The Evening Meal

The next day Drogo sent word that Bonita was required at the evening meal. She was to sit in the main hall with the rest of the pack. No excuses.

She spent the afternoon in the children’s room, moving only when necessary. The bleeding had slowed but the pain remained constant. Mira helped her change into a clean dress and fixed her hair without being asked. The girl did not ask questions. She simply worked in silence, her small hands careful.

When the time came, Bonita left the far wing and walked the long corridor toward the main hall. Each step pulled at her body. She kept her back straight because she knew Drogo would notice if she did not.

The hall was already full. Pack members sat at the long tables. Conversation dropped when she entered. Drogo sat at the head table. Beside him was a woman Bonita had seen only a few times before, young, clear-skinned, with dark hair pulled back and a calm expression. She wore a dress that marked her as someone important. Drogo’s hand rested near hers on the table.

Bonita was directed to a seat at the side of the head table, close enough to hear everything and far enough to be on display. She sat carefully. The chair was hard. She kept her hands in her lap.

Drogo did not greet her. He continued speaking to the woman beside him as if Bonita had not arrived. After a few minutes he raised his voice so more of the hall could hear.

“The ceremony is in two days,” he said. “The pack will accept its new Luna then. After that, certain matters will be settled.”

His eyes moved to Bonita for a brief moment and then away again.

The young woman next to him glanced at Bonita once, then looked down at her plate. She did not speak.

Food was served. Bonita forced herself to eat a few bites. The meat sat heavy in her stomach. Around her, people ate and talked in lower voices than usual. She felt their attention even when they pretended not to look.

Drogo spoke again, this time more directly.

“A Luna’s first duty is to give the Alpha an heir,” he said. “Sons to carry the bloodline and protect the pack. Without that, everything else fails. I waited longer than most would have. Five children and not one boy. That is not a small thing.”

He cut a piece of meat and ate it before continuing.

“The girls will not carry the Blackthorn name after the ceremony. They will be given a place, but it will not be as my recognized daughters. The pack needs clarity. An Alpha cannot keep reminders of failure in his house.”

Bonita’s fingers pressed into her own palms. She kept her eyes on the table. She could feel Mira’s absence like a weight. The children were not present. They never were at formal meals.

A few of the older pack members shifted in their seats. No one spoke against him. The Beta sat further down the table and stared at his plate. The head midwife was present and kept her face blank.

Drogo turned his head slightly toward Bonita.

“You will attend the ceremony,” he said. “You and the girls will stand where you can be seen. I will not have rumors that you ran or hid. You will listen to the announcement and accept it without trouble. Do you understand?”

Bonita lifted her eyes to his. “Yes.”

“Good.” He looked back at the woman beside him. “She understands her position. That is something, at least.”

The meal continued. Drogo spoke with the young woman about pack matters and about the lands that would come under her care as the new Luna. He asked her questions about her family and her health. She answered calmly. At one point he said, loud enough for those nearby to hear, that the healer had already confirmed she could bear children without difficulty.

Bonita sat still and listened. The words landed one after another. She thought of Mira’s quiet face that afternoon and of the baby’s small weight in her arms. She thought of Lila, who still sometimes reached for her father’s hand when he passed and then pulled back when he did not notice. She thought of the twins, who no longer tried at all.

When the meal ended, Drogo stood. The hall rose with him. He placed a hand on the back of the young woman’s chair as she stood as well. Then he looked at Bonita once more.

“Return to the far wing,” he said. “Stay there until the ceremony. Do not leave the children’s rooms without permission.”

Bonita stood. Her legs felt unsteady. She turned and walked out of the hall without looking at anyone. The corridor seemed longer than before. By the time she reached the far wing her dress was damp with sweat from the effort of walking upright.

Mira opened the door before she could knock. The girl’s eyes moved over her mother’s face and then down to the way she held herself.

“You’re back,” Mira said.

Bonita stepped inside. The other girls were awake. Lila held the baby. The twins sat close together on the bed. Rosa stood up when she saw her mother and then stopped, unsure.

Bonita closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. The room was warm from the small fire. She moved to the bed and sat down carefully. Lila brought the baby to her. Bonita took the child and held her against her chest.

Mira sat beside her. “What did he say?”

Bonita looked at her oldest daughter. She did not want to lie, but she also did not want to place the full weight on an eight-year-old.

“There will be a ceremony in two days,” she said. “He is choosing a new Luna. After that he will decide where we go.”

Mira’s face did not change much. She only nodded once. “Will we stay together?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Lila’s eyes filled. She wiped them quickly with the back of her hand. The twins watched without speaking. The baby made a small sound and turned her face toward Bonita’s dress.

Bonita adjusted her hold and began to feed her. The room stayed quiet except for the soft sounds of the baby. After a while Mira moved closer and rested her head against Bonita’s shoulder. The twins climbed onto the bed and pressed against her legs. Lila sat on the floor near their feet.

They stayed like that until the baby finished and fell asleep. Bonita laid her in the crib and then sat back down. She did not tell them the rest of what Drogo had said at the table. She did not tell them their names would be taken or that they would no longer be recognized as his daughters. Those words could wait until she had no choice.

Mira eventually helped the younger ones into their beds. When the room was settled she came back and sat beside Bonita again.

“Are you hurting?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bonita answered.

Mira did not offer empty comfort. She only stayed there, close enough that Bonita could feel her warmth.