Chapter 56

Esther’s POV

The first sign something had gone wrong was the screaming.

Not the usual palace whispers or courtly scuffles, but a shriek so loud it cut through the marble corridors like a blade. I’d been in the infirmary reorganizing tinctures when the sound crashed over me, followed by the frantic pound of boots.

By the time I reached the eastern stairwell, Amanda’s ladies-in-waiting were already clustered there, wailing and clutching at one another. Amanda herself lay sprawled on the landing, crimson dress pooling like spilled wine. Her palms cradled her abdomen.

“She poisoned her!” one of the attendants cried, pointing a shaking finger down the hallway toward me. “The doctor, she gave her the herbs!”

My mouth went dry. “What?”

Amanda’s head rolled toward me. Tears streaked her cheeks, her mascara smudged.

“You—” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “You wanted…my child…gone…”

“I didn’t—” I started forward but two guards blocked my path, their shoulders stiff under the leather straps of their uniforms.

“She gave her the tea,” the attendant insisted. “I saw it!”

I stared at the woman. I had given Amanda nothing. The only tea I’d dispensed today was chamomile for a stressed Beta in the medical wing.

Amanda moaned theatrically. “Alpha… call the Alpha…”

The corridor erupted in chaos. Soldiers barked orders, a stretcher clattering up the stairs, attendants sobbing. One guard seized my wrist.

“Come quietly, Doctor.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice cracked. “I’ve done nothing!”

“Orders,” he muttered. His eyes flicked nervously down the hall.

I wrenched free. “I’m the healer. Let me examine her!”

“She says you poisoned her,” he snapped. “Don’t make this worse.”

They dragged me to the council chamber first, a blur of voices echoing under the high ceiling. The elders were already assembled, robes fluttering, faces pinched with horror. Amanda had been whisked to the medical wing under “emergency care” but her attendants repeated the accusation like a mantra: “Doctor Esther brewed the tea. Doctor Esther gave the herbs.”

I stood in the center of the marble floor, breath coming hard. “That’s a lie. I never—”

Elder Torsen, banged his staff. “Silence!”

Another elder hissed, “The Alpha cannot allow this insult. A pregnant Luna attacked in his own house?”

“She’s not Luna yet,” I said bitterly.

A murmur swept the chamber.

Then Nicholas entered.

He came through the main doors like a thundercloud, coat flaring, eyes bright gold. Everyone dropped their gaze except me.

For a heartbeat, something like worry flickered across his face—quick, sharp—but then the Alpha mask slammed down.

“What happened?”

Torsen stepped forward. “Amanda miscarried, Alpha. Her attendants accuse this woman of administering a harmful infusion.”

“I gave her nothing!” I shouted. “I haven’t been near her all day!”

Amanda’s attendant curtsied low. “Alpha, we have witnesses—”

Nicholas’s gaze pinned me. “Esther?”

I opened my mouth, but the words stuck. His eyes were molten metal, rage and betrayal swirling like storm clouds.

“I haven’t done anything,” I whispered.

The elders murmured again. “Alpha, the court demands swift action—”

“Enough,” Nicholas said. His voice was soft but deadly. “Take her to the holding cells.”

It was like a trapdoor opened beneath me. “Nicholas, no—”

“Temporarily,” he said, looking at no one. “Until we know the truth.”

Two guards moved forward.

I stared at him. “You know I didn’t do this.”

His jaw clenched.

“Go,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

They marched me down stone steps that twisted away from sunlight and sound. The palace above faded into a muffled heartbeat. Down here the air turned damp, cold, smelling of rust and old water.

The dungeon was older than the rest of the palace with rough-hewn stone and barred doors like animal cages. A single torch flickered at the end of the corridor.

My cell was little more than a box. One cot. One bucket. A slit for air.

The guards shoved me inside and locked the door with a clank.

“Please,” I said, gripping the bars. “Let me speak to him again.”

“Orders,” one muttered, not meeting my eyes.

Their footsteps retreated, leaving only silence and the faint drip of water.

I sat on the cot, hands trembling in my lap.

So this was how it ended.

Amanda had played her best card—pregnancy—and when that hadn’t fully locked Nicholas down, she’d staged a tragedy and pinned it on me.

My chest rose and fell rapidly. Sharon flickered faintly inside, like a trapped bird. She wasn’t strong enough to help me break out. Not yet.

Carl’s face swam before my eyes, his small hand reaching for mine. Sofia’s determined little smile never ceased to amaze me. They’d think I’d abandoned them again.

I pressed my fists to my eyes and tried not to scream.

Hours passed. Or maybe days. Down here there was no sense of time.

At some point a guard shoved a tray of food through the bars. There was nothing but gray porridge and a tin cup of water. I stared at it but couldn’t bring myself to eat.

Amanda’s narrative would be everywhere by now. The “poisoner healer.” The jealous ex-slave who tried to murder the Alpha’s unborn child.

My stomach clenched. I had trusted Nickolas. Even after the humiliation, the threats, the power games, some part of me had still believed that deep down he knew me. That he would defend me when it counted.

But he’d said “take her to the holding cells” as easily as ordering wine.

Something inside me cracked at the memory.

I curled on the cot, knees to my chest, forehead pressed to the cold stone wall. “You’ve lost everything before,” I whispered to myself. “You survived before. You will survive again.”

But the words rang hollow.

Sharon stirred once, a ripple of heat across my chest, then faded. Almost, she seemed to murmur. Almost awake.

I whispered back: “Then hurry.”

I thought about Carl again. He’d been so pale last time I saw him. I pictured him sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, swinging his thin legs, wondering why his mother hadn’t come back.

A sob rose but I bit it down. I couldn’t break. Not here.

Instead I pressed my palms together and prayed—not to any god in particular but to the universe itself, to the Moon that had cursed and blessed us all.

“Please,” I whispered. “Keep him safe. Let me see him again. Let him not hate me for this.”

At some point footsteps approached. For a heartbeat I thought Nicholas had come. But it was only Dan, his expression unreadable, sliding a glance through the bars. He didn’t speak, maybe forbidden to, but for a second our eyes met and I saw pity there.

He dropped a folded blanket inside and left without a word.

I pulled it around me, shivering though the dungeon wasn’t truly cold. It was the absence of everything—light, sound, hope—that froze me.

Eventually I drifted into a half-sleep, my head against the wall. Dreams and memories blurred. I dreamt of Carl’s laughter, Nicholas’s eyes, and Amanda’s smile like a knife.

When I jerked awake, I whispered into the darkness: “I’ll get out. I swear it.”

My voice sounded small but it steadied me.

I began to plan, quietly, even as my hands trembled. If Sharon woke fully, I might manage to slip past the guards. If not, maybe I could bribe someone. Dan’s glance had been sympathetic; perhaps he’d listen.

The key was to live long enough to try.

Above me the palace continued as if nothing had happened. I imagined Amanda sweeping through the halls, milking her “miscarriage” for sympathy, Nicholas signing decrees, the elders congratulating themselves on finally putting me in my place.

Good. Let them think I’m finished. One day soon I’d walk out of this cell and I wouldn’t crawl back.

I looked at the slit of air high on the wall, just enough for a sliver of moonlight to slice through.

I touched the light with my fingertips.

“Carl,” I whispered. “Hold on. Mama’s coming.”

Hours later the guards changed shifts. A new man brought water, glanced at me with discomfort, and left quickly.

I sat up straighter. I wouldn’t let them see me broken. Not yet.

Inside, though, something had changed. My faith in Nicholas—whatever tiny ember had survived each humiliation—had finally gone dark.

I’d trusted him to see through Amanda’s games, to know me better than that. But he hadn’t. He’d chosen the easy path, the political path.

He’d freed me, too. I owed him nothing now but the healing of my child.

I lay back on the cot, staring at the ceiling stones.

Every story of my life had been written by someone else like my parents, masters, pack, Nicholas. Only Carl and Sofia had been truly mine.

No more.

“Sharon,” I whispered into the dimness. “Wake up. Wake up so we can leave.”

A flicker of warmth pulsed under my breastbone, faint but steady.

“Soon,” I promised. “We’ll go soon.”

And with that vow hanging in the stale air, I finally closed my eyes, not to sleep but to wait coiled, silent, praying, and planning.