Chapter 157

Lila

Most of the nobles were either in session with the council or lingering in the great hall for the afternoon meal, leaving the east wing strangely hollow.

My guards followed at their usual distance; two males in muted black uniforms, steps heavy but unhurried. Their silence was its own kind of leash.

I told myself walking would help. My body was restless, coiled with energy I didn’t have the strength to spend, and the air in my chambers had grown stale.

The walls seemed to breathe with me now, which was disconcerting. I needed space, or at least the illusion of it.

I turned a corner toward the southern passage, hoping to catch the draft from the open windows there. The stone beneath my bare feet was cool, grounding, though each step made my knees tremble with effort.

That was when I heard them.

Two voices, female, drifting from the alcove just beyond the archway ahead. Their tones were low, conspiratorial, but I caught the soft lilt of amusement in their words.

Nobles. Their silks rustled as they shifted, the faint chime of jeweled bracelets tracking their animated hand gestures.

“…it’s about time he came to his senses,” one murmured. “Elena’s the obvious choice. The Pack needs stability, not… sentiment.”

A pause. A quiet laugh.

“He’s endured enough pity clinging to that girl. It’s cruel to drag it out any longer. This announcement puts an end to it.”

The blood in my veins went cold.

I pressed myself against the wall, breath caught high in my chest. My guards were still behind me, stationed several paces away, close enough to react if I bolted, but far enough not to hear the words slicing me apart.

Another voice chimed in, softer but no less cutting. “I heard the ceremony is already being planned. They’ll present Elena tomorrow night, formally. Can you imagine? No more whispers about her mother, or the broken wolf.”

Broken wolf.

The words exactly like the kitchen maids. My hands curled against the stone, nails digging in, searching for an anchor that wasn’t there.

“I almost pity her,” the first noble said. “But really, wasn’t this always inevitable? He needs a Luna who can stand beside him. Not someone who needs around the clock protection and guidance.”

Their footsteps shifted, silk brushing against stone as they moved on, still murmuring, still laughing softly as they vanished down the next hall.

Silence crashed in behind them, deafening.

I couldn’t breathe.

Every unanswered question, every cold glance, every time Damon had chosen silence instead of explanation… it all fit, suddenly, horribly. His distance. His secrecy. The council’s whispers. Elena’s sudden presence.

He’d finally chosen her.

My vision blurred. The hall tilted sharply, and I pressed harder against the wall to keep from collapsing entirely. The guards at my back shifted, concerned, one of them calling softly, “My Lady,” but I couldn’t answer.

I staggered forward, away from them, away from the alcove and its gossip. Their boots scuffed after me, hesitant but dutiful, but I hardly noticed. My chest burned, grief and rage tangled into something raw and breathless.

Ruby finally stirred faintly inside me, a flicker of recognition. Pain, anger…but no words. No comfort.

I didn’t remember leaving the corridor.

One moment I was pressed against the wall, the nobles’ whispers echoing like a drumbeat in my skull. The next, I was stumbling through the palace halls, half-blind with tears and fury, the world tilting beneath me.

The guards followed close now, their footsteps quick and uneven behind me, murmured concern rising.

“My Lady, careful!” one called. His voice sounded distant, warped by the rush of blood in my ears.

I ignored them. Couldn’t stop. My chest was too tight, air clawing at my throat in shallow gasps. I needed walls. A door. Something to shut out the laughter I still heard.

He’d chosen her. He was supposed to choose her all along.

My hands trembled as I reached my chambers, fumbling at the latch. One guard darted forward to open it for me, murmuring something soft that sounded like “Easy, My Lady, you’re safe,” and I stumbled inside on shaking legs.

The familiar walls felt foreign now. I made it two steps before my knees buckled.

The rug caught me, coarse against my palms. My breath came ragged, half-sob, half-gasp. Heat bloomed behind my eyes; tears blurred the edges of the room into smears of gold.

“Get Ronan,” one guard hissed over his shoulder. His voice was sharp, tight with urgency. “Now. Go!”

Boots thudded against the stone as the other bolted down the hall.

The remaining guard crouched beside me, hands hovering awkwardly; afraid to touch, afraid not to.

“Breathe,” he urged, voice low and careful. “You’re alright, My Lady. Just breathe.”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t alright. That I couldn’t breathe. That the palace itself was suffocating me. But the words tangled in my throat, strangled by grief and the poison’s dull ache.

The floor felt cold beneath me. My whole body shook from exhaustion and rage, and from the hollow weight where Ruby should be.

I pressed my forehead to the rug and tried to disappear into it.

Footsteps thundered in the distance. Ronan’s voice cut through the chaos before I saw him.

“What happened?” His tone was sharp, commanding.

“She overheard something,” the guard answered quickly. “About the King and Lady Elena. She…she just collapsed.”

Ronan swore under his breath. A moment later, his presence filled the room, heavy and grounding. Strong hands slipped beneath my arms, lifting me gently in his steady way.

“Lila,” he murmured, voice low and close to my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I wanted to tell him everything. Wanted to scream and sob and demand answers. But all I managed was a broken whisper, barely sound:

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Ronan held me tighter, as if he couldn’t answer me. Torn between duty and honor.

His arms were solid around me, anchoring me to something solid that wasn’t spinning. His warmth cut through the icy tremors wracking my body.

I hated how much I needed it. Resented how the steadiness of his hold made the cracks in me feel less jagged.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice softer now, close enough that his breath stirred the hair at my temple. “You’re safe.”

“No,” I choked, the word tearing out raw. “I’m not.”

His grip tightened a fraction, protective but not restraining. “Then I’ll stay until you are.”

The promise was quiet, simple, and it broke something in me.

I curled closer without meaning to, fists twisting in the fabric of his tunic like a child clutching at their lifeline.

Ronan’s hand found the back of my head, palm broad and warm, holding me there with a steadiness I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for.

“I can’t—” My voice cracked, confessing what I hadn’t said aloud, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You won’t have to,” Ronan said, low and certain. “You’re not alone.”

I wanted to believe him. Even if I shouldn’t.