VALORIA WILDEROSE
I shiver. The coldest chill of fear grips too tightly to breathe or make a sound—tight enough that tears well in my eyes without her even having to do much.
I hold on tightly to my bladder so I don’t piss myself.
And then, as if this precious mont couldn’t get any worse, a sudden thought strikes —my murderer could very well be Marcella.
She’s always hated enough to make my life miserable. She’s gone to far lengths to put in trouble before, and every ti I thought I knew her limits, she exceeded them without fail.
She’s a nace who didn’t mind killing animals simply because I petted them or fed them from my plate.
I still rember the kitten. The one I’d found shivering in the garden and nursed back to health in secret. She drowned it in the fountain and made watch.
"I asked you a question, Valoria." Her tone hardens from impatience, dragging out of my spiraling thoughts.
"I-I-I... I-I d-did," I stamr, lowering my head, not daring to et her eyes.
"You’re still the sa old Valoria," she comnts almost pitifully. "I thought the castle might’ve given you a backbone, considering you’ve survived this long in that place. Maybe it’s not as terrifying as people say."
I bite my lip and nod in agreent.
She smiles. "This house has gotten too dull since you left, you know. No one to tease and push around." Her hands tighten on my shoulders at that last word.
I swallow a grunt of pain.
"Lyra—who’s usually too busy with her priestess studies—even had to co with her teacher just to see you," she continues, her tone feigning fondness as her eyes flick to the side.
I follow her gaze toward the two won standing a few feet away, watching us with unreadable expressions.
Out of everyone in our family, Lyra’s devotion to the goddess has always been unmatched—to the point she gave up the idea of having a mate to serve as a priestess.
Another source of Father’s pride and joy. Another sister who couldn’t care less about .
"Enough about family," Marcella cuts in, forcing my attention back to her. "The banquet is about to begin, and you’re one of our special guests."
There’s mischief in her tone just before she begins pulling toward the direction Azrael and Father had taken.
I feel like prey being dragged away to be devoured—desperate to scream for help, but knowing no one would dare. I was damned the mont I stepped foot back in this place.
The sun slowly sets over the horizon, casting the perfect mood for an outdoor banquet beneath a wide, dazzling gazebo.
Twinkling golden lights scatter high and around, shimring against the evening sky.
The table is as long as our extended family—each of them seated, chattering with excitent and joy, lavish food spread out like a feast for kings.
It’s the kind of scene that would look beautiful to an outsider. Warm. Inviting. A loving family gathered to celebrate.
But I know better. I know what hides beneath the smiles.
It’s all about to begin when Marcella brings in.
Her fingers dig sharply into my arm, leaving no chance to escape, though she masks it with the illusion of affection—pretending to lovingly escort her elder sister to the table.
My eyes find Azrael first.
The bastard’s already seated comfortably at one end, chatting with Father.
After dragging here, he hasn’t so much as batted an eyelash in my direction—completely forgetting that I’m even the reason he’s here.
I take a step toward him, intending to fill the empty seat by his side, knowing it would be the safest—
"Where do you think you’re going?" Marcella pulls back with a sweet, poisonous smile. "I told you we missed you, and you’re running back to the king the second you see him?" Her chuckle is low and mocking.
I swallow, my chest tightening.
Before I can say anything, I watch as my other two sisters—Willow and Ana, the fourth and fifth—slip into the two empty seats beside him.
They lean in close, cozy and smiling, greeting him with those ridiculous, seductive eyes.
And like the whore he is, he eats it up.
Sothing in sinks lower.
Sothing that feels worse than disappointnt—sothing sharp and ugly, mixed with anger. The sa anger I’ve been burying bubbles up again, hot in my chest.
Why do I even care? He’s not mine. He’ll never be mine. And I don’t want him to be.
And yet watching my sisters fawn over him makes my stomach twist in ways I refuse to examine.
"Tonight, you sit with ," Marcella whispers, dragging to our seats far from Azrael.
I don’t bother resisting. There’s no point.
I end up seated between Marcella and Nova—the second sister—both of them giggling and exchanging glances across .
I shrink smaller with every passing second, trapped between their presence and the obnoxious noise of the table.
The chatter around blurs into white noise. Laughter that sounds more like knives. Smiles that hide fangs.
This is my family. This is what I was born into.
And as if today couldn’t get any worse, the last empty seat across from is suddenly pulled back. Soone sits down, and when I look up—my breath stops.
Ronan.
My forr mate. Marcella’s husband. Father to her unborn child.
He looks at with an intensity that freezes in place. The mory of everything that happened between us burns fresh in my mind.
He’s as handso as ever. The kind of handso that used to make my heart flutter with hope. Now it only makes sick.
"Darling, you ca," Marcella coos sweetly, stretching her hand across the table toward him.
He stands up and leans closer, pressing his lips against her hand slowly—his eyes never leaving mine.
Sohow, that single action alone reminds of what those sa lips had once done to .
Bitter bile rises in my throat as an intense reaction to his proximity grips , freezing in place.
Suddenly, I’m back there—trapped beneath him again, breathless, helpless, and terrified. Fresh from death, yet sohow begging for it again.
"I wouldn’t miss tonight for the world," he confesses.
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