Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Lila
The piano was already warm beneath Emma’s fingers when I stepped up beside her. My dress still smelled faintly of red wine as I folded and draped Asher’s jacket over a nearby chair, just out of reach.
The ballroom hadn’t quieted – yet – but I could feel it starting. A ripple of confusion whispering through the crowd as people began to notice who was at the piano.
It wasn’t one of the candidates from Jackson’s handpicked list. It was just fallen–from–favor–Elena. I could feel Vanessa frothing at the mouth for me to make another misstep.
“What are you doing?” one of the women whispered behind me, as though saying my name too loud would shatter some kind of peace.
Emma looked up at me from the bench, her expression soft but steady. “You ready?” she mouthed, barely audible.
“No,” I whispered back. “But start anyway.”
She nodded, exhaled slowly, and placed her hands on the keys. Then, without fanfare, she began to play.
The first notes of the song drifted out like threads of smoke: slow, winding, mournful. The melody wasn’t from any Court–approved songbook. It was
older than that. A lullaby turned mourning hymn, passed down by wolves who had survived ancient wars.
I took a breath. Let it fill my chest and drag old memories up from deep inside; the sound of my mother humming while braiding my hair, the way her voice would lift, soft and aching, like she was trying to keep a secret from the world. Trying to hide me.
My voice wasn’t perfect. It was too raw and untrained for the velvet–draped elegance of this ballroom. But it was real. And the notes trembled out of me like they’d been waiting to surface for years.
The first words were quiet. Fragile.
Sing low, little wolf, the stars are not for catching;
The moon is old and watching, and She does not forget.
Your paws are made for running, your heart is made for breaking;
So, howl until you’re aching, and sleep without regret
The language of the old tongue wrapped around mine with ease, the foreign syllables soft and cutting at once. I wasn’t sure who in the room would understand the lyrics, but they felt it. I saw it ripple through them–the slowing of breath, the tilt of heads, the way even the air seemed to pause.
As the first verse faded into the next, the world narrowed to the echo of Emma’s fingers and the sound of my own voice.
And I kept singing.
Sing soft, little wolf, the forest keeps your secret
The wind won’t speak your sorrow, the roots won’t tell your name.
Your teeth were born for biting, your blood was made for bleeding
But still your soul keeps pleading, and still, you play the game.
No one moved. No one interrupted. Even the noble daughters stopped whispering, Vanessa included. But I didn’t pay them any attention.
I just sang. Each line like an offering, each breath like a confession. I poured everything into that song… the fear for my mother, the loneliness of
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Chapter 37
pretending to be someone I wasn’t
The final verse was quiet.
Sing true, little wolf, though silence grows around you
Your howl is still your power, your song the only light
You’re made of more than mourning, more shadow than surrender
So burn, fierce and tender, and make the dark your right.
My voice ached on the last word, the room suspended in its final note.
Then silence. Utter, ringing silence. I stood frozen in the space between the last breath and the first reaction, still not breathing, not moving
Then a single pair of hands clapped…Emma’s.
And then the room followed. A wave of applause swept through the ballroom like a gust of wind. It took everything in me not to burst into tears right there in front of everyone.
Across the ballroom, I saw Jackson lean forward slightly in his seat, brows raised, lips parted just enough to show surprise: But none of that mattered compared to where my eyes landed next.
Damon wasn’t clapping. He hadn’t moved, but he was watching me. Not the way a King watched a performance, with detachment or boredom. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before.
I blinked and turned away before I could unravel completely.
Emma rose beside me, her smile shining like a second moon. “You killed that,” she whispered.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I whispered back.
She laughed, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the edge of the floor. “Quick, before someone asks for an encore.” Emma grabbed Asher’s jacket and flung it around my shoulders like a cape.
By the time we reached the doors to the gardens, my legs were shaking. I kept my head low, hands clenched around the jacket’s sleeves.
Every step away from the piano felt like shedding skin – like I’d peéled something vulnerable open for the world to see, and now I didn’t know how to cover it back up.
A few people tried to catch my eye – Jackson, Ronan, even one of the musicians – but I didn’t slow.
Asher moved like he might follow, his mouth parting as if he had something to say. Our eyes nearly met, but I looked away first. Not because I didn’t want to see what was on his face, but because I might find understanding there. Or worse, kindness. I wasn’t sure I wanted that right now.
The applause was still going. And I just wanted it to stop.
Emma was still at my side, murmuring something about how proud she was, about how I’d shown Vanessa, but her voice faded into background noise as the crowd parted and he stepped into my path,
Damon didn’t look pleased, or angry, he just looked… intrigued.
“Lady Elena,” he said, his voice quiet enough that only I could hear. His gaze was direct but warm, his tone low but firm. “You’ll sing for me,” he said.
“Alone.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I whispered.
“I want you to sing for me,” he repeated, more evenly this time. “Just me.”
Chapter 17
My mouth opened, then closed like a fish out of water. I didn’t understand what this was – a command? An invitation or test? Was I forgiven for my facher’s request?
Damon didn’t wait for an answer. He took a step back, his eyes still locked on mine and then turned back to join his guests. A few nobles bowed
ctively as he passed. I stood frozen, heart thrashing in my ribs.
marudged at my side a second later. “That just happened,” she said, blinking.
(modded, my throat dry. “Yep.”
“you okay?”
“Nope.”
She exhaled, looping her arm through mine. “Come on, nightingale. Let’s get you some air before your knees give out.”
I didn’t argue with her.
Outside, the gardens smelled like night blooming jasmine and damp earth. The stars were sharp above the palace spires. I let myself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours.
I survived the banquet. And tomorrow I’d be alone with the King Singing like my secrets weren’t clawing at my throat.
AD
