The Things We Refuse To Say

Winter's POV

I hate that my mother knows me so well.

Not because it is comforting.

Because it is inconvenient.

There is something deeply unfair about being twenty-three years old, surviving political disasters, magical attacks, and being dragged into situations that could affect the entire supernatural world—only to be completely exposed by one raised eyebrow from your mother.

She watches me carefully.

Not accusing.

Not angry.

Just knowing.

And somehow that is worse.

"You're defending him."

I immediately look away.

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm explaining."

"Winter."

I sigh.

Because unfortunately, she is right.

Again.

I hate when people are right.

Especially my mother.

"I am not saying he handled everything perfectly," I say carefully. "I'm saying I understand why he did what he did."

Mother studies me.

"That is usually where people start making excuses for someone."

I open my mouth.

Then close it.

Because that was annoyingly accurate.

She softens slightly when she sees my expression.

Not enough to let me escape.

Just enough to remind me that this is my mother and not a council member interrogating me.

"Tell me about him."

The request surprises me.

Not the Alpha.

Not the attacks.

Him.

Keon.

I swallow.

Because that is somehow a much harder question.

"What do you want to know?"

"The truth."

I almost laugh.

"That is a dangerous thing to ask."

"Why?"

Because the truth about Keon is complicated.

Because he is complicated.

Because for every moment where I want to call him impossible, there is another where I remember the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't awake.

The way he stayed beside me.

The way he protected me even when he was angry.

The way he looked terrified when he thought he might lose me.

I don't say any of that.

Instead, I say the simplest thing.

"He is not what I expected."

Mother waits.

I continue.

"When I first came here, I thought he hated me."

A small smile touches her lips.

"Understandable."

"Mother."

"What? From everything you've told me, he does sound unpleasant."

I laugh despite myself.

"He was."

The memory almost feels funny now.

Almost.

"And then?"

"And then the lightning strike happened."

The room quiets.

Because that moment changed everything.

"He carried me out of the chapel."

I look down at my hands.

"I don't even remember much after that. But when I woke up, everything was different."

Mother listens quietly.

"He was still angry. Still difficult. But he was there."

My voice lowers.

"When everyone else saw a political problem, he saw me."

The words leave before I can stop them.

And immediately, I know.

Because Mother's expression changes.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Enough to tell me she heard the part I didn't mean to say.

I clear my throat.

"Anyway."

A smile slowly forms on her face.

I hate that smile.

"Anyway?"

"Yes."

"Interesting choice of word."

"Don't start."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"I was."

I roll my eyes.

The moment passes.

Thankfully.

Mostly.

Because then my mind goes back to everything else.

Derrick.

The letters.

The kindness.

The ease of being around him.

And somehow that makes everything worse.

Mother notices the shift.

"Then there is Derrick."

I tense slightly.

She catches it immediately.

Of course she does.

"You do care about him."

It isn't a question.

I look away.

"I do."

The honesty surprises even me.

Mother doesn't react badly.

She simply nods.

"Tell me."

So I do.

I tell her about the way Derrick talks to me.

The way he listens.

The way he never makes me feel like a burden.

The way being around him feels peaceful.

Safe.

Different.

"He makes everything feel easier," I admit.

Mother's expression becomes thoughtful.

"And Keon?"

My answer doesn't come immediately.

That scares me.

Because Derrick is easy.

Derrick makes sense.

Keon does not.

Keon is anger and comfort and frustration and protection all mixed together.

"He makes everything feel important."

The room becomes quiet.

Because that answer scares me too.

Mother looks at me for a long moment.

Then she says softly,

"Winter. A bond can explain why you are drawn to someone, Winter. It does not remove your choice.”"

I know that tone.

I hate that tone.

"What?"

"Do you know what your problem is?"

I narrow my eyes.

"That sounds like an insult."

"It is not."

"Good."

"Your problem is that you keep trying to solve your feelings like they are a political issue."

I blink.

"What?"

"You keep looking for the logical answer."

She gestures slightly.

"The alliance. The bond. The treaty. The consequences."

Her eyes soften.

"But feelings do not care about any of that."

I stay quiet.

Because I know she is right.

And I hate it.

"I don't know what to do."

The confession is quieter than I expect.

Mother's expression immediately softens.

"I know."

"I don't want to hurt Derrick."

"I know."

"I don't want to hurt Keon either."

"I know."

"And I don't want this to become another political disaster because of me."

Her face changes slightly.

Sadness.

Not pity.

Never pity.

"You always do that."

"What?"

"Take responsibility for everyone's pain before anyone asks you to."

I don't have an answer.

Because maybe she is right.

Again.

She reaches over and takes my hand.

"Winter, your father spent years believing that sacrifice was the only way to protect people."

I look at her.

She holds my gaze.

"Do not make the same mistake."

The words settle deeper than I expect.

Before I can respond, she studies me carefully again.

Then her expression shifts.

Oh no.

Not that look.

"Mother."

"Who do you love?"

The question hits harder than any accusation could.

I freeze.

Completely.

Because that is the question I have been avoiding.

Not who is my mate.

Not who is my alliance.

Not who makes sense.

Who do I love?

My mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

Because I can answer almost every question in my life.

I can explain politics.

Magic.

History.

Strategy.

But that one?

No.

I don't know.

Mother watches my silence carefully.

Not pushing.

Not forcing.

Just waiting.

And somehow that makes it worse.

Because she knows.

She knows there is an answer somewhere inside me.

An answer I have been too afraid to look at.

My fingers close around the necklace resting against my chest.

The same necklace tied to dreams.

To my family.

To things waking up that should have stayed forgotten.

Maybe that is the problem.

Maybe I have spent so long looking for signs about everyone else.

About the relics.

About the future.

About what I am supposed to do.

That I never stopped to ask what I actually wanted.

My mother squeezes my hand gently.

"Winter."

I look up.

Her voice is softer now.

"If there was no treaty, no bond, no duty, no expectations… if you woke up tomorrow and both of them were simply two men standing in front of you… who would you choose?"