18

Serafina’s POV.

The warm water slid over my skin, washing away the lingering drowsiness and frustration from my morning.

The two maidservants moved around me with practiced precision, their touch light as they helped me bathe.

I should have been grateful, I supposed. After all, they were only doing what they were told.

But I couldn’t ignore the way their gazes kept flickering, hesitating, toward the mark on my shoulder.

The crescent moon.

Even without looking, I could feel the weight of their curiosity, the silent questions they didn’t dare voice.

It wasn’t their fault.

The mark was impossible to miss, standing out starkly against my pale skin, a dark reminder of what I was.

Cursed and wolfless.

Or rather, what I wasn’t.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to stay still, but inside, my stomach twisted.

The water did little to soothe the deep-seated ache that came with being seen like this.

Exposed. Judged.

No one ever saw my skin, not since the mark appeared. I kept myself covered, hidden.

But here, under the careful hands of the servants, there was no hiding.

And the occasional glance, the brief flicker of pity or uncertainty in their eyes, made me feel stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with the bathwater.

By the time they wrapped me in a towel and began dressing me, I was eager for it to be over.

But then, I noticed the gown they had chosen.

It was one of the few dresses I had brought from Northern Ironveil, a simple lavender gown with a flowing skirt and delicate embroidery.

It was meant for outings, not for staying indoors.

I frowned. "This dress is for…"

"For what, my lady?" Madam Rachel’s voice cut in before I could finish. I turned to see her standing near the vanity, arms folded neatly in front of her.

"For staying in," I finished. "I have simpler dresses for indoors."

Madam Rachel lifted a single brow, unimpressed. "The other dresses you brought with you are unbefitting of an Alpha King’s wife. Even as indoor wear."

My face heated at the implication.

"We will discard them," she continued smoothly.

A pang of embarrassment shot through me. "But I don’t have many clothes to begin with."

Madam Rachel didn’t look the least bit concerned. "The tailors are already making new outfits for you. They will be delivered by evening."

That didn’t make me feel any better.

All the clothes I had now were hand-me-downs from Sarah and Tiana, worn-out, faded, but mine.

My father had stopped giving me an allowance long ago, and without money, I had no choice but to rely on my sisters’ cast-offs.

Even if the clothes weren’t good enough for an Alpha’s wife, they were all I had. But arguing with Madam Rachel was pointless.

I took a slow breath, swallowing my pride. "Fine."

Madam Rachel gave a small nod, as if she had expected nothing less.

Then, with the same composed tone, she added, "Your maidservants will also begin packing your belongings. We leave for Duskmoor in the morning."

I blinked. "What?"

The announcement hit me like a slap.

Madam Rachel regarded me coolly. "That is Alpha King Daxton’s order."

Of course it was.

Of course, he hadn’t thought to tell me himself. Instead, I had to find out through his attendants, as if I were just another task to be managed.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was quickly learning to expect the unexpected from Daxton.

But somewhere in my head, I was tempted to refuse his arrangement.

And speaking of Duskmoor, I had heard of it, of its towering skyscrapers, its advanced technology, and the very heart of the city.

But I had never been there.

I had never even left Ironveil Packlands before.

A strange mix of apprehension and curiosity stirred inside me.

Would I even have the chance to explore?

Or would I simply be caged in another unfamiliar place?

I was still lost in thought when a maidservant guided me to sit before the mirror.

She began working oil through my long silver hair, fingers gentle as she braided it into a neat ponytail.

She added purple hairpins, the colour matching my eyes.

I studied my reflection, but before I could fully process the look, a firm knock at the door pulled me back to reality.

The doctor had arrived.

He entered the room with practiced ease and greeted me before setting his bag on the floor beside me.

He was an older man, possibly in his late forties, with sharp eyes that immediately locked onto my scar.

I didn’t flinch.

"How did you get this scar?" he asked.

The room fell silent.

I met his gaze but said nothing.

An ugly memory curled at the edges of my mind, dark and heavy. I didn’t want to talk about it.

The silence stretched.

The doctor glanced at Madam Rachel as if waiting for her to intervene, but she merely gave a small nod, signalling for him to continue.

Realizing he wouldn’t get an answer from me, he exhaled through his nose and pulled a loupe from his bag.

Leaning in, he examined the scar closely.

His fingers brushed against it, a sharp prick of sensation ran down my spine, not pain, not exactly. Just... a reminder.

"How long have you had this injury?"

"A year," I said evenly.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mira’s expression shift, her gaze softening, almost sad.

She felt bad for me, and I hated it.

The doctor frowned, straightening. "Without a wolf, your healing is naturally slower. But even so, it shouldn’t have taken this long."

I said nothing.

I knew exactly why the scar hadn’t fully healed, and only I knew what I did occasionally to keep it open.

The doctor leaned back, his brows furrowing. "The centre of the scar is deep. It was cut into some tissues." He paused, then asked, "Have you tried any medicine or healing balms?"

"Yes," I replied. "Shea butter balm. Aloe vera. Coconut oil. Herbal masks."

He frowned again. "With treatment like that, the scar should have faded completely. And also, you are from Northern Ironveil Pack."

He reached into his bag and pulled out a small white container. "This balm will help. It contains petroleum jelly, aloe vera, tea tree oil, honey, and vitamin E."

I took the container and opened it. I studied the balm inside, inhaling its scent.

Then I looked up at him and said, "I smell lavender. You shouldn’t have added fragrance."

The doctor blinked. "What?"

"Perfume can hinder healing," I said plainly. "If you intended to treat an injury, you shouldn’t have used scented oils."

I knew these things. I was from Northern Ironveil. Herbs and healing were second nature to my pack.

I watched from the corner of my eye as the maidservants exchanged glances. I bet they were all wondering how dare I, a wolfless woman, correct a learned doctor.

The doctor hesitated, then cleared his throat. "I... I see. That was an oversight."

He looked flustered. "I will prepare another balm without fragrance and have it sent to you by evening."

I simply nodded. I didn’t care.

He could bring me the best healing balm in existence, and I still wouldn’t use it.

The only reason I corrected him was to remind everyone in the room- servants, Madam Rachel, even Mira- that I wasn’t as useless as they thought.

Lunar curse or not, I was still a daughter of Northern Ironveil.