Chapter 68

Esther’s POV

The palace had never been this bright.

Golden banners fluttered across the courtyard, musicians tuned lutes and violins, and trays of sugared fruit glimmered beneath the sunlight. All of it, the music, the laughter, the illusion, was for Sofia.

My daughter. My little girl who had somehow beaten a pack full of trained pups to win the junior archery competition.

I’d never seen her beam so hard in her life. Her smile looked like something pulled straight out of the moonlight. It was wild and pure, with not an ounce of fear left in it. She wore her victory medal around her neck like armor.

Nicholas had insisted on throwing a celebration. For morale, he’d said. For the pack, not for me.

When I caught him watching Sofia from across the square, eyes soft and bright in a way I’d never thought possible for him, I knew the truth. This wasn’t politics. This was pride.

And maybe love.

“Is it true he’s letting her sit beside him?” a servant whispered behind me.

“Who?” another asked, voice low but eager.

“The little one, the healer’s girl. Sitting beside the Alpha at the head table.”

The words pricked at my spine like pins. I didn’t turn, only adjusted the clasp at my collar and kept walking.

Let them talk. Let them all talk. I had weathered far worse storms than gossip.

Still, the air tasted different now. Nearly sharp, metallic. The scent of unease.

When Sofia spotted me near the banquet dais, she waved so hard she nearly toppled her chair. Nicholas caught her arm before she could fall and chuckled. Actually chuckled.

My heart gave a confusing twist.

I took a seat beside Carl at a nearby table. He was pretending not to be impressed, but his eyes kept flicking toward Nicholas like a hawk watching another predator.

“He’s not bad,” he muttered finally.

“Excuse me?”

Carl kept his gaze on his plate. “The Alpha King. He’s not as terrible as I thought.”

I hid a smile. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

“He still makes Mom nervous,” he added, chewing a piece of fruit with unnecessary force.

That made me laugh, a soft, broken sound I hadn’t used in years. “Maybe he makes everyone nervous.”

Carl’s eyes cut sideways. “Not Sofia.”

True. My daughter was at that moment gleefully telling Nicholas about the bow she wanted for her next match. He listened, chin propped in one hand, amusement dancing in his gaze. Occasionally he’d glance toward me for a flicker, as if checking whether I was watching too.

I was. I couldn’t look away.

The music swelled, applause echoing as Sofia’s name was called again, and Nicholas lifted his glass in toast.

“To the sharpest shot in the Blood Moon Pack,” he said, voice carrying easily. “And to her mother, whose courage raised her.”

A ripple went through the crowd. I froze.

He wasn’t supposed to do that.

The healers, the servants, even the advisors turned toward me, polite smiles barely masking surprise. I inclined my head, murmuring something in thanks, but my pulse had already started its climb toward panic.

Nicholas met my gaze across the crowd, a silent apology or perhaps a dare.

By the time the banquet ended, the whispers had changed tone. No longer about a clever child, but about the healer’s family. About the Alpha’s interest.

By evening, the whispers had turned to headlines.

The Murderer’s Heir? Questions Rise Over Alpha King’s ‘Favorite Family’

Healer Esther’s Scandalous Past Resurfaces After Daughter’s Victory.

The articles spread faster than wildfire. Photos of Sofia on the podium, Carl standing near Nicholas, me in the background. Subtly edited, angled, twisted as if proximity was proof of sin.

Amanda’s handiwork. I knew her poison the moment I saw the phrasing: washed-up slave doctor, playing mother to illegitimate pups.

She hadn’t forgotten. She’d found her way back into the public conversation with surgical precision.

That night, I sat on the edge of the twins’ bed, brushing Sofia’s hair while Carl dozed with a book half-fallen from his hand. The celebration dress lay folded at the foot of the bed, ribbons tangled.

Sofia sighed happily. “He said he’s gonna teach me to ride a wolf.”

“Did he?” I said softly.

“Mhm.” Her eyelids drooped. “He’s funny, Mama. Not scary.”

“Sometimes,” I whispered. “But you must always be careful with Alphas, my love.”

“Even nice ones?”

“Especially nice ones.”

She yawned, not understanding, and curled against my arm. Her warmth seeped into me, grounding me, anchoring me against the cold tide rising outside our door.

By morning, the tide had hit.

A dozen reporters loitered outside the palace gates. Petitioners arrived demanding to know if the Alpha intended to make “the doctor’s whelps” part of his royal bloodline. An elder submitted an official complaint: “A murderer’s influence will corrupt the pack’s youth.”

When I entered the infirmary, silence followed me like a shadow. The other healers busied themselves with meaningless tasks. Someone had left a newspaper open on the counter with my picture circled in red ink.

I turned the page without a word.

Inside, the fragile hope I’d been nurturing began to splinter.

Nicholas found me near noon.

He stormed in, half out of his formal jacket, eyes dark and wild. “Who leaked this?”

“You’re asking me?” I said.

“I’m asking everyone.” His voice was a snarl. “They’re saying vile things about you—about the children—”

I raised a hand. “You can’t stop gossip with force.”

He stopped short, staring at me as though I’d just stepped off a cliff and taken his heart with me. “You think I won’t try?”

“You’ll make it worse,” I said. “You’ll look defensive. And they’ll twist that into guilt.”

He exhaled sharply, pacing once across the room, fingers dragging through his hair. “You think I care what they say about me?”

“I think you care more than you want to admit.”

His gaze snapped to mine, hard and desperate. “They’re hurting you.”

Something inside me cracked at the way he said it with that raw fury, that ache he couldn’t hide anymore.

I took a breath, forcing steadiness. “Nicholas. I’ve lived under whispers my whole life. I’ll survive this too.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, maybe to shake me, but then his shoulders dropped. “You shouldn’t have to.”

Neither of us spoke for a moment.

When he finally turned to leave, he paused at the door. “I’ll fix it,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes.”

For the first time, I didn’t doubt him.

The next days blurred into damage control. He met with elders. Shut down tabloids. Publicly denounced the smear campaign. The people who had once looked at me with suspicion now watched him with awe or fear.

Carl grew quieter through it all. Sofia asked if she could stop going to school.

When I found out why, I nearly broke.

She’d come home with torn ribbons and tear-streaked cheeks. A classmate’s mother had hissed the word murderer’s brat under her breath. Another had mocked her medal, saying she’d won it through pity.

I bandaged Sofia’s scraped knees in silence, every motion trembling.

“Am I bad?” she asked suddenly. “Because they said my mama is.”

“No.” My voice shook. “Never. You are the best thing in this world.”

“But they said—”

“They lie,” I said fiercely, taking her face in my hands. “People lie when they’re afraid of truth.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Children shouldn’t have to carry their mother’s sins. Nicholas’s protection had turned a spotlight we couldn’t survive under. This world eats kindness first.

But I couldn’t tell her and of that. So I kissed her forehead and whispered, “Because you’re brave enough to care.”

That night, Nicholas came to our quarters again. Not as Alpha, but as the man who’d once sworn to protect me before everything burned.

He didn’t knock. He stood in the doorway, jaw tight, eyes on Sofia’s sleeping form.

“They bullied her,” I said quietly.

“I know.” His voice was a low growl. “I already dealt with the families.”

I blinked. “Dealt with? what does that mean?”

“It means their children will apologize publicly. And their parents will too.”

“You can’t intimidate the entire pack into loving us, Nicholas.”

“I don’t need their love,” he said. “Just their silence.”

I turned away, staring at Sofia’s small, sleeping face. “She doesn’t need silence. She needs peace.”

For a moment, neither of us breathed.

Then, quietly, he said, “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

The question sliced clean through the air.

I closed my eyes. “If I stay, she’ll never have a normal life.”

His footsteps came closer, slow and deliberate. “She’ll never have a normal life without you either.”

I didn’t turn. “I don’t know what to do.”

He hesitated. “Let me help you find out.”

I looked at him then. The light from the window traced the edge of his jaw, the scars on his throat, the exhaustion behind his eyes. He looked like a man fighting the entire world with only his bare hands and somehow, still willing to try.

The bond pulsed once, deep and low, as if Sharon herself were answering.

I didn’t step into his arms. I didn’t forgive him. I didn’t send him away, either.

Later, when the candles had burned low and the house was still, I stood at the window watching the moon.

Nicholas had left hours ago, promising to meet with the pack council. Sofia murmured in her sleep. Carl’s breathing came soft and even from the next room.

For the first time since the celebration, I felt a fragile calm.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find balance again. It might be fragile and imperfect, but it was ours.

Behind my ribs, Sharon stirred. It was a steady and warm pulse.

I pressed my palm to my heart and whispered into the night, “Hold on, little wolf. Just a little longer.”