Lila
I had never paced so much in my life.
Back and forth across my room, the same stretch of carpet worn slightly thinner with each pass. The window was open, letting in the cool afternoon breeze, but it didn’t help. My skin still burned, nerves riding just beneath the surface..
The letter for Damon sat on the edge of my writing desk–creased from too many hands, too many hesitations. I hadn’t added to it, hadn’t changed a word. But I hadn’t let it go either.
Ruby stirred constantly now, her voice a steady hum in the back of my skull. You know what’s right. You’ve known for days.
I stopped mid–step, fists clenched at my sides.
NA
If I stayed silent, Asher would keep pulling strings behind the scenes. The council vote, the trial placements–who knew how far it would go? How far it had already gone.
But if I told Damon…
Everything would unravel. My identity. My place here. The fragile balance I’d been walking since the day I stepped into this palace.
My throat tightened. I couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t let fear make me complicit.
I crossed the room to the desk and gently picked up the letter. My fingers shook, but my grip held. I folded it once, twice, then slipped it inside a clean envelope, sealing it closed. It was enough to hand over if I lost my voice again.
I changed clothes quickly–trading my soft lounging robe for a simple slate–blue gown with clean lines and modest embroidery. Not flashy, but not forgettable. I needed to look composed. Unthreatening. Credible.
I let my hair fall over my shoulders, just enough softness to make me seem softer. Then I left.
Court attendants passed with clipped bows, two guards adjusted their stances as I moved past, but no one stopped me. I kept my head high. My heart tried to beat out of my chest.
The war room was tucked at the end of the southern council corridor, guarded by twin doors carved with the Pack sigils of the twelve regions. Two
sentries stood at attention. Between them stood Ronan.
He looked up from a scroll as I approached, expression slipping from concentration to surprise in an instant.
“Lady Elena,” he said, blinking once. “I didn’t expect-”
“I need to speak with the King,” I said before I lost the nerve. “Privately. Please.”
Ronan’s brow furrowed. He stepped forward slightly, lowering his voice. “He’s in the middle of High Council right now. There’s been an escalation with the Crescent Moon territory–disputes about border management, rogue sightings. Half the northern Alphas are demanding his attention.”
My mouth was suddenly dry. “I understand. I wouldn’t ask if it I wasn’t important.”
Ronan studied me carefully. His gaze was sharp, as if he could see how tightly I was holding myself together. But the edges softened and He nodded slowly.
“I believe you.” Then added, more gently, “But it may be hours before he steps out of that room. He hasn’t even paused for food.”
I didn’t flinch. “Can I leave a message?”
His brow arched slightly. “Spoken or written?”
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Chapter 73
Thesitated. Then handed him the letter.
“It’s not for the council. It’s personal. Please tell him I asked to speak with him privately.”
Ronan accepted the envelope with both hands, carefully, like he understood the weight it carried. “I’ll give it to him myself. I promisex
Something in my chest loosened at that. I nodded once. Then turned and walked back the way I came. My hands were empty now. But my head had never felt so heavy.
The hours passed like shadows across my walls–long, slow, and silent.
I sat near the window for most of them, legs folded beneath me, fingers curled around a cup of now–cold tea I hadn’t touched. The breeze had faded to stillness, and the once–blue sky turned dusky lavender, streaked with the orange hush of evening.
He still hadn’t come.
Every time a footstep echoed in the corridor outside, I straightened. Every time a door creaked or a distant voice murmured, my pulse surged.
And then nothing.
I’d gone from gripping the edge of hope to feeling it unravel thread by thread.
The letter was no longer in my hands–Ronan had it. He promised. I believe you, he’d said. I’ll give it to him myself.
But what if Damon hadn’t read it? What if it got lost in the chaos of Pack politics and border disputes and Rogue attacks?
Or worse–what if he had read it and chosen to say nothing?
Maybe it was easier for him this way. Cleaner. A loose end that didn’t have to be cut–just left to unravel quietly, behind closed doors.
Ruby had gone quiet. I could still feel her there, pacing slowly at the edge of my thoughts, not pushing–just… waiting, like me.
I shifted to stand, pacing the length of my small sitting space. My hands twisted in front of me. Then I pressed them flat against my sides.
There was no knock at the door.
No note slid beneath it. I opened it once just to check.
Nothing.
The flickering wall sconce outside cast my shadow long and thin against the hallway floor, like even it didn’t know where to settle.
I closed the door again and leaned against it, forehead resting against the cool wood.
He was busy. That’s what I told myself.
Important things were happening. Council matters. Political fallout. Rogue movement along Crescent Moon’s borders. He had more pressing priorities than a letter from a liar.
I let out a shaky breath. But the silence still stung.
The worst part wasn’t the waiting–it was how easily doubt crept back in through the cracks.
I crossed to my bed and lay down on top of the covers, limbs heavy, dress still neat, hair stillcombed like I expected to be called for. until the edges blurred.
Maybe I’d made a mistake.
Maybe I should have spoken to him directly, pushed harder, waited outside the war room door.
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ed at the ceiling
Chapter 73
Maybe I was just one more piece of palace fiction–pretty enough and replaceable.
I waited long enough that I began to wonder if time had stopped just outside my door. Minutes dragged their feet like wounded pups, folding into each
other.
My tea had gone cold. I’d changed positions on the window seat three times. I even lit a candle I didn’t need just for the company of the flicker. And stil
nothing.
I thought about knocking on the war room door again. About standing there until someone let me in. But what would that prove? That i was desperate? That I didn’t trust Ronan’s word? Or worse–that I didn’t trust Damon.
Doubt, once planted, grows fast around here.
The longer I waited, the more the silence began to hum. And when I finally laid down, I couldn’t quiet the dread that something was going to go terribly
wrong.
