Kael – First Person POV
The fire in the hearth burned low.
Just enough light to cast shadows across the bookshelves and drown the corners of the study in quiet.
I sat at the desk, unmoving. Not reading. Not writing.
Just… still.
The scent of her lingered on my skin.
Even now.
Even after I'd left her shaking in the dirt, silk torn, thighs slick with humiliation.
I'd meant to return to paperwork. Reports. The war summit with the southern clans.
But all I could see was the way she had not screamed.
The way she'd laid there—silent, open, breathing.
Not begging.
Not crying.
And somehow, that felt like the deeper defiance.
The door creaked.
I didn't look up.
Only one man in this estate walks into my study without knocking.
"Karl," I said.
He closed the door behind him.
Bootsteps crossed the carpet, slow and even.
"Everyone saw it," he said quietly.
I poured a measure of liquor into a crystal tumbler and didn't offer him any.
"Then they'll know what happens when someone forgets their place."
He laughed once—dry, sharp.
"She didn't forget anything, Kael. She didn't even speak."
I sipped.
He moved to the desk, standing across from me. His arms were crossed. His expression unreadable.
"You humiliated her," he said. "In front of half the inner circle. Masked or not, they saw what you did. That wasn't strategy. That was personal."
I finally looked up.
His face was calm.
But his jaw was tight.
His eyes hard.
"I didn't ask for your opinion," I said.
"You never do," he shot back. "But I'm giving it anyway."
I set the tumbler down.
It clicked too loud on the wood.
"You've always backed me," I said.
"And I always will." Karl's voice softened. "But that doesn't mean I won't stop you when you start burning everything down around you."
I said nothing.
He took one step forward.
"She's their daughter, yes. But she is also our Luna now."
That word.
Luna.
It landed like an insult.
Like a brand.
I stood.
Karl didn't move.
"She is not my Luna," I said quietly.
His brow furrowed. "You marked her in front of the pack."
"I claimed her body. Not her title."
Karl exhaled sharply, the closest thing he ever came to losing composure.
"She's a girl, Kael. She's only 19 years old. Barely past her first shift. You've made her a trophy. A threat. You're treating her like she personally slit Elira's throat."
I flinched.
Just slightly.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You swore to protect what Elira loved."
That was enough.
"Get out."
"Kael—"
"Now."
Karl stared at me.
Not with fear.
With sadness.
"You used to be better than this."
And then he left.
Not slamming the door.
Not storming off.
Just walking out, like he already knew I wouldn't listen.
Like he didn't expect me to come back from wherever I'd gone.
And for a moment, just a moment—
I wondered if he was right.
The door clicked shut behind Karl.
Silence fell again, thick and buzzing.
But something had shifted.
The weight in my chest wasn't heavy.
It was sharp.
I stood for a long time, fingers pressed to the edge of the desk, eyes locked on nothing. Then I reached down, slow and deliberate, and turned the old iron key in the bottom drawer.
The lock gave with a soft clack.
I pulled it open.
Inside — the red wax-sealed envelope. Still untouched since the day it was delivered.
The paper rasped as I slid the contents free.
One photograph.
Old. Faded around the edges. But the image was still clear.
Too clear.
My hand tightened around the corner of the picture, the edges biting into my fingers.
Elira.
Naked.
Knees spread.
Bruises across her breasts and thighs.
Her arms bound behind her. Face streaked with tears. Hair matted.
Eyes—empty.
Dead.
And standing just behind her, smiling like he'd just been crowned—
Alpha Cassian Vale.
Aria's father.
Laughing.
One arm holding a goblet.
The other?
Wrapped around the waist of a tiny girl in a white dress.
Big eyes.
Small teeth.
Chubby arms clinging to her father's neck.
Aria.
My vision tunneled.
My blood roared.
My hand shook.
She was there.
She was there when they destroyed Elira.
When they paraded her, broke her, photographed her like a conquest.
And they smiled.
They smiled with their child in the frame — as if they were passing on a lesson.
I gritted my teeth.
The picture curled in my fist.
Karl's voice echoed faintly in my mind.
"You're becoming what you swore to destroy."
No.
I wasn't.
I was becoming what I swore to become.
What I had to become.
For her.
For Elira.
For the girl who kissed my wrist and whispered:
"Don't let them smile while I fade."
They smiled.
They laughed.
And now—
They would weep.
I slid the photo back into the envelope.
Folded it neatly.
And said nothing for a long time.
I placed the envelope on the desk with care.
Like it was sacred.
Like it still breathed.
The flames in the hearth had burned lower now. Just red coals and shadows.
The room felt colder.
I pulled out the chair beside the window — the one Elira used to sit in when I worked late, reading by firelight, always barefoot, always humming to herself when she thought I wasn't listening.
And I sat.
Quiet.
Still.
My voice, when it came, surprised me.
"Do you remember what you asked me?"
No answer, of course.
But I heard it anyway.
The memory wasn't a blur.
It was clear.
I could still feel her blood on my hands. Sticky. Warm. The scent of crushed pine in the dirt around us. Her body trembling, breath ragged.
One eye swollen shut.
Lips split.
Fingers twitching in mine as her voice rasped against my neck.
"Don't let them smile while I fade."
I'd kissed her brow.
Sworn an oath.
Promised I'd burn them from the inside out.
Every heir.
Every bond.
Every name.
Every child.
And now — the child in that photo was my bride.
Their daughter.
The one they'd used to celebrate Elira's fall.
The one they gave me now as an offering.
As if that would ever be enough.
I stood.
Went to the fire.
Pulled a poker from the hearth.
And shoved the logs until the flames rose again.
The shadows danced across the picture frame of Elira still hanging above the bookshelves — the only photo I ever kept in plain view.
She smiled in that one too.
Not like Cassian Vale.
Not in cruelty.
Just soft.
Just alive.
I looked up at her.
"I'll also give them a picture," I murmured.
The flames crackled.
"But this time…"
I turned toward the bell pull beside my desk.
"…it will be their daughter on her knees."