eyes met for the briefest second—then she was gone.
“Little moon.” Vuk was already moving toward me, his expression tightening with worry as he drew closer. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay…” I replied, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. “How long have I been out? Is this morning?”
“Yes. Early morning.” His gaze never left my face. “But that’s not what I asked.”
I swallowed. “I’m fine.”
The word rang hollow.
Then— “Lauren…”
The name slipped out before I could stop it, and everything came rushing back: the bottle, the wrong liquid, the scream, the way they had torn her from my arms.
“I didn’t mean to—” My voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Vuk. I swear I didn’t. I would never—”
My hands started trembling again. “I don’t even know what happened. I don’t remember making it. I don’t remember touching anything. She was there and then—”
“Hey.” His hands came up, warm and steady, gripping my arms. “Calm down.”
I shook my head fiercely. “I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s my baby… why would I ever do something like that?”
“I know,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the panic. “I know you wouldn’t.”
He pulled me closer, his grip gentle but certain. “You’re exhausted. The birth, the stress, the court—everything has been too much, too fast. Your b
ody and mind are reacting.”
I stared at him, desperate to believe his words.
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” he added quietly. “Even if you don’t remember… I know you.”