KolI was heading down the west hall to speak with Aria about a council report when I caught sight of her turning to the corner ahead. She didn’t see me.What stopped me wasn’t her walking away, it was the look on her face. It was cold and rigid. The kind of face she only wore when she wanted the world and everyone around her to believe she felt nothing. Behind her, just a few steps away, was Agatha. Her eyes were glistening with tears and her jaw was trembling as if she’d been holding something back. It was probably the tears.I stopped walking immediately. It didn’t take a genius to know that whatever had just happened between them wasn’t casual conversation. It was the kind of conversation that opened old wounds instead of closed them.I remembered the night I got mated to Agatha. I wanted Emory and Aria to be present. But they weren’t there. I always thought that me telling Aria I was going to make Agatha my mate was the beginning of our fractured family. No. It was the moment I
AriaFifteen years. That was how long I had lived in the quiet ache of a love that used to be everything. Fifteen years since Kol and I had laughed like children with Emory between us, building a home out of the ruins Lira left behind. Fifteen years since I’d believed that no storm could tear us apart.And then he married her.I never understood it. Not fully. Not in a way that made sense. Because in my heart, we had been fine. Just the three of us.I closed my eyes, remembering the night Kol told me.We were sitting on the balcony, under the bright moon. Emory was playing with Elias down the hall. I’d thought Kol had that look in his eyes, the one he always got before telling me something difficult.“Aria,” he began, voice low, hesitant. “There’s something I need to say.”I looked at him, tired but soft. “Then say it.”He exhaled sharply, like the words themselves were knives. “Agatha is pregnant.”I blinked, my throat tightening. “Pregnant?”“With twins,” he said quickly, before I c
EmoryFifteen years later….The smell of paint was my comfort. It wasn’t moonflowers anymore. It wasn’t hearing distant laughters echoing down the halls. And it definitely wasn’t quality time with my father. Paint. Oil and canvas. That was mine.I ran the brush slowly across the paper, my painting already taking its shape. Painting was really the only way I could take a breather these days. It wasn’t about beauty, not anymore. It was survival.I ditched the moonflowers when I was thirteen, when I decided they weren’t manly enough. My mother used to tell me they were my symbol, that they represented purity and resilience. But what purity was left when your own father split your family apart for a woman who used to be your mother’s closest and only friend?Painting was better. Painting was real. And these days, ever since my father married his second mate, Agatha, I’ve needed it more than oxygen.The worst part wasn’t just her. It was living with her twins, Mina and Gina, the daughter
KolI never thought kneeling would feel like this. Not humiliating, not exactly. But vulnerable. Exposed. As I had given up all, my pride, my title, my strength, and given it to Aria on bended knee.I was awaiting her words and my heart was beating heavily. She looked at me with such hurtful wide eyes, and I thought, Is this it? Was this the end? Not of us, but of the version of us that I had so foolishly broken.“Get up,” she finally said, her voice quiet but not cold. “Kol… just go.”I blinked, chest tightening. “Please, Aria. Just, just give me a sign. Tell me what to do. I’ll do it.”She shook her head. “I need to think. I need space. Do not deprive me of that.I gulped down and put my head down. After that, there was nothing left to be said.“Very well,” I said, forcing myself up. “I will go.”Aria didn’t look at me when I turned and walked away, and although she had said she’d think about it, giving me hope, her not batting me an eye when I left, hurt the most.When I returned t
AriaI opened the door just before I heard the second knock. Emory’s home school teacher stood before me, in her usual soft brown shawl and low-heeled shoes and with a curious smile on her face as she clutched the handle of her satchel bag.“Good morning,” she said , tilting her head slightly. “I hope I’m still welcome here?”“Of course, come in,” I replied, stepping aside. She stared at me for too long before she finally stepped in.As she went about the house, she scanned every inch of Uncle Jarek’s home. “I wasn’t informed of the change in location. Is everything alright at the estate?”I forced a smile. “We’re just visiting my uncle’s for a week. A little change of scenery.”She didn’t say anything at first, she just nodded. But I knew she could smell the lie, or at least the pieces I was leaving out. While she settled Emory at the dining table, I went away into the adjoining room where Jarek sat by the fireplace. He read the newspaper with a glass of tea in his hand.He looked u
KolThe house had never felt so empty. Even in war, even during winter, the house never felt this empty.But this… this was different.I sat at the edge of our bed, no, my bed now, I supposed. The right side was cold and empty. She hadn’t come back after yesterday. She wasn’t in the guest wing. She wasn’t cooling off in the garden.She was really gone. And it wasn’t just for space nor just for the weekend. But because of me.I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the growing tightness in my chest. It didn’t help.So I walked slowly toward the dining room. No more noises from Emory’s morning footsteps. No Aria greeting me with a smile. It was just bitter silence.When I stepped into the dining hall, only one plate had been set. My own.“Where’s the boy’s cup?” I asked the maid absentmindedly. “He takes that weird juice blend in the mornings, what’s it called?”She gave me a long, sad look.“Sir,” she said gently, “they left yesterday.”Right. Of course they did.I sank into the chair. I rem