I parted my lips to answer, but Malven’s father cut in smoothly.

“Enough of that,” he said. “How is Ryke? I heard Rivelle may be carrying again. Is it true?”

I stayed silent, fingers clutching my skirt. My chest ached as though it might split.

“You see,” his mother went on coolly, “she brings new life into Malven’s pack without chaos. No outbursts. Calm. Proper. Unlike… some.”

I lowered my eyes.

Then his father’s voice fell like an iron gavel.

“Go assist the kitchen wolves. But first, pour our tea. Inform Malven we expect him at the Moon Hall next week for our mating anniversary. You may bring your ailing pup if you wish.”

I nodded, voice barely sound. “As you command.”

I went to the hearth-kitchen, told the cook they preferred jasmine leaves, arranged the tray myself. Polished porcelain. Balanced. Flawless. Yet inside me, something was screaming itself raw.

As I set the cups down, my hand trembled. One slipped and shattered against the stone with a sharp, final crack.

His mother gasped—then glared.

“You’ve always been careless,” she snapped. “Even pouring tea is beyond you. Bitter, just like the life you lead.”

I stared at the broken shards, then straightened my spine.

“Forgive me,” I whispered. Not for the cup. Not for today. For the girl who once begged them to accept her. That girl had died with Elian.

They didn’t stay for a meal.

Malven’s parents rose, faces carved from quiet contempt. His mother adjusted her gloves slowly, deliberately.

“I’ll tell Malven how feeble you’ve become. Perhaps now he’ll see the truth. You never belonged here. Never worth the inconvenience.”

The doors closed. Hooves rolled down the drive. Silence reclaimed the stronghold—the same silence that had lived here long before Malven ruled it.

I turned to the maid. “You can stand down. Lunch won’t be needed.”

She nodded. I climbed the stairs, one heavy step at a time. My legs felt borrowed, my body distant.

Halfway up, whispers drifted from the kitchen—low, quick.

“She didn’t even cry.”

“Did you see the urn in her chamber? That pup… Elian… gone.”

“Alpha Malven only speaks of Ryke now. Sends Lady Rivelle moon-flowers. Never visits the burial stone.”

“Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Elian was too gentle. Always prey.”

“She used to be Luna here. Now? Just surviving.”

I kept walking. Didn’t turn. Didn’t defend myself. Perhaps they weren’t wrong.

I entered my chamber and closed the door.

My communicator chimed. It was from Malven.

Once. Twice. I stared until it went dark. No message. No follow-up.

The silence returned—heavy, settled, permanent.

***

I changed in quiet.

I chose the soft blue dress Elian loved, stitched with small white clouds. He used to press his tiny hands against it and smile. “Mama, you look like the moms in story scrolls,” he’d say. “The safe kind. The happy kind.”

I lifted his urn, holding it as though I were holding him again, heart to heart. Warm sunlight spilled through the curtains.

I left the stronghold without a word and drove to the only place Elian had ever begged to visit on his name-days—Moonveil Park.

“Just once, Mama,” he’d whisper every year. “I want to see the sea-wolves. I’ll behave. I promise.”

Malven always refused. Too dangerous. Too fragile. Too sickly. The world was perilous for Elian—but never for Ryke.

I bought a pass. Paid for two seats—one for me, one for him.

I kept him with me, told him stories, laughed softly as the sea-creatures leapt through the waves.

Those nearby may have thought me unbalanced—sitting on a bench, murmuring to a blue urn as if it might answer.

I didn’t care.

This day wasn’t for them. Not for Malven. Not for his pack. Not for his bloodline. Not for Ryke.

It was for Elian. Only him.

I lit a small candle by the railing, letting the wind toy with the flame.

“Happy name-day, my pup,” I whispered.

When I returned, night had swallowed the stronghold, turning its glass halls into long, dark veins. The air felt thick. Even the lights seemed afraid to burn bright.

I stepped into the foyer.

And Malven emerged from the shadows.

Before I could draw breath, his hand struck my face—fast, savage. The crack echoed through the halls like thunder. My head slammed into the doorframe. White stars burst across my vision. A ringing filled my ears.

But I didn’t release the urn.

My pup. My last fragment of him. My arms locked around it as if loosening my grip would end me.

Malven’s voice thundered through the stairwell, thick with Alpha fury. “Have you lost your senses, Viora? You dare disgrace my parents inside my own den?”

I blinked, swallowed blood, and said nothing.

He stalked closer. “My mother told me everything,” he snarled. “You insulted her. Picked up her tea. Threatened our lives.” His nostrils flared. “Do you find that amusing? Playing the mad Luna?”

I opened my mouth—and pain exploded.

My head snapped sideways. Fire tore down my spine. The taste of iron filled my mouth.

Rivelle’s voice drifted down the steps, sweet and venomous. “Malven… please don’t harm her. She isn’t worth it. She’s just… unstable. You know how fragile she is.”

He turned to her, and the rage vanished instantly—softened into something almost gentle.

“You’re too merciful,” he said quietly. “That’s why she still forgets her place.”

Rivelle sighed. “She’s been strange all day. I tried to understand her, but… she hates me. I can feel it.”

From the couch, Ryke didn’t even pretend concern. His sound-crystals hung loose around his neck, music still humming. He smirked at me.

Entertainment. This was sport.

None of the servants intervened. They gathered at the archway, whispering like restless spirits.

“She’s still holding the urn…”

“She never raised a claw…”

“I heard she went to the sea cliffs alone… with the ashes…”

My heart had turned to ash long before they spoke.

Malven’s gaze finally dropped—to my arms, to the white moon-urn cradled against my chest like a newborn.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Before I could move, he tore it from my grasp.

“No—!”

Too late.

He held it as if it were refuse. Turned it over. Scoffed.

“You carried this through the city? Wailing for strangers?” He shook it lightly, as if expecting sound. “What is this? Another pitiful performance?”

My breath stopped.

“It’s an urn,” he sneered. “Who died this time? Your pride?”

Rivelle laughed softly behind him. Ryke snorted.

Blood dried at my lip. My face burned. I spoke.

“Give it back.”

Malven lifted it higher, mocking. “Why? Who’s inside, hmm? You collecting remains now?”

I didn’t blink.

“It’s Elian,” I said quietly.

Silence fell like a snapped bond.

Malven’s grip stiffened. Rivelle’s smile vanished. Ryke’s gaze dropped. The servants stopped whispering.

One long breath passed. Then…

He let go.

“No—!!!”

The urn struck the floor.

A single, clean crack—then ruin.

Ash. Bone dust. Shattered moon-ceramic.

My pup scattered across the tiles as if he had never been held, never been cherished, never existed.

The scream tore out of me. I collapsed, clawing at the floor, gathering what I could into shaking hands. My nails split. I didn’t feel it. I felt nothing but the hollow where he had been.

Behind me, Malven sighed—as if annoyed by dirt near his boots.

“Stop howling like someone killed you,” he said coldly. “You’re not the victim.”

My hands were black with ash. My breath stuttered. Tears blurred the world.

Then he said, casually, “I got word from the healer this morning. Elian is fine. Alive. Sitting up. Smiling. They even sent images.”

I froze.

Alive?

Impossible.

No. I was there. I held him when the runes went dark. When his chest stilled. When the healer covered him and I couldn’t move.

“You lied,” Malven said, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed me. “You staged his death. Drugged him. Built this farce because you wanted sympathy.”

I lifted my face, shattered. “H-he died… he died in my arms—”

“Enough,” he snapped. “Spare me.”

Rivelle glided to his side. “Maybe she did it to wound me,” she whispered, trembling with false terror. “Maybe she hated me so much she wanted me to feel her pain.” Her eyes flicked to the ashes. “Maybe she wanted me to imagine myself like that… broken. Scattered.”

She gasped, collapsed onto the couch dramatically, shaking like glass.

“Come, sweetheart,” she sobbed, pulling Ryke close. “Let’s go. Mommy can’t breathe around this filth. I don’t want you seeing such darkness.”

Ryke didn’t look afraid. Just obedient. A pup trained early.

Malven wrapped an arm around Rivelle, holding her close. “Don’t waste tears on her,” he murmured. “You’re the only one who matters. Let’s go upstairs. Leave her with her mess.”

I was still on the floor, sweeping my pup into my palms. Ash smeared the stone like a ghost begging to stay.

Then Ryke broke free.

He charged toward me.

His boots came down hard—right onto the ashes.

“Witch!” he screamed. “You made my mommy cry!”

He stomped again.

And my boy scattered even further—to the corners of the den, as if he had never been mine at all.

No.

Ryke kicked the shattered moon-urn so hard the fragments skidded across the stone floor, splintering against the wall. Runed ceramic burst like glass under a curse.

I couldn’t move. My breath locked in my chest. My body refused me.

Something ripped up my throat—too mangled to be a howl, too broken to be a cry.

Malven stepped into my space, his Alpha aura crushing. His hand clamped around my face, fingers digging into my jaw until bone screamed.

“Enough,” he snarled. “Enough of this disgrace.”

I stared at him. His face was carved from granite. No remorse. No mourning. Nothing.

“For a moment,” he said coldly, “I almost believed you. Almost pitied your little corpse.”

His thumb dragged along my jaw, scorching like brand-fire.

“But the Moonfang Healers sent proof. Crystal-recordings. Elian laughing. Sitting upright. The healer swore you exaggerated everything. Said you used the pup. Let him act worse just to harvest sympathy.”

A lie. Her lie.

My eyes slid past him—to the stairs.

Rivelle stood halfway up, fingers curled around the banister. Moonlight caught her gaze, and there it was—the faint smile at the corner of her lips. Quiet. Victorious.

She bought the visions. Paid the healer. Wove the story. And Malven swallowed it, as he always did.

They turned away. Rivelle rested her head on his shoulder, steps light, fragile.

“Come to bed, my Alpha,” she murmured. “I can’t breathe another moment near her.”

Ryke glanced back once, disgust flashing in his eyes—then lifted his chin and followed his mother like a trained cub.

Silence swallowed the den.

I stayed on the floor, palms torn and bleeding, gathering the last traces of my pup with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

Hours passed—or maybe the moon simply forgot to move.

I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I sat outside my chamber, knees drawn tight, dried blood crusted on my skin, salt still burning my tongue.

Past midnight, I heard coughing.

Then Malven’s voice—sharp, panicked.

“Rivelle. Look at me. Where does it hurt?”

I didn’t move.

Her cries thundered through the stone walls.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped. “Malven—my chest, my womb—she cursed me. That urn! Ever since she brought death into this packhold, something’s choking me!”

Footsteps pounded. Malven swore.

“That witch.”

Rivelle’s voice dropped into a trembling whisper.

“I heard the servants… they said she bought poisonous herbs. Moon-bane meant for me. Maybe she hid it in the urn. Maybe she wanted me gone.” She sobbed softly. “I’m carrying your heir, Malven. I don’t want to die. Not me… not the pup.”

The door burst open.

Malven stormed toward me, fury thick as blood-mist.

He seized my wrist and hauled me up.

“You did this.”

My ankle twisted. Fire tore through my arm.

“You poisoned my den,” he roared. “You cursed her. You knew she carried my heir and still brought death under my roof.”

“I didn’t—”

He yanked me so hard my breath broke.

“She nearly died tonight! Is that what you want? Her dead?”

He dragged me into their chamber and shoved me forward.

“KNEEL.”

I stayed upright.

“I said kneel.”

“No.”

The slap cracked—stars exploding behind my eyes.

“On your knees.”

I stood.

He kicked the backs of my legs. Agony surged. I crashed down, skin splitting open again, blood staining the floorstones.

Rivelle reclined on the couch like a queen receiving tribute. Hair flawless. Belly rounded beneath silk. One hand pressed weakly to her chest—eyes sharp. Devouring.

“I don’t believe her,” she murmured. “She doesn’t sound remorseful. Make her louder, Malven. I want to hear her shatter.”

Malven loomed behind me, a shadow ready to crush.

“Apologize,” he hissed. “Until she forgives you.”

My lips shook. My voice broke.

“I’m sorry.”

Again.

“I’m sorry.”

Again—until my throat burned, until my voice split, until something inside me tore open and bled.

Rivelle rose slowly, clutching her belly, swaying.

“M-Malven… something’s wrong,” she whispered, terror perfectly rehearsed. “My womb… I think I’m bleeding—”

She collapsed neatly—straight into his arms.

He caught her instantly, clutching her as if she carried the last Alpha heir alive.

“Rivelle. My moon. Stay with me,” he choked, cradling her face. “Look at me. Don’t close your eyes. Breathe. Please—breathe.”

Her lashes fluttered like a saint struck down.

“Malven… I’m scared…”

He spun toward the hall and roared, his command shaking the den.

“GET THE CARRIAGE. NOW.”