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The corridor feels longer than usual this morning, like the walls are leaning in, narrowing around the maids who move in small clusters. They speak in low voices, their heads close together, eyes darting to check if anyone is listening. The air smells faintly of polish and lavender water, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something uneasy.

“Did you hear?” one maid whispers, her tone too urgent to be about laundry or spilled tea.

Another glances over her shoulder before answering, “It’s true. My cousin in the kitchens swore she saw the mark herself. The curse is real.”

A third maid gasps, covering her mouth. “Keep your voice down! If the Luna hears—”

The first maid cuts her off, “She already knows. She’s the one they say carries it.”

Their words bounce softly against the stone walls, slipping under doors and around corners like a draft no one can stop.

Further down, near the back stairs, two younger maids carry folded linens between them, pretending not to listen but leaning ever so slightly toward the sound.

By the time the whispers reach the kitchen, they’re no longer careful. A pot clangs against a counter as one of the cooks shakes her head, muttering to the butcher’s boy. “I’m telling you, cursed blood brings nothing but death. Remember what happened to the Luna of Hanbow Pack, they said was touched by dark magic? Gone within a year. Looks like this happened to the prince because of the Luna's connection with dark magic.”

The butcher’s boy makes a face but doesn’t argue. The guards in the hall outside overhear, exchanging uneasy glances before straightening when the head guard passes by.

It spreads like spilled oil—slow at first, then coating everything. By mid-afternoon, even the common pack members who rarely set foot inside the main house are murmuring about it.

When Lumina steps into the west corridor, the shift in the air is instant. The group of servants at the far end stops talking so suddenly it’s unnatural. One of them curtsies, another bows, but their eyes don’t stay down. They flick up at her, quick, assessing, as if expecting to see the curse written across her skin.

She keeps her chin level, her pace unhurried. Inside, though, her pulse kicks faster. The walls feel too quiet now.

A guard posted by the door to the council room nods respectfully. His hand, however, tightens subtly on the hilt of his weapon.

She notices everything—the way one maid backs against the wall to let her pass but keeps her gaze fixed on the floor, the way two others whisper again the moment they think she’s far enough away.

They think I can’t hear them, she tells herself, but the sound of her own footsteps seems too loud in the silence between their breaths.

She pushes open the door to the smaller sitting room. Inside, two older women are arranging fresh flowers in vases. Their conversation cuts off mid-sentence. One of them forces a smile. “My Luna.”

Lumina nods. “Go on. Don’t stop on my account.”

The other woman’s hands still on the stems she’s trimming. “We were only talking about the gardens.”

Her tone says otherwise.

Lumina walks further in, the scent of the flowers—sweet, almost too sweet—filling her lungs. She picks up a single stem from the table, rolling it between her fingers. “Strange,” she says lightly, “how many people have things to say today, yet none of it reaches me directly.”

The women exchange a glance. One clears her throat. “We… don’t mean any disrespect, Luna.”

“No,” Lumina replies, placing the stem back on the table. “Only whispers in the halls.”

The silence after her words feels like a held breath. She leaves them there, stepping back into the corridor.

As she walks, her mind turns over the pieces she’s gathered—half-phrases, sidelong glances, the sharp undercurrent in otherwise polite voices. The curse. The mark. Me.

By the time she reaches her chambers, she’s more aware than ever of how eyes follow her.

Her personal maid, Sera, is waiting inside. The young woman’s hands twitch at her apron when Lumina enters.

“Close the door,” Lumina says quietly.

Sera obeys, then hesitates, standing by it as though unsure if she should leave.

“Out with it,” Lumina says, unfastening the clasp of her cloak. “You’ve been dying to say something since I walked in.”

Sera swallows hard. “It’s… not my place—”

“It is if it concerns me.” Lumina sets the cloak aside and turns fully toward her.

Sera’s voice drops. “They say the curse is spreading. That it’s… because of you, my Luna.”

The words land heavy, though Lumina expected them.

“And do you believe that?” Lumina asks.

Sera shakes her head too quickly. “No. But people talk when they’re afraid. They connect dots that aren’t there.”

Lumina studies her, then looks toward the tall window. Outside, the winter light is pale, thin. “Fear is a convenient excuse,” she says.

Sera steps forward slightly. “If you want me to—”

“No,” Lumina interrupts. “Let them talk. Words are harder to trace when you try to stamp them out.”

Still, the knot in her stomach doesn’t loosen.

A knock interrupts them. The door opens without waiting for her permission—only one person in the house does that without consequence.

It’s Theon. He closes the door behind him, his expression unreadable.

“I hear the corridors are lively today,” he says.

“They are,” Lumina replies. “You should hear some of the things they think they know.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve already had to warn two guards. If it goes further, I’ll make examples.”

“No,” she says again, more firmly this time. “That will only make them certain we have something to hide.”

He watches her for a long moment, then exhales through his nose. “So you’ll just endure it?”

“For now.” She folds her arms. “Besides, I want to see who dares say it to my face.”

His mouth curves, not in amusement but in something closer to approval. “You may get your wish sooner than you think. The council’s meeting tomorrow. Word’s reached them.”

Her stomach turns, but she keeps her voice even. “Then we’ll see which of them hides behind whispers and which speaks plainly.”

When he leaves, the quiet in the room feels different—not empty, but watchful. Sera moves to tidy the room, but Lumina waves her away.

She walks to the mirror instead, studying her own reflection. No dark mark mars her skin. No shadow lingers in her eyes. Yet she can almost see the shape of their suspicion hovering just over her shoulder.

If they’ve already decided what I am, the truth won’t matter.

Outside in the hall, the sound of footsteps passes—slow, deliberate. Somewhere further down, someone laughs, too loud, too forced.

The whispers are still moving, still finding new ears.

Lumina takes a slow breath, feeling the tension settle deeper in her spine. "What do I do? This is becoming a bigger issue than I thought... And to think they dare to speak of my son like that."