Evander stiffened for only a breath—barely enough for anyone else to notice.
Then the mask returned.
A soft, practiced smile. Patient eyes. The kind of calm that had fooled entire packs into believing he was merciful.
“She is young,” he said lightly, as if that settled everything. “She speaks without thought. Do not take it to heart.”
Aveline let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it anymore. Only exhaustion. Only recognition.
She had heard that excuse in a hundred different shapes. It no longer hurt. It only revealed him.
Before she could answer, his expression softened again, shifting like moonlight over water.
“It is my fault,” he said gently, reaching for her hand as if nothing had changed between them. “I will be more careful. I will not leave you alone again. So do not be upset.”
Always the same cycle. A cut, a promise, a sweetness poured over the wound—until Vespera called again and the world rearranged itself around her name.
Aveline pulled her hand away slowly.
“I am tired,” she signed, her movements flat, precise. “I wish to rest alone. Go to the guest chamber.”
For a brief moment, irritation flickered across his face. It vanished before it could be named.
From within his cloak, he drew something that caught the firelight—a silver bracelet set with a diamond shard that shimmered like frozen starlight.
“I brought this for you,” he said softly, already stepping closer. “Do not stay angry.”
Before she could retreat, he took her wrist.
He fastened it himself, fingers careful, almost reverent, as if placing a vow rather than jewelry upon her skin. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.
Like sealing an oath before witnesses.
Something inside Aveline shifted.
Not sorrow.
Not heartbreak.
Revulsion.
She turned without a word and shut herself inside the bathing chamber.
The bracelet came off in one sharp motion.
It struck the stone basin with a clean, cold sound.
She turned the water on and scrubbed her hands beneath it until her skin burned raw, as if she could wash away the memory of his touch.
Outside, Evander lingered.
He hesitated at the door when she emerged again.
His eyes went immediately to her empty wrist.
“You removed it,” he said, brow faintly furrowed. “You do not like it?”
There had been a time she would have treasured anything he gave her. A pressed flower. A carved charm. A ribbon touched by his hand.
Now it all felt the same.
Possession dressed as devotion.
She kept her expression still and signed.
It is inconvenient.
The tension in his shoulders eased at once. Relief softened his face like a spell breaking.
“Worried it might break?” he said with a faint smile. “It is fine. If it does, I will replace it. Your husband has the means.”
Husband.
The word landed like something already decided without her consent.
He said it so easily—like the world had already agreed to his version of it.
He noticed her silence.
“What is it now?” he asked, voice tightening slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
A faint edge crept in.
“I already apologized,” he added. “How long will you hold this mood?”
Aveline met his gaze.
I will not write songs for Vespera anymore.
The air changed at once.
His expression cooled.
“That is not acceptable,” he said flatly. “Vespera sent word through the pack line. She wants the new song within the week.”
A pause.
“Make sure it is worthy.”
Aveline did not react.
I am going to Boston to bring my mother back.
A flicker—quick as a shadow passing over snow—crossed his eyes.
“No,” he said immediately. “Focus on the song. I will have her returned by the wedding moon.”
Her chest tightened.
So it was true.
Not relocation.
Not protection.
Removal.
Her mother had been placed beyond her reach like an offering locked in another lord’s territory.
A hostage wrapped in polite words.
But Aveline did not argue.
Not yet.
That night, sleep did not come.
The wind howled through the valley like an old omen, and the moon hung pale and watchful above the treeline. Every memory returned in fragments—some warm enough to deceive, some sharp enough to cut.
By dawn, her inkstone was cold.
Her agent’s courier arrived with a sealed note.
The Alpha has agreed to your return as Raven. I have bound the pact. Speak only through the marked line.
A second message followed through the sigil-thread.
Edric.
Aveline accepted the mark.
Aveline: Thank you, Lord Vaughn.
The reply came swiftly, precise as a blade.
Edric: Your mother’s passage under neutral pack protection is secured. She will be moved once the moon cycle completes. Seven days remain until completion of the rite.
Seven days.
That was all she had left inside his story.
The door opened behind her.
Evander entered without warning, as if the space itself belonged to him.
“Who are you speaking with?” he asked casually.
Without hesitation, Aveline closed the parchment and concealed it beneath the table cloth. Then she signed calmly.
A friend.
Her other hand, hidden beneath the wood, had already set a small rune-stone recording between them—silent, patient, awake.
He did not press further.
Instead, he returned to his usual rhythm.
“Vespera’s gathering is in seven days,” he said. “You will finish the song.”
I will not write for her.
His brows tightened slightly.
“You are still unsettled about last night,” he said as if explaining weather patterns. “Aveline, she is my blood through oath. You agreed before. Do not complicate this.”
Her fingers moved faster.
So I am meant to serve her forever?
He looked at her as if the answer had never been in question.
“Yes,” he said simply. “What else would you do?”
Not cruelty.
Not anger.
Just certainty.
As if her life had already been assigned its place in the hierarchy.
Something in her almost cracked again.
But this time, it held.
He stepped closer, softening again—like always.
“Enough,” he murmured. “We are bound by marriage in a week. I want Vespera to sing your song at the wedding feast.”
Our wedding.
The phrase drifted through the room like smoke.
Aveline looked at him, then looked past him.
There was no “ours.”
Only his arrangement.
And Vespera’s stage.
She smiled faintly.
Empty. Correct. Perfectly trained.
Alright. I will write it.
Satisfaction returned to his face.
Then the pack bell at the gate rang.
Vespera.
He left immediately without another word.
Through the half-open door, his voice dropped into something softer.
“Do not worry. She will obey.”
Silence returned.
Aveline remained still until the sound of his footsteps disappeared completely.
Then she exhaled once.
Slowly.
Cleanly.
Like something inside her had finally stopped pretending.
She locked herself in the chamber and wrote the song.
Not as his Luna.
Not as Vespera’s shadow.
But as something they had forgotten to cage properly.
When she finished, the knock came.
“Aveline,” Evander called. “Vespera is here.”
She sealed the manuscript inside the wooden chest beneath the rune-lock just as the door opened.
Vespera entered first, smiling like spring over thawing snow.
“Sister-in-law,” she greeted sweetly. “Is it finished?”
Aveline met her gaze.
Not yet.
Vespera’s eyes moved over the room, measuring, assessing, like she was inspecting livestock prepared for market.
“No matter,” she said lightly. “The feast matters more. I heard you have not chosen your ceremonial gown.”
Before Aveline could respond, Vespera already reached out and took her wrist.
Familiar.
Possessive.
Casual.
“Come,” Vespera said with a smile that did not belong in any sacred hall. “I will help you choose what you will wear to your own binding night.”
And just like that, Aveline was led out—deeper into a role she no longer intended to obey.
