Chapter Four

I left immediately and retreated to the guest room. I didn't wait to hear what Dorian or Sienna had to say. I've had enough of their opinions about how I should feel. 

But I didn't sleep that night.

The small guest room at the far end of the servant hall was cold, the mattress thin and stiff. But it wasn't the hard bed that kept me awake. It was the noise echoing from the floor below.

All through the evening, the grand dining hall roared with chatter, clinking wine glasses, and warm laughter. The Caspian family was celebrating.

From my window, I watched the sleek black carriages of high-ranking pack officials roll up the driveway to welcome the Lycan King's advance scouts. I had heard Mother’s delicate laugh, a sound I hadn't heard in two years, ring out clear and light whenever Sienna said something clever.

They were a complete family downstairs.

And upstairs, in the dark, I was just the dirty secret they had temporarily dragged out of the mud.

Eventually, I willed myself to sleep. 

When dawn broke, I pulled on the faded tunic and simple trousers I’d been given. My body still ached from the beating in the quarry, each deep breath pulling at my bruised ribs, but staying in that dark bedroom made my skin crawl.

I had one purpose for coming back.

Just one. I needed to check on Mother.

Before they dragged me off to Blackwood, I knew her medical routine better than any doctor in the Crestmark Pack. 

I knew she took her heart tonic at precisely seven in the morning, that she needed her tea steeped with dried blue-willow bark to keep her blood pressure low, and that she couldn't swallow pills without a spoon of raw honey.

I walked down the quiet wing toward Mother’s master suite and gently pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

Mother was sitting in her plush armchair by the window, looking pale but elegant in a silk robe. Standing beside her was Dr. Mark, the family physician, along with two senior nurses and the head housekeeper.

And right next to Mother, sitting on a low stool with a silver tray in her lap, was Sienna.

"Her pulse is much steadier this morning, Doctor," Sienna said, her voice soft and sweet as she carefully measured a dark liquid into a glass. "I made sure she drank the blue-willow infusion right at dawn, just like we practiced yesterday."

"Wonderful work, Lady Sienna," Dr. Vance said, nodding in genuine approval. "Madam Evangeline's system is remarkably stable. Your constant care over these past few months has done wonders for her heart."

Mother smiled weakly, reaching out to stroke Sienna’s hair with deep, tender affection.

"I don't know what I would do without my sweet Sienna. She remembers every single detail of my medicine. She never forgets."

I stood frozen in the doorway.

A young nurse turned around, holding a bundle of soiled linens. She looked at my rough clothes and bruised face with a quick frown.

"Can I help you?" the nurse asked loudly, her tone sharp and dismissive. "Madam Evangeline is receiving her morning checkup. Delivery of towels goes down to the laundry room in the basement."

Dr. Mark glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes locked onto mine for a fraction of a second, but he quickly looked away, clearing his throat awkwardly and turning his back to me.

He knew who I was. He had treated my broken bones when I was a child.

But now, he acted as if I were invisible.

Mother didn't even turn her head.

She was busy whispering something to Sienna, who giggled softly and adjusted the silk blanket over Mother’s knees.

I stared at the scene for three long seconds.

The last tether holding me to this family snapped completely.

I had survived two years of torture believing Mother needed me, believing I was the only one who could keep her alive.

But Sienna hadn't just stolen my home, my reputation, and my brother.

She had seamlessly taken my place at Mother’s bedside.

I wasn't needed here. I was entirely obsolete.

"My apologies," I whispered softly to the nurse.

I didn't argue. I didn't step into the room to assert my rights as a daughter.

I simply stepped backward into the hallway and pulled the door shut, cutting off the warm picture of motherly love.

The main courtyard downstairs was absolute chaos.

Now that the Lycan King’s primary scouts had arrived the night before, the main ceremony for the Lycan King himself was set for this evening. 

Dozens of staff members were rushing back and forth across the stone grounds. Wagons carrying fresh pine bowers, heavy velvet banners, and barrels of imported wine lined the outer gates.

I walked past the busy crowds, keeping my head down.

I didn't want to go back to that tiny guest room, and I certainly didn't want to run into Dorian or Alpha Silas, my adoptive father.

"Hey! You there! Standing around doing nothing!"

A sharp, booming voice yelled from near the stone stables. A senior household maid —someone probably hired during my two years away—marched toward me with a wooden clipboard in hand.

She didn't recognize me at all; to her, I was just another nameless temp worker dressed in scrubbed rags.  

She marched right up to me, her eyes sweeping over my plain trousers, scraped hands, and dull complexion.

"Are you deaf, girl?" She barked, slapping her clipboard against her thigh. "The main hall staff is stretched thin, and you're out here taking a morning stroll? Who hired you?"

I looked at her.

I could have told her I was Elora Caspian.

I could have told her I was the daughter of the Alpha who owned the very ground she was standing on.

Instead, I swallowed the blood in my mouth and spoke in a flat, quiet voice.

"I was told to find work to do."

"Well, thank the Goddess," She snapped, turning and gesturing toward a long wooden crate sitting by the armory doors. "The grand pavilion needs to be decorated before noon. Grab those iron candleholders and carry them up to the upper balcony. And hurry up! If the Alpha or Madam Evangeline sees unfinished decor, it’s my head on the block!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said quietly.

I walked over to the crate.

It was packed with heavy, solid-silver candleholders meant for the high tables. I reached inside and lifted the first candleholder.

A sharp, burning sting flared across my ribs, making my breath hitch. My muscles trembled under the weight. Two years of starvation rations in Blackwood had stripped away the natural strength of my wolf.

But physical labor was familiar.

Lifting heavy stones in the labor quarry was all I had done for seven hundred days.

Heavy iron was easier to deal with than the people in this house.

I gathered several candleholders into my arms and hauled them up the side stone stairs toward the grand garden pavilion.

"Careful with those!" another young servant girl hissed as she passed me, carrying armfuls of white silk ribbons. "If you scratch the silver, Alpha Dorian will have you whipped! The Caspian family is being very strict today because of Lady Sienna’s guest!"

"I'll be careful," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the stone steps beneath my boots.

“Try not to piss off Mrs Gable next time. She is one scary woman.” The girl said.

Mrs Gable. So that's her name. 

"Did you hear?" The girl lingered for a second, eager to gossip while catching her breath. "They say Lord Damon Cross arrived an hour ago! He brought a whole guard escort just to make sure Lady Sienna had extra protection for the banquet! He's so handsome... and so protective of her."

"Is he?" I murmured, stepping past her.

Damon Cross.

The name left a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.

Damon had been our childhood friend, the boy who used to train in the yards with Dorian and me, the boy who promised he would always guard my back.

But when Sienna returned, Damon’s loyalty had shifted with frightening, obsessive speed.

To him, Sienna was a fragile, precious flower that needed constant shielding, and I was the vicious monster who tried to tear her down.

I reached the top of the pavilion stairs and set the heavy bundle of candleholders down on the polished marble floor with a low clatter.

I wiped a streak of sweat and dust from my forehead with the back of my bruised hand, taking a deep, ragged breath.

"Well, well, well," a smooth, razor-sharp voice echoed from the pavilion archway. "What a pathetic little show."

My body went instantly rigid.

Slowly, I turned around.

Standing under the carved archway, framed by the morning sun, was Damon Cross.

He looked broad, lethal, and impeccably dressed in dark leather armor trimmed with gold thread. His brown tousled hair gleamed under the sun.

His sharp hazel eyes were locked onto me, burning with an intense, suffocating hatred. He carried himself with the arrogant confidence of a high-ranking warrior, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his broadsword.

He stepped into the pavilion, his heavy boots clicking loudly against the marble as he walked toward me.

"I heard a rumor at the main gate that you were released yesterday," Damon said, stopping five paces away, his lip curling into a cold, disgusted sneer. "I didn't believe it. I thought Dorian would have more sense than to let a criminal back into this house while Sienna is trying to recover."

I stared at him, my face completely blank, my hands hanging limply at my sides.

Damon’s eyes traveled down my dusty tunic, my frayed sleeves, and the scattered candleholders at my feet. Instead of softened curiosity, his expression hardened into pure contempt.

"Carrying candleholders like a common servant?" Damon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Is this your new scheme, Elora? Acting like a beaten dog to make Dorian and Madam Evangeline feel guilty?"

He took two steps closer, towering over me, his shadow completely swallowing my smaller frame.

"You haven't changed at all," Damon hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, dark whisper. "Two years in prison and you're still playing the tragic victim, trying to steal the spotlight on the very day Sienna is supposed to shine.”