Chapter 30 Unwanted Arrival
Dahila’s POV
I woke slowly, the kind of waking where consciousness crept in piece by piece instead of crashing all at once. For a brief moment, I forgot where I was. Forgot the stone walls, the unfamiliar scents, the weight of everything unsaid.
Then memory returned.
Dagnoth Draculis.
His voice. His gaze.
The way my heart had betrayed me far too easily.
I sat up abruptly, the thin sheets sliding down my waist as reality settled heavy on my chest. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, pale and cold, casting long shadows across the room. Morning had come whether I was ready or not.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, grounding myself. No time to drift. No time to replay last night and dissect every look, every word.
I dressed quickly and moved down the hall to the adjoining room.
My children.
The moment I saw them, something in me softened. They were curled beneath the blankets, breathing evenly, their tiny chests rising and falling in perfect rhythm. One had kicked off the covers, a mess of dark hair plastered to their forehead. The other clutched a corner of the pillow in sleep, brows furrowed as if dreaming of something important.
I brushed my fingers gently over their hair, careful not to wake them.
Still safe. Still asleep.
Good.
I straightened, exhaling quietly. Whatever storm brewed outside this room, I would face it—but not at their expense. Never at their expense.
Hunger finally made itself known as I left the chambers. Not the sharp kind, but the dull reminder that I hadn’t eaten properly in far too long. The palace corridors were already alive with movement—servants gliding past, guards stationed at intervals, the low hum of a kingdom waking.
I followed my instincts toward the kitchen.
The moment I stepped inside, the scent of herbs, warm bread, and simmering broth wrapped around me. Several maids froze when they noticed me, eyes widening as if I’d just committed some unforgivable offense.
“My lady—!” one of them blurted. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Another hurried forward. “Please, this isn’t appropriate. Let us prepare something for you.”
I paused, then shook my head. “I’m fine. I’ll do it myself.”
They exchanged looks—uneasy, disapproving, confused.
“But you’re a guest,” one insisted. “And—”
“And I’m hungry,” I said calmly. “That shouldn’t be a crime.”
I moved past them before they could stop me.
My hands found familiar motions easily. Washing. Chopping. Stirring. Cooking had always been grounding for me—a quiet rebellion, a reminder that I could still create something good with my own hands. I ignored the stares, the whispers behind me, the tension that crackled every time I reached for another ingredient.
Soon, the kitchen filled with the comforting scent of a simple dish—one I used to make back when life was simpler, when hope hadn’t felt like such a dangerous thing.
I was just plating the food when the air shifted.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
But enough that I felt it.
Voices entered the kitchen, soft but sharp-edged, carrying entitlement with every syllable.
I turned.
They were unmistakable.
His Luna.
Dressed in fine silks and furs, jewels glinting in the morning light, her expressions held a practiced blend of curiosity and disdain. She looked at me the way one might look at dirt tracked onto polished marble floors.
she slowly stepped forward, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“So,” she said lightly, “you must be her.”
I set the plate down slowly. “And you must be bored.”
A flicker of irritation crossed her face before she smoothed it away. “Bold,” she said. “For someone in your position.”
“And what position is that?” I asked evenly.
Her gaze slid over me deliberately, judgmental and cruel. “A lowlife,” she said without hesitation. “With bastard children. Living under the Lycan King’s roof and mistaking hospitality for invitation.”
The words struck—but I didn’t flinch.
she smirked and laughed softly. “Did you truly think you could come here, cook in our kitchens, and play house? Or was your plan always to seduce him?”
I met their stares one by one. “If I wanted to seduce him,” I said calmly, “I wouldn’t need a kitchen.”
Gasps rippled through the kitchen workers.
Her smile faltered and her eyes hardened. “You should watch your mouth.”
“No,” I replied. “You should watch yours.”
Her smile vanished. “Listen carefully,” she said, stepping closer. “The Lycan king is not yours. He never will be. You are nothing but a temporary inconvenience.”
“An inconvenience who seems to bother you quite a bit,” I pointed out.
Her hand clenched. “You will stay away from him.”
“I don’t take orders from women who introduce themselves with insults.”
She leaned in, voice dropping. “You are here because of pity. Because of your children. Don’t confuse that mercy with interest.”
Something cold settled in my chest.
“My children,” I said quietly, “are not bargaining chips. And if you believe I’m here because I begged, then you know nothing about me.”
Silence fell.
For a moment, I thought she might strike me.
Instead, she straightened. “You’ve been warned.”
They turned and swept out of the kitchen, leaving behind the echo of their presence and the tension thick enough to choke on.
The maids stared at me, wide-eyed.
I picked up my plate.
My hands trembled—not from fear, but from anger.
I carried the food back to my quarters, each step heavier than the last. Inside, my children were still asleep, blissfully unaware of the politics, the threats, the dangerous games unfolding around us.
I sat beside them, forcing myself to breathe.
I hated how close forgiveness lingered when it came to him. Hated how just minutes in his presence had reopened wounds I’d sworn were closed forever.
But I was certain of one thing.
No matter what this place threw at me—no matter who tried to belittle me, threaten me, or erase me—
I would not bend.
And I would not let anyone take what mattered most from me.
Not even the Lycan King himself.