CHAPTER 13

Elara’s Pov

I took a deep breath, slipping my hand into the crook of Varick’s massive arm. 

The warmth of his skin seeped through my sleeve, giving me the courage to step past the threshold of my room for the first time as a free woman.

As we descended the winding stone stairs, the silence of the residential wing was replaced by a distant, rhythmic thrumming. 

It sounded like a heartbeat, a symphony of clanging metal, laughter, and the unmistakable sizzle of fire.

"The courtyard and the kitchens," Varick rumbled, noticing my ears perk up. "It is the busiest hour. Are you ready?"

"I think so," I whispered.

We stepped through a set of wide archways, and I gasped. 

The courtyard was a hive of chaotic life, but it was the kitchen wing, visible through a series of open-air serving windows, that stopped me dead. 

At Silver Ridge, the kitchen was a place of misery, a cramped, smoky box where two or three exhausted Omegas slaved over massive pots while being screamed at for not being fast enough.

Here, it was a stage.

I counted them, six, seven, eight! Eight people moved in a synchronized dance. 

One tossed dough high into the air; another seasoned a row of roasting boars; several others laughed as they chopped vegetables with lightning speed. 

The sheer scale of it made the work look effortless. 

They weren't panting or crying; they were singing.

"Look," I whispered, pointing.

Just outside the kitchen threshold, a group of younger wolves and off-duty warriors were huddling together, watching the interior with longing.

"Please, Marisa!" one brawny man groaned, reaching for a peeler. "Let me help with the potatoes! I'm bored out of my mind!"

"Get back, Uriel!" a stout woman yelled, waving a wooden spoon like a sword. "You’ll bruise the skins! We have enough hands. Go find a tree to climb!"

"But there’s nothing else to do!" another girl chimed in, trying to sneak past the woman to grab a bag of flour. "I want to knead the bread!"

"No! Out! All of you!" the head cook barked, though she was grinning.

I couldn’t help it. 

A bubbly chuckle escaped my lips, sounding bright and clear against the stone walls. 

At home, chores were a death sentence. 

Here, they fought over them because the work was a privilege, not a burden.

"They’re fighting... to work?" I asked in disbelief.

"In the Vanguard, we do not overwork our people," Varick explained, his expression uncharacteristically relaxed. "When everyone does their part, chores become a celebration of the community. It seems today, the kitchen is the place to be."

One of the men who had been begging to peel potatoes turned at the sound of my laugh. 

He froze, his eyes widening as they landed on Varick, and then on me, tucked firmly against the Alpha’s side.

The laughter in the kitchen died down as, one by one, the workers noticed us. 

The woman with the wooden spoon lowered her weapon, her eyes shimmering with curiosity as she took in my midnight-blue gown and the flower crown I had stubbornly refused to remove.

Varick stepped forward, his voice booming with a pride that made my toes curl.

"Vanguard! Cease your bickering over the potatoes," he commanded, his tone warm. "I have someone you must meet."

The clatter of pots silenced instantly.

"This is Elara. She has been under the care of Sora, but today, she walks among us. From this day forward, she is to be treated with the respect and honor due to the woman at my side… your future Luna."

My heart plummeted. I gripped the fabric of my dress, knuckles turning white, bracing for the silence to turn cold. 

I waited for the head cook to sneer, for the warriors to mutter about why the Alpha had chosen a girl with no wolf. 

I expected them to see only weakness.

The sneer never came.

"The Luna!" the woman with the spoon gasped.

Before I could blink, the staff and the warriors abandoned their posts. 

They didn't pull away; they surged forward. 

In seconds, I was submerged in a sea of friendly faces and the scent of toasted spices.

"Look at her! She’s as delicate as a snowdrop," one of the younger girls whispered in wonder.

"Welcome home, Miss Elara!" a brawny warrior boomed, bowing his head so low I could see the nape of his neck.

The head cook, Marisa, pushed through the crowd, her face flushed from the ovens. 

She didn't look at me with judgment; she looked at me like I was a guest of honor.

"Luna! Just in time," Marisa declared, dipping a silver spoon into a simmering pot of rich, creamy stew. "You must try the first taste of the venison cream. If it isn't perfect, I’ll have to start the whole batch over!"

She held the spoon out expectantly. I glanced at Varick, terrified of doing something wrong, but he just nodded with quiet triumph. 

I took a small sip.

The flavors, savory, herb-infused, and perfectly salted, made my eyes flutter shut.

"It’s... it's incredible," I breathed.

"She likes it!" Marisa cheered, and the crowd erupted.

Suddenly, I wasn't being shoved into a corner; I was the center of their world. 

Two girls asked about my dress, while the cooks debated which dessert I should try next. 

In the chaos, I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder as the crowd shifted.

Varick was actually being nudged to the periphery by a group of insistent kitchen maids.

"Move along, Alpha, you’ve had her all week!" one of the older women chuckled, shooing him toward the courtyard benches. "Let us properly welcome the girl!"

Varick let out a deep, booming laugh, a sound I hadn’t heard before, and stepped aside, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

He leaned against a stone pillar, watching with a satisfied smirk as I was swept away.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't the invisible girl in the cellar. I was the heart of a family.