Chapter 7 CHAPTER 7
The morning dragged long and heavy inside the Hale house. The table had only just been set for breakfast though the sun stood high, streaking the windows with hard light. The food was late -too late - and Cedric Hale, seated at the head of the table, made his displeasure clear with the constant tap of his fingers against the wood.
“Why is this taking so long?” he asked at last, his voice sharp. “Breakfast should have been ready an hour ago.”
Hilda forced a thin smile as she brought the breadbasket over. “Because Cindy wasn’t here,” she said, each word clipped. “You’ve grown too used to her scurrying about at dawn. Without her, everything drags.” She laid the basket down harder than necessary, as if punishing the loaf itself.
Cedric frowned. His gray eyes, tired from the night before, lifted to hers. “And do you know where she’s gone?”
“She has nowhere to go,” Hilda replied with a shrug, pouring him a cup of weak tea. “She’ll be back. Probably stepped outside to sulk after… last night.” Her mouth twisted. “But she’ll come crawling back when she realizes this house still feeds her.”
Cedric grunted but said no more. He tore the bread in silence, while his gaze lingered on the clutter in the corners -the unwashed dishes from last night, a shawl draped carelessly over a chair, the sheen of dust already settling on the mantle. Cindy’s absence showed in the mess. Hilda noticed it too; her lips pressed tighter, but she pretended not to.
They ate in uneasy quiet. Every scrape of a spoon or clink of a cup seemed to echo in the hollow air. Cedric’s shoulders hunched further, as though the weight of what had happened the night before - the public rejection, the whispers that had torn through the festival - had found its way into their dining room.
A knock at the door startled them both. Hilda’s head jerked up, her face lighting in relief.
“See?” she said quickly, rising to her feet. “I told you she’d come crawling back.” She hurried across the room, muttering under her breath, “Finally, you’re back, girl…”
But when she flung the door open, her smile froze.
It wasn’t Cindy.
It was Richard Moore, the Alpha of Silverpine, standing tall and commanding, with Lydia at his side. The Luna’s sharp eyes swept into the house the moment the door opened, taking in the mess, the clutter, the lateness.
Hilda’s breath hitched. “Alpha Richard, Luna Lydia.” She stepped back hastily, bowing her head. “Please, come in.”
Richard entered first, filling the doorway with his presence, followed by Lydia’s quieter grace. Cedric pushed back his chair, rising to greet them, his brows drawn in surprise.
“This is an unexpected honor,” Cedric said stiffly. “Please, sit.”
They settled at the table. The Alpha’s gaze roved once more over the disordered room, but he made no comment. Lydia, however, let her fingers brush the table’s edge, the faintest lift of her brow betraying what she thought of the Hale household without its servant.
Hilda cleared her throat, eager to get ahead of any judgment. “Last night was… chaotic. None of us slept well. We rose at dawn to look for Cindy. She never returned, so I spent the morning searching the woods, knocking on doors. That’s why the house is—” she gestured vaguely, “—not in its usual state.”
Lydia’s cool gaze sharpened. “And did you find her?”
Hilda pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “No. But I know she’ll return. She has nowhere else to go.”
Richard leaned forward, folding his broad hands on the table. His tone was measured, but it carried the weight of authority. “We came because the matter of the rejection must be settled quickly. My son is suffering, Cedric. Cindy refused to accept his rejection last night, and the bond remains. Sebastian is in great pain. We thought to speak with her, to convince her to end this cleanly.”
Cedric inclined his head gravely. “We understand. And as you see, she is not here. But the moment she returns, we will bring her to you, and she will accept the rejection. That I give you my word.”
Richard’s golden eyes lingered on him, searching, then he gave a slow nod. Still, his voice lowered, more personal now. “Tell me, Cedric - why do you think the Goddess chose her? My son questions it, my Luna questions it, and so do I – not as the alpha of the pack, but as his father. What was it She saw in Cindy? Are we missing something?”
Cedric’s jaw tightened. He felt the Alpha’s weight pressing for truth. Finally, he exhaled. “I have no answer for you. There is nothing remarkable about the girl. She has no wolf, no strength, no place. We picked her up from the forest when she was so small, and even now, we don’t know where she came from. We haven’t seen anything extra ordinary about her for all the years we have been raising her. She could be human for all we know. How could such a girl be Luna?”
A silence hung, heavy and thick.
Then Lydia spoke, her voice cutting clean. “But Sebastian’s wolf senses differently. He said he felt her wolf - hidden, perhaps, but present. If she has one, she’s concealing it.”
Hilda snorted softly, unable to restrain herself. “That’s impossible. If she had a wolf, it would be the only thing she had to boast about. Cindy has nothing. Believe me, she wouldn’t hide it -she’d flaunt it.”
The words hung in the air, sharp with scorn. Lydia’s lips thinned, but she said nothing further. Richard’s eyes flicked between the couple, weighing their words, the silence stretching taut across the room.
And then…
From upstairs, a sleepy voice rang out.
“Mother,” Anna called, her tone sharp with irritation, “did the servant girl sneak back yet, or is she still hiding somewhere hoping we’ll do her chores for her?”
The words sliced through the stillness like a blade.
Richard’s head turned slowly toward Hilda. Lydia’s eyes narrowed. Cedric’s shoulders stiffened.
Hilda’s face drained of color. For a heartbeat, the house was silent save for the lingering echo of Anna’s careless outburst.