CHAPTER 11

Elara’s Pov

As time went on, I found myself lost in the rhythm of their voices. 

Miri was a natural storyteller, her hands flying through the air as she recounted mishaps in the palace kitchen or the time a young pup had tracked blue dye through the Alpha’s private study.

For the first time in years, the weight in my chest loosened. 

I didn't just smile; I laughed. It was a small, rusty sound at first, but as Sora joined in with her dry wit, I felt a spark of genuine warmth. 

They were so normal, so easy, and for a few blissful minutes, they made me forget I was a girl with no wolf and a broken past.

The fear that usually dictated my every breath had retreated into the darkness, replaced by the light of the garden.

After hours of lighthearted chatter and more food than I had eaten in an entire month at Silver Ridge, Sora and Miri began to gather their things. 

The sky had deepened into a rich, velvety indigo, studded with stars that looked like spilled diamonds.

"The hour has caught up with us, Miss Elara," Sora said with a gentle smile. "We have dozens of wolves to tend to at dawn."

I nodded, feeling a pang of sadness at their departure, but I wasn't ready to return to the four walls of my room. 

"I think I’ll stay a little longer," I said softly. "The garden is so quiet... I want to see it a bit more."

"Of course, dear," Sora replied. 

To my absolute shock, she reached out, took my hand, and pressed a light, respectful kiss to my knuckles. 

Miri followed suit, her eyes twinkling.

"Goodnight, Miss Elara," Miri chirped.

Heat rushed to my face, my cheeks flushing crimson. I was stunned into silence, my skin tingling where they had touched it. 

I managed a small, clumsy wave as they walked toward the Citadel, watching until their silhouettes disappeared into the warm glow of the stone archway.

A soft breeze swept through the garden, carrying the scent of pine and chilled earth. 

It caught my hair, dancing the strands across my face. 

The air felt cool, and honest. I reached for the porcelain teapot, pouring one last cup of the honey-infused tea. 

I took a slow sip, closing my eyes as the floral sweetness coated my tongue.

It was peaceful. 

It was safe.

"It seems you have a fondness for honey."

The voice was low, vibrating through the air like the hum of a cello. I didn't jump this time.

I knew that voice.

Varick stepped out from the shadow of the cedar tree. He moved with a silent, predatory grace, his dark furs catching the moonlight. 

He stopped only a few feet away, his icy eyes fixed on the half-empty plate of biscuits.

"It's... the best thing I've ever tasted," I admitted, my voice a whisper in the vastness of the night.

Varick looked at me, then up at the moon, his expression unreadable. 

"The bees of the North work hard through short summers to make it. It is rare, and it is sweet." He looked back down, his gaze softening in a way that made my breath catch. "Much like you, Elara."

He moved with slow, deliberate grace, sinking onto the plush furs beside me. He didn't ask permission; he simply claimed the space. 

I blinked, my cup frozen halfway to my lips.

"Why... why are you sitting here?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

As he adjusted his weight, his shoulder brushed mine, sending a jolt of golden electricity through my arm.

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't be?" he countered, his voice an amused rumble.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. 

At Silver Ridge, an Alpha sat on a throne or at the head of a long, intimidating table. 

They didn't sit on the grass. 

They didn't sit with Omegas. 

I searched for a protocol or a rule, but found nothing that fit this moment. I looked back at my tea, my silence the only answer.

Varick let out a soft huff that might have been a laugh. He reached out, his scarred hand moving with practiced elegance as he picked up a porcelain cup. 

He handled the delicate item with the same precision he likely used for a blade, pouring a stream of amber tea without spilling a single drop.

"Wow," I breathed, mesmerized.

Varick paused, one dark eyebrow arching in silent inquiry. "What?"

"You're just..." I gestured vaguely at his hands. "You're so big, but you didn't break anything. My father... he would have barked for someone to pour it. Or he would have knocked it over and blamed me."

The humor vanished from Varick’s eyes, replaced by a cold, simmering intensity. 

He took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact.

"A true Alpha knows the value of a gentle hand, Elara," he said firmly. "Power isn't just about how hard you can strike. It’s about knowing exactly how much pressure is needed to keep something precious from breaking."

My heart did a strange little flip. He wasn't talking about the teacup anymore.

The night deepened, but the cold never reached me. 

Varick remained a silent, powerful presence. He didn't rush me; instead, he pointed out the constellations, the Great Wolf, the Hunter’s Bow, and told me the names of flowers that only bloomed after sunset.

Encouraged by his quiet watchfulness, I eventually scrambled to my feet. 

The fear that usually kept my movements small began to melt. 

I moved from one flower bed to the next, my blue skirts fluttering. I leaned down to touch the petals of the night-roses, inhaling until my head felt light.

"This one smells like ginger!" I called out over my shoulder.

"And that one?" he asked.

"Like... rain and honey," I laughed, moving to a patch of star-shaped white blooms.

I sat on the grass, my fingers nimble for the first time without the sting of lye. I began to pick the sturdiest stems, weaving them with practiced care. 

I had made crowns out of weeds in the cellar before, only to have them crushed by Kaelith’s boots. But here, no one stopped me.

When it was finished, I placed the crown of white stars atop my head. I stood and did a small, clumsy twirl, beaming at Varick.

"How do I look?" I asked, my heart hammering with a giddy, bubbling excitement.

Varick looked at me, his gaze sweeping over the flowers and the radiant smile I couldn't hide. 

For a long moment, he didn't speak. He just watched me, his eyes glowing with a soft, possessive light.

"You look like the moon has finally come down to earth," he said softly.

I flushed and looked away, picking up a fallen petal and smiling to myself. I watched the fireflies, listened to the leaves, and simply existed without apology. 

I was happy. 

Truly, deeply happy.

‘I'm so glad I came out,’ I thought, the cool air filling my lungs. ‘I'm so glad I didn't hide.’