Chapter 48: Unspoken 1
FIA
When I reached the dining room, my hands would not stay still. I had tried to lace them neatly in front of , but they kept twisting together, restless, betraying .
The candles along the long oak table flickered, their light throwing gold over polished silver and glass. Everything glead. Everything seed too fine, too proper for soone like . I should have felt small, out of place, but mostly I just felt like I was standing in the center of a storm waiting to begin.
The mont I heard his steps, my stomach knotted. I knew it was him before I even turned. That particular rhythm, deliberate and confident, always carried a kind of masculine authority.
Cian.
I tried not to look. But I did.
He stopped at the entrance. The shadows caught his features in a way that made him look even taller, sharper. For a heartbeat, neither of us said anything. His eyes were on , steady and unreadable. I could not breathe properly under that gaze. It dragged over , slow and assessing, and my pulse stumbled against my ribs.
Why was he staring at
like that?
I smoothed my dress unconsciously, fingers brushing over the dark blue fabric. The gown had been chosen for
by Bo. But now that I looked at it, it seed like the sheer elegance she put into my look was a bit too much for soone who was wanted nothing more than to blend into the background. I had almost refused it when I laid eyes on it. But now... I really wished I had spoken up against it. His eyes made
feel exposed, like he could see every thought I was trying to bury.
And yet, sothing in that look... burned.
It was there for a mont, a flicker I could not mistake. A spark that leapt through the bond, hot and sudden, before he crushed it behind walls of iron. I tried to look deeper, to understand what he was feeling, but I hit a barrier. His mind was shut tight. He was shielding.
He did not want
to see.
The rejection stung more than I expected. I dropped my gaze, pretending to study the tablecloth instead of the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying too hard to stay calm. The bond was still there, humming faintly between us, wild and uneven, like a current just beneath the surface of calm water.
He started moving toward . Every step deliberate. Silent but heavy with sothing I dared not na. My fingers tightened around themselves again. I told myself not to flinch, not to look away, but when he finally stopped, close enough that I could feel his scent drift through the air—cedar, chill, and faint smoke—I almost forgot how to stand still.
"You look..." he started.
My heart jumped. I did not even know why. He caught himself mid-sentence, eyes flicking over my face and then away, as if the words had betrayed him.
"Presentable," he said finally.
It should have been harmless. Polite, even. But it landed like a slap. My throat tightened, though I forced a small nod. "Thank you," I said softly.
He looked relieved that I had not argued. The silence that followed pressed down between us, thick and awkward. I could feel his uncertainty through the cracks of his shield, faint but there, like static against glass. He wanted to say sothing, but his pride would not let him.
I should have hated him for it. For making
feel this way. For looking at
as if he wanted sothing he would never allow himself to have. But I did not hate him. I hated myself for caring at all.
"My mother will be here soon," he said.
I nodded. "I have been told."
"Good." He straightened slightly, voice falling into that clipped, controlled tone again. "I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight."
Of course he did. Of course he saw
as a problem to manage.
"Of course," I replied, keeping my tone even.
"No matter what happens between us," he continued, "she does not need to know about it. Understood?"
A quiet laugh almost escaped , but I swallowed it before it could sound bitter. "Oh... I understand," I said instead.
When I t his eyes again, I let my shield fall just a little, enough for him to see the exhaustion there. Enough to make him realize that I had already given up hoping for anything else from him. His expression did not change, but the bond trembled, sharp and uneasy, like a pulse pressed against bone.
For a second, I thought he might say sothing. But then footsteps echoed down the hall. He turned sharply, grateful for the interruption.
I followed his gaze.
A woman entered, moving beside Dr. Maren, and the sight of her stole the air from my lungs.
So this was her. Luna Morrigan.
Her presence filled the room before her words did. She was not tall, yet she carried herself with the grace of soone who had never once been questioned. Her hair, dark as Cian’s now has streaks of grey and was swept up beneath a thin silver comb. Her skin was pale, almost too pale, but it gave her a regal sharpness. There was an air of sickness around her, faint but unmistakable—the fragile sort that clings to soone who has learned to live with pain and refuses to let it show.
I also did not miss the vicious open sore around her throat and her left hand which was heavily bandaged.
I forced my eyes away from it. Because it reminded
of my mother.
I focused instead on her gown, which was a silvery white A line that caught the candlelight like moonlight on ice. I should have bowed imdiately, but I was too busy staring. She was beautiful, in a way that commanded reverence. And yet, behind her eyes, I sensed sothing colder. Sothing that reminded
of Cian when he was angry which happened to be all the ti.
He smiled at her. A real smile, not the guarded kind he usually reserved for . It softened him instantly, made him look younger. He moved toward her with an ease I had never seen in him before, as if the weight he always carried had been lifted.
I realized quicky that this was the woman whose approval I was supposed to earn. The one who would look at
and see what I was imdiately—an Oga, unworthy of her son. A thief hungry for power.
I straightened my shoulders and lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice the flicker of warmth in Cian’s expression. But inside, my thoughts raced. I could already feel the judgnt that would co. The polite, cutting words. The subtle reminders of where I belonged in this house.
Before Cian could reach her, Luna Morrigan took a small, deliberate step back. Her movents were graceful, but there was hesitation in them. She lifted a pale hand toward Dr. Maren, her voice gentle but firm.
"Maren here advises that we keep our distance tonight," she said, her gaze flicking briefly to . "Given that your mate is an Oga."
The light in Cian’s eyes dimd instantly. He froze mid-step, sothing in his jaw tightening. It was small, barely noticeable unless one was looking closely, but I saw it. The sudden stillness. The way his hand curled slightly at his side. Whatever warmth had been there only seconds ago vanished, replaced by that cold, detached control he wore like armor.
The silence that followed stung more than the words themselves.
I could feel it. The quiet humiliation hanging in the air, pressing down on
like a weight. My throat ached with it. This was sohow going to end up my fault.
I could tell that Cian cared about his mother and I refused to be the reason he had to treat her like a "patient".
So before the mont could stretch too far, before that awkwardness could twist into sothing wicked and targeted at , I forced myself to speak.
"Oh, it’s no worries," I said, lifting my chin just enough to et Morrigan’s gaze. "The rot is no longer the boogeyman disease people used to think it was."
The room went very still. Dr. Maren blinked at , startled. Cian’s head turned sharply, disbelief flashing in his eyes. For a mont, I thought he might actually tell
to be quiet. That look on his face said it all—he thought I was overstepping, saying too much, too boldly.
But I went on before he could stop .
"My mother had it," I said quietly.
Sothing in Morrigan’s expression shifted. The faintest crease appeared between her brows. It was curiosity, not pity.
I stepped forward, slow but steady, until I stood near enough to see the fine details of her face. The illness had marked her subtly, in the faint paleness of her skin and the tiredness around her eyes, but it had not taken her grace. She was still beautiful. Still commanding.
I lowered my head in a curt bow. "It is wonderful to finally put a face to the na," I said, keeping my voice even. "I see where your son gets his beauty from."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Luna Morrigan laughed softly, the sound low and musical almost.
"I like you already," she said, a glint of amusent lighting her eyes.
Relief flickered through . But before it could settle, she tilted her head slightly, studying
in that quiet, assessing way only a Luna with age by her side could.
"However," she continued, "I probably have a strain even more dangerous than what affects Ogas. It is best you keep your distance."
Her tone was calm and it was not unkind, but it carried finality. A reminder that no matter how pleasant her words were, there would always be a wall between us.
Still, she smiled—a real one this ti—and said, "It is also nice to see my daughter-in-law."
The words caught
off guard. Daughter-in-law. Not ’the Oga girl’, ’deceitful bitch’ or soenthing entirely worse. Sothing in my chest tightened at the sound of it.
"Thank you, Luna Morrigan," I managed.
Her gaze softened. "Welco to Skollrend."
I bowed again, slower this ti, aning it. "Thank you."
When I straightened, I felt Cian’s eyes on . He was watching
and asuring what was happening.
There was sothing in his expression I could not quite read. Confusion, maybe. Or disbelief. He looked like he could not decide whether to scold
for speaking so freely or thank
for trying with his mother.
I looked back at him, and for a second, the bond humd faintly again, that sa low, restless energy that had followed us since the second of the ceremony.
Morrigan’s voice broke the silence. "You must sit," she said, motioning toward the table. "I have heard much about you, Fia. So of it nonsense, I suspect."
I moved to take my seat, careful not to look at Cian again, though I could feel him watching still.
As I settled across from him, I caught the faintest sound from Morrigan—a soft sigh that might have been from pain or mory.
Whatever it was, it made Cian’s shoulders tense.
Dinner had not yet begun, but I already understood one thing with perfect clarity as the Ogas around began to serve the food.
No matter how polite her smile or gentle her tone, Luna Morrigan was a woman used to power. The kind who could flay soone without ever raising her voice. And Cian—her son, the Alpha—was a mirror of her in every way that mattered.
It was clear with how picky she was with what went on her plate.
The plates were laid with roasted venison, golden potatoes glistening with butter, and a mix of herbs that made the air sll faintly of rosemary and smoke. There was warm bread, still soft from the oven, bowls of glazed carrots, and a pale green soup I couldn’t na. Everything looked perfect.
"So, Fia," Cian’s mother said with a calm smile, "what do you like most about my son?"
The question hit harder than it should have. My fork froze halfway to my mouth. For a mont, I just stared at my plate, pretending to be fascinated by the food. I could feel both their eyes on —hers sharp, his unreadable.
I lifted my head slowly, first eting Morrigan’s cool, steady gaze, then Cian’s. He wasn’t looking at
like he expected
to flatter him. If anything, his eyes dared
to be honest.
I swallowed, feeling my throat tighten. "What I like most?" I repeated, trying to buy ti.
"Yes," Morrigan said. "Surely sothing cos to mind."
Oh... Plenty did co to mind. None were any that I liked however. But... I couldn’t be dishonest. There were...monts.
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