Chapter 20

Nicholas’s POV

The funeral had been my idea, or at least that was how I justified it.

I had wanted to bring her body back, to bury her within my pack’s grounds, to lay her to rest where I could at least pretend to visit her.

Werewolves were always buried quickly, not only as a sign of respect, but so that they may find peace early.

When I brought it up, Kevin wanted her buried with his pack. It would be faster, he said, and she’d rest in peace among his own. Kevin’s insufferable smugness was disguised as diplomacy.

“Let her rest here, Nicholas. It was in my woods she was found. Give her peace where she fell.”

In truth, I had no strength left to argue. My voice had burned out with grief. So I relented, and so Esther’s coffin lay within the heart of Blue Lake territory.

The day was bright, too bright for death. White banners fluttered against a sky of unyielding blue, the sound of birdsong piercing like knives. I stood before the coffin, the air heavy with the perfume of wildflowers. The crowd behind me whispered, their eyes pressing into my back, waiting to see how the Alpha King King mourned.

My hand trembled as I laid a single daisy upon the polished lid. White petals, fragile and pure. Her flower.

Her scent drifted through memory with the daisy’s faint sweetness, and I almost staggered under the wave of it. She used to smell of them—fresh, delicate, with something beneath, something warm and wild that drove me mad.

For a moment, I could almost believe she was here. That if I turned, she would be there, standing stubborn and pale, her eyes blazing at me in defiance.

But when I turned, there was only Amanda.

I left without another word.

The woods called me, dark and cool, a place where eyes could not follow. My flask was half-empty before I reached the old oak, and gone soon after. Fire slid down my throat, burning, but it wasn’t enough to sear away regret.

Norman prowled within me, restless. You broke her. You destroyed her. And now she is gone.

“I know,” I rasped aloud, my voice cracking as I leaned against the tree. The bark bit into my palms. “I know.”

Another swig, another wave of heat. My head spun. I closed my eyes—and in the haze, she came.

Esther.

Walking through the trees, her steps soft, her pale face framed in moonlight though no moon hung above. She came to me, silent, her eyes too kind, her lips trembling.

“Esther…”

I caught her when she reached me, my arms wrapping tight, desperate, crushing. The scent—sweet, intoxicating—filled my lungs. I buried my face in her hair and broke apart.

“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I miss you. I was wrong. I…” My words dissolved into the night, incoherent, raw. I clung tighter.

For a blissful moment, she was mine again.

Then the wrongness hit me.

A cloying perfume. Not the fresh, wild daisy-scent that haunted me, but something artificial, heavy, sharp.

My eyes snapped open.

It wasn’t Esther.

It was Amanda.

She smiled up at me, her arms wound around my neck, her body pressed too close in a dress I knew too well. It was a dress that wasn’t hers.

Fury jolted me sober. I shoved her back so hard she stumbled.

“What are you doing?” My voice was ice, sharper than a blade.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her lip quivering.

“That dress. Where did you get it? Why are you wearing it?”

Her lips parted, trembling. “I… I just—this dress. I found it in a closet. I didn’t know—”

My chest heaved. That dress. Purple silk, simple but cut in a way that had once made my breath hitch when Esther wore it. She had hated finery, always claiming she preferred practicality, yet she’d worn it for me once.

It had been at a ball, the last we had attended before Emily’s death. I’d had it designed specifically for her, and I had even kept it with Esther’s modest tastes. She never did care for finery and always wanted practically.

The dress even had pockets, something I’d asked them to do for her.

Amanda dared to wear this dress like it was good as hers.

“Don’t.” My voice cracked like a whip. “Don’t wear it again. I don’t like it.”

Fear flickered in her eyes, and she nodded quickly. “I’m sorry.”

The rage ebbed, leaving something colder. I turned away, unable to bear looking at her in that dress another moment.

Later, when she tried again—her hand on my chest, her lips tilted toward mine—I stepped back.

“No.”

Her eyes widened, confusion flashing. “Nicholas, you don’t want an heir? The elders whisper. They say you delay crowning me because—because of her. Because you miss Esther.”

Her name on her lips snapped the fragile restraint inside me.

“I don’t miss her.” The words were harsh, brittle. “The only thing I regret is losing my children. Nothing more.”

Her face softened into a practiced sympathy, but I saw the relief in her eyes.

I turned away, though the taste of my lie burned worse than the alcohol.

Amanda’s POV

Esther was gone.

At least, that was what I repeated to myself. Over and over, like a prayer.

Dead. Buried. Forgotten.

Yet Nicholas did not act as if she were forgotten.

For days after the funeral, he barely spoke. He buried himself in solitude, drinking, snarling, eyes shadowed with grief. My attempts to soothe him were met with rejection—doors slammed, words as cold as ice.

And worse, he still would not crown me.

The elders grew restless. Their whispers reached me at every gathering, every formal dinner. The pack needs stability. The Alpha King must have a Luna. An heir must be conceived soon.

Over and over.

They urged me, pushed me, told me that if I could not secure Nicholas’s agreement soon, the pack would falter.

I tried. Goddess knows I tried. My hands smoothed over his chest, my lips sought his, my body offered itself as the vessel for his legacy. But each time, he pushed me away.

And the people saw.

At feasts, he stood alone. At councils, he addressed me as little more than an attendant. When other packs visited, he never introduced me as his Luna. I was left standing on the edge of the dais, a decoration no one cared to acknowledge.

Worse still, whispers spread within our walls. That my management was weak. That decisions slipped through my fingers. That I was no Luna, only a pretender waiting for a crown that would never come.

Some even dared suggest that Nicholas would find another mate, a true one, to replace me.

And always, in the shadow of those whispers, lay Esther.

Even dead, she haunted me.

What if she hadn’t died? What if one day she returned, child in arms? What if Nicholas learned the truth and reclaimed her as his mate?

My heart twisted. My stomach turned sour.

I couldn’t let that happen.

One night, I called Bobby, my most loyal confidant. His scarred face appeared in the doorway, his bow low.

“She’s gone,” I whispered, needing to hear it from someone else.

“Yes, my lady,” he confirmed. “Buried and cold. I oversaw it myself.”

Relief loosened my chest. Finally, I could breathe.

If Nicholas did not love me, then so be it. He didn’t need to. He only needed an heir.

And once I gave him one, everything would change. He would forget Esther. The pack would forget her. The world would forget the slave who had once shamed us all.

Nicholas’s children would be mine. His future would be mine.

And Esther…

Esther would remain nothing more than a ghost.