[redith].
Randall’s gaze shifted back to Draven.
"Regarding the war in Duskmoor," he said, voice steady, "you still owe the clear details."
Draven nodded. "I know. I will co find you later in the evening."
Randall simply accepted that with a controlled nod of acknowledgent. Then, without another word, he rose and left the dining hall.
Jeffery stood next. "I will excuse myself as well, Alpha."
Oscar followed, offering Draven a small nod before taking his leave. The room grew quieter with each person who left, until only the three of us remained.
Dennis leaned back in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest. His expression hadn’t softened, not even a little.
"Are you really aning to visit her?" he asked, voice low, brittle.
I turned slightly, studying him. His anger was still there, simring beneath the surface, but there was sothing else too. Sothing far heavier.
Draven didn’t look at him when he answered. "I haven’t decided."
Dennis scoffed. "You’re considering it. Which ans you will go."
Silence swept through the room like a cold draft. A tension I had never felt between them before tightened the air, and I released a quiet sigh.
The brothers had always seed unbreakably close—steady in every battle, every disagreent, every challenge.
The last thing I wanted was to witness a true fracture between them.
Dennis’s shoulders dropped a little. The anger ebbed but weakened. And when he spoke again, I could hear the crack in his voice beneath the attempted strength.
"You’re lucky," he said softly. "At least Mother recognizes you sotis. Even if it’s fleeting."
My heart squeezed.
Dennis swallowed hard. "But as for , she has never once acknowledged my existence. Not once."
Draven finally looked at him. His expression didn’t waver, but his voice carried a quiet heaviness.
"Which is better?" he asked. "Being recognized—and in those few tis, still being accused and assaulted? Or not being recognized at all?"
The words hit like a blow.
Assaulted?
So, their mother didn’t only forget. She beca violent.
A woman trapped in her own mind. A mother who didn’t know her sons. A family torn apart by an illness no one dared to speak of.
A deep and suffocating silence returned.
And just when I thought the conversation had ended, Dennis suddenly turned his gaze to . He forced a smile, but there was still hurt in his eyes.
"What do you think?"
The question startled , but not because he asked. It was the vulnerability behind it, the way his voice wavered just slightly.
The way he searched my expression like he needed soone to understand that his anger... his hurt made sense.
Draven’s gaze shifted to , too, calm but attentive, waiting to hear what I would say.
The servants at the walls remained as they always were—silent, heads lowered, part of the furniture rather than the conversation.
I drew in a slow breath. I knew I couldn’t pick a side here, not between brothers wounded in different ways.
Choosing one would only deepen the fracture. So, I reached for the one truth I understood.
"I can relate more with Draven," I said softly.
Dennis’s eyes dimd instantly—hurt flickering across his features like soone had blown out a candle.
But before that hurt could settle, I continued, keeping my voice steady.
"Before the Lunar Curse marked , I received love. Real love. Affection. Pride. My parents valued . I was the golden child of my pack."
I swallowed. "But after the curse, that sa affection turned into hatred. And everything I once had was stripped from ."
Both brothers watched quietly. Draven was steady and unreadable, and Dennis was wounded but listening.
"So if I stand on that little hell alone," I went on, "if I compare both realities, I would rather have never known my family’s love in the first place, than to taste it once and have it ripped away."
Dennis’s expression shifted. His hurt was becoming sothing else. Thoughtfulness. Recognition. A quiet, heavy understanding. But I wasn’t done.
"That said..." I shook my head gently. "I’ve never been in your shoes either. I’ve never lived without a mother’s love from the very beginning. I’ve never been left craving even a small piece of affection from soone who should have given it freely."
Dennis’s jaw tightened as his eyes lowered.
"So in truth," I concluded, "I can’t say which is better, or which hurts more."
A long, still mont followed. Then Dennis gave a small nod and a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t real. But it wasn’t angry. And that was sothing.
But the next mont, he pushed his chair back and stood.
"Then, Luna," he said quietly, "when you visit her, be vigilant. And careful. She is not as frail as she looks."
My brow lifted. ’When I visit her?’
He spoke with such certainty that I didn’t even get the chance to respond. He turned before I could ask.
"I will see you both later," he said gently.
His footsteps carried him out of the dining hall, and I watched his back until it disappeared through the doorway. Only then did I slowly turn to Draven.
"Does your mother live here?" I asked.
Draven t my gaze—calm, unreadable, but with a shadow of sothing old in his eyes.
He nodded once.
"Yes."
Then he rose from his chair and extended a hand toward .
"Co," he said. "Let’s go. I have a few things to take care of this morning."
---
We walked down the long hallway together, our footsteps soft against the polished stone. The estate was quiet at this hour, sunlight filtering through the tall windows in long slants that made everything feel colder, older and more secretive.
If Draven’s mother truly lived here, and if she was as unstable as both brothers hinted, then she was likely locked away in one of these many secluded rooms. That much I could deduce.
But that wasn’t the only thing weighing on my mind.
I had briefly lived in this castle, and not once had I encountered anyone from Draven’s extended family. No cousins. No aunts. No uncles. Not even distant relatives. Yet it was once ntioned that there were many.
Perhaps so had attended the banquet last night without announcing themselves. Perhaps not.
I glanced at him. "Do your relatives live here in the Oatrun estate as well?"
"Yes," he answered casually.
I frowned slightly. "Then, why haven’t I ever seen any of them?"
His expression didn’t change. "Because people here mind their business. But we et occasionally for family gatherings—festivals, important dinners, celebrations."
I nodded slowly. That explained the silence but also raised more questions. I let them rest for now.
"Xamira didn’t join us for breakfast," I said. "Is she—"
"You can go and see her if you want," Draven cut in gently. "You both can take a walk around the estate."
I blinked. Sothing in his tone felt... displaced. Too smooth. Too neatly offered. There was sothing off about him. It felt more like sothing withheld, so I tested it.
"Your mother—" I began.
"Later." He didn’t let the word breathe. "We will discuss it later."
The firmness in his voice was unmistakable. And that was when I knew for certain that he was deliberately keeping sothing from . And I didn’t like it. Still, I also knew when not to push.
I released a quiet sigh. "Okay."
We continued walking until a servant approached from the opposite direction. He bowed deeply, eyes respectfully lowered, as was the way in this house.
"Alpha. Luna."
Draven stopped walking.
"Escort your Luna to my daughter’s bedroom," he instructed.
"Yes, Alpha," the servant replied instantly.
Draven turned to then, his gaze gentler and steadier, even as sothing unspoken sat behind his eyes.
"Go," he said softly. "I will join you later."
I nodded once, then allowed the servant to lead the way as Draven remained behind, watching until I disappeared around the corner.
The servant led through a quieter wing of the estate, stopping before a polished wooden door.
"Your daughter is inside, Luna," he said softly before bowing and stepping away.
I pushed the door open gently. And the mont the gap widened, a small, excited voice burst across the room.
"My Lady!"
Xamira launched herself off the bed, her feet slapping against the floor as she sprinted toward .
I barely had ti to open my arms before she collided with , wrapping herself around my waist.
"You ca to see ," she said breathlessly, looking up with shining eyes. "I’ve missed you."
A soft smile curved my lips as I hugged her back. "I missed you, too."
She slled faintly of lavender soap. Freshly bathed. She had already been taken care of.
When I lifted my gaze and truly took in the room, sothing nudged at . Her bedroom wasn’t what I expected.
It was neat, clean, but too plain.
Muted colours, unadorned walls, a modest single bed, a simple dresser. There were no toys or storybooks, no color, nothing that reflected a seven-year-old child. Not even a small one.
My brows drew together faintly. And that was when I noticed we weren’t alone.
A young maid stood quietly near the corner. Hands folded. Head bowed. Her presence was so subtle I almost missed her.
Xamira’s hand slid into mine, small and warm. I squeezed it gently and guided her back toward the bed before turning my attention to the maid.
"Who are you?" I asked, voice calm but laced with enough authority that she straightened quickly.
She bowed deeply. "I am the new nanny, my lady."
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