Meaningless Apology

Markel stood with his hands folded behind his back, the way he always did when delivering news he suspected his king wouldn't like.

"The council is asking again," he said. "About a mate. Lord Ashcombe brought it up twice this week alone."

"And?" Issac didn't look up from the reports spread across his desk.

"Should we tell them of her existence, my king?"

"No." The word came flat, immediate. "Not yet. Not until she can stand in a room without flinching at the sound of a closing door. The council can wonder a little longer. Watch the auction house. Nothing more, for now."

Markel inclined his head, then hesitated. "I did learn a few things, if you'd like them."

"Go on."

"Her husband — Damian Silvermore, Alpha of Ashwood. The mistress, Vivian, now holds the Luna title in her place. It was Vivian who requested she be broken before the sale, and the Baltimores who carried it out. But the transfer itself—" Markel paused. "Damian signed it personally. And he's close with the Alpha King. Closer than I expected. They do hunted together occasionally. It seems the King has no idea what his favorite Alpha did to secure that friendship."

Issac exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "I see."

He rubbed a hand across his eyes, setting the report aside. "Arrange a meeting with the Alpha King. Have him invite most of the ruling Alphas — a general summit, nothing unusual. I don't want Damian to know it's him I'm interested in."

"Understood, my king."

Victoria arrived just as Markel left, the door easing shut behind him.

It was half past eight, the sky beyond the tall windows gone a deep, star-scattered blue. Below, the city hummed its usual evening chorus, distant car horns, the low murmur of streetlights buzzing to life along the palace road, all of it strangely peaceful from up here, indifferent to everything happening within these walls.

"What will you do to them?" Victoria asked, no greeting, no preamble. "The monsters who did this to her."

"I understand how you feel, Nanny." Issac's voice stayed even, though something tightened behind his eyes. "But it can only be called revenge if Elena is the one who takes it. Not me."

"And what is your plan, then, while you wait for that?" Her voice cracked. "She is broken, Issac. Truly broken. There is barely a shred of a living being left inside her."

He didn't answer immediately. He walked past her, toward the hallway, and paused at the threshold, back still turned.

"She is my mate," he said quietly. "It's my obligation to heal her. Isn't it?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

When he entered her room, he found her asleep, but there was no peace in it. Her body shifted restlessly beneath the blankets, her limbs twitching every few moments as though she were trying to escape something only she could see. Faint, broken sounds caught in her throat, soft cries that never fully became words, each one carrying the weight of a nightmare he had no way of reaching.

He quietly moved to her bedside, intending only to watch over her, to be there if fear dragged her awake again.

Before he could even sit down, she stirred.

Still trapped in sleep, her hands reached out aimlessly through the darkness until they found him. Her fingers closed around his forearm with desperate strength, pulling him closer with the instinctive urgency.

The change was almost immediate.

Her breathing gradually slowed, each breath becoming deeper than the last. The tension that had held her body captive melted away, the trembling ceased, and the quiet cries faded into silence. The lines of fear slowly disappeared from her face, replaced by a fragile calm she had not known in what felt like an eternity.

She never loosened her grip.

Issac looked down at the hand clutching his arm before quietly settling beside the bed. He remained there without moving, afraid that even the smallest shift would steal away the peace she had finally found. Long after the room had fallen silent, he kept his place beside her, letting the night pass around them until dawn painted the curtains with the first pale light of morning.

Morning arrived gently.

Victoria entered with the same quiet patience she carried into everything she did. She called Elena's name in a soft voice and rested a careful hand against her shoulder until sleepy blue eyes slowly opened. There was no panic this time, only confusion that quickly settled into cautious recognition.

With practiced gentleness, Victoria guided her through a warm towel bath, carefully wiping away the sweat left behind by another troubled night. She worked slowly through the short, uneven strands of Elena's hair. There was little left to brush after it had been so cruelly shorn, yet Victoria ran the brush through it with the same care she would have given hair that reached her waist, as though reminding Elena that dignity was not measured by what had been taken from her but by the kindness still offered to her.

When she was finished, she helped Elena into a simple white dress that rested lightly against her skin, its softness a quiet contrast to everything she had endured. Taking her hand, Victoria led her from the room, matching every hesitant step until they reached the dining hall together.

The room was spacious, its long table of polished dark wood stretching almost the entire length of the hall. Despite its size, only two places had been prepared, side by side at the head of the table.

The moment Elena stepped inside, Issac rose to his feet.

"Good morning," he said, warmth threaded carefully through his voice. "I hope you slept well."

Elena said nothing, lowering herself into the chair beside him. A servant poured soup into the bowl before her, steam curling upward, the smell of it, real food, gently made, almost too much on its own.

She stared at the bowl for a long moment before her gaze drifted to the spoon resting beside it. Her breathing remained shallow as she slowly reached for it, every movement hesitant, her trembling fingers barely able to close around the handle.

For a single heartbeat, she thought she had it.

Then her grip failed.

The spoon slipped from her hand and struck the floor with a sharp metallic clatter that echoed through the silent room.

The sound stole every trace of color from her face.

Before Issac could rise from his chair or utter a single reassuring word, Elena had already folded into herself. She flinched violently, throwing both arms over her head as her shoulders shook, her body instinctively making itself as small as possible. Her chair scraped softly against the floor as she recoiled, as though she expected the next thing to come crashing down on her wasn't another sound, but a fist, a whip, or a command she had learned never to disobey.

Her lips quivered, panic flooding her eyes as tears gathered faster than she could stop them.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry—I didn't mean it... I didn't mean it, please..."