All Chapters of Marked and forsaken : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

I wake to the sounds outside—raised voices, sharp and clashing, like an argument on the edge of breaking. I lift my head toward the window’s narrow opening, but the light is too dim to see clearly, and the words blur in the distance. “You can’t get up,” the Moon Speaker rushes to my side, worry etched across his usually calm face. “I won’t faint again,” I mutter, trying to steady my breath. “But why are you still here?” He sighs, then chuckles softly. “My lady, I was kept against my will as well.” A small smile escapes me despite the heaviness in my chest. “I didn’t know you were this… jovial. Rydan speaks of you like a ghost to be feared.” “Don’t mind that silly human,” he says, lips twitching. “I had to threaten him once to keep him in line.” I laugh quietly. “I’m sure he’s thrilled now that you’re the one being kept against your will.” “That would be the case, my lady,” he admits, a glimmer of mischief lighting his eyes. But what do you think of Moren and Rydan now, after M

There’s no way you just mentioned Rauth to me. He’s dead to me. Varyn is dead. He can go ahead and be king now—let go of me. “I said let go of me, Caelora!” I shove her off, breath ragged. “Your ribs—” she starts, but I cut her off. “Let me worry about that.” I break into a run toward the West castle. The gates thunder with the same voice over and over— No one enters until the king’s funeral “Let me in!” I bang against the walls, palms raw. No one enters until after the king’s funeral, the voice repeats, cold as iron, as if I’m invisible. I lift my leg to climb the wall, but pain slices through my ribs—something cracks, the wound tears open again. I glance behind me. Caelora isn’t there. She didn’t follow me. I tear a strip from my cloak and bind it tight around my ribs. Blood seeps through, warm against my palm as I clutch the wound. I lift my leg again, trying to climb, but my body trembles. “My lady!” I turn. “Rydan—you’re here?” My voice breaks. “Help

The morning is beautiful — the sun rises into a perfect sky, as though the world believes a king is born today. But instead, a king is buried. I draw my gaze from the window’s glow and turn toward that box — the one I swore I’d never open again. The latch trembles beneath my fingers, the air thick with the scent of old silk and promises never kept. When I lift the lid, the dress waits — untouched, glowing as it did nine years ago. I lift it carefully, and as the silk brushes my skin, the ache hits sharp. For a moment, tears sting, but I swallow them down. I swore I would never cry again — not unless I’m dying, or I survive what’s still ahead. The hardest thing now is facing the mirror. I already know what waits there. Not a beautiful Luna on her ceremony day— but a woman hollowed by grief and regret. Still, I drag my feet toward the reflection, and I was right. I look beautiful. But this time, I wear the dress not for a ceremony— but for his funeral. “S

How are you sure your mother hasn’t moved?” I ask Auren. “I don’t know, my lady,” he says softly. “But even if she has, the house will still be there. We can stay there.” “But Then why are you so confident she hasn’t moved?” He hesitates, voice lowering. “Because my father is buried on that land.” “I’m sorry about your father,” I murmur. “It’s all right, my lady. I never got to meet him.” “Can I ask why?” He exhales, a tremor in his breath. “Because he died before I was born.” A faint ache moves through me. “That’s… pitiful.” He lifts his gaze, eyes clouded. “My mother killed him.” The words hang between us like a cut through the dark. “What? Why would you say that?” I whisper. “She told me,” he mutters, the weight of old pain in his tone. “But I never let her explain herself. I stormed out that night… only to be taken by the hunters.” His breath shakes, full of regret, and for a heartbeat I see the boy who must have been—angry, frightened, lost to that night. So that’s w

“The silence that follows my scream feels wrong—too heavy, too still. The clash of steel stills midair. Even Rauth freezes, turning fully toward me. “What did you say?” “Your uncle,” I snap, breath sharp with urgency. “He’s behind everything. He wants to take what he believes is his.” Rauth’s eyes slowly shift to Uncle Anzelrius. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asks, voice low, curiosity coiling like a warning growl. There’s a mark on his neck—Auren told me—but his collar hides it now. No. This won’t do. “Believe me!” I shout, the words tearing through the heavy air. “Look at his hands! He never wears his wristbands because they were eight pieces—one missing. Because the chief of the mountain clan took it from him for trust creating , the day Anzelrius had him slaughter your grandmother!” Rauth’s eyes flicker. The yard breathes sharp. “That piece,” I press on, my voice breaking with urgency, “the one the westborn elder gifted you—it wasn’t a gift. It was a clue. Your fa