Chapter 8: Starving for Honey

Liora's POV

We turned the corner, and the corridor opened up all at once.

I stopped walking without meaning to.

The dining hall was huge. A long table ran down the center, draped in deep forest-green velvet, three thick candles burning straight and still at its heart.

Stone fireplaces flanked the walls on either side, the coals burning hot enough that the warmth hit me the moment I stepped through the doorway.

But that wasn't what made me stop.

It was the werewolves.

A group of werewolves stood waiting along the walls, dressed in matching dark gray — every one of them with a crescent mark on their foreheads.

Different shades, different depths, but the same shape. The same as Severin's.

The moment they saw him, every single one of them bowed their heads and murmured something low. I couldn't understand a word of it.

Severin didn't respond. He just gave a slight nod and kept walking.

I drifted closer to him without thinking about it.

It wasn't on purpose. It was just — when they filed past on both sides, my feet decided on their own, and I ended up close enough.

Severin slowed half a step.

"They're not your family."

He glanced down at me. "Smart little wolf."

I felt warm all the way through. I smiled. "You don't talk to them. They don't look at you. Family doesn't act like that."

"They're the castle staff," he said. "If you need anything, ask them."

I thought about it for a second, then moved just a fraction closer. "I'll just ask you."

He didn't answer.

I didn't push it, because the smell coming from the table had already taken my full attention.

An old man was making his way toward us from near the head of the table, smiling, and saying something I couldn't follow.

My feet stopped on their own.

I didn't back away. I just watched him.

Severin's voice dropped low beside my ear. "That's Oden. He runs the castle. He can speak something you'll understand — Silver Moon dialect."

I blinked and looked at the old man.

He tried again. A greeting, I could tell — but his pronunciation was completely off, the tone sliding into the wrong register.

I stared at him for one full second.

Then I burst out laughing.

"That tone is wrong," I told him, still trying to hold it together. "The way you said it just now — it sounds like you're cursing at me."

Oden's ears went red. Severin stood to one side, and when I glanced at him, his mouth was pressed into a line that was almost — almost — a smile.

I straightened up, feeling considerably better, and said, "Hi, Oden. I'm Little Wolf. Severin brought me back."

Something in the old man's expression softened. He dipped his head. "Yes, my lady."

I nodded, satisfied.

Once we sat down, I actually got a proper look at what was on the table.

Charcoal-roasted venison. Vegetables I didn't recognize, salted and herbed. A bowl of thick cream-and-mushroom broth, steam curling off the rim in slow drifts.

My hand was already reaching for the spoon.

"Slow down."

Severin looked at me. I already had a mouthful of broth. I made a vague sound of acknowledgment and kept eating.

The soup was good. The venison was seared dark on the outside and tender all the way through.

I didn't look up for a long time — just worked through it steadily, making small sounds I couldn't quite help.

I was halfway through the venison when it hit me.

I looked up. "Severin," I said, completely seriously. "You're really good to me."

He had a cup in his hand. He paused.

I could tell he was listening, so I kept going.

"You saved me. You gave me clothes. You warmed up my feet. And now all of this." I gestured at the table. "I think I love you even more."

He set the cup down and looked away. "Eat your food."

I smiled and went back to the venison.

Oden leaned over to refill Severin's cup, and I craned forward to look at the liquid pouring in — pale gold, catching the candlelight.

"Oden, what is that? Severin's been drinking it this whole time."

"Moon Mead." Oden smiled. "A specialty of the Crescent Moon pack."

My eyes lit up. "Can I have some?"

Oden glanced at Severin instinctively. I looked at Severin too, waiting.

He gave me a flat look. "It's strong. One sip."

I nodded hard. Oden poured a small measure into a cup for me.

I picked it up and smelled it first — sweet, like honey, with something warm underneath that I couldn't quite name.

Then I tipped it back and drank the whole thing.

Severin put down his knife and fork.

Oden took a quiet half-step toward the fireplace.

I set the empty cup down and licked my lips. "That's really sweet."

"Disobedient little wolf." Severin's voice was flat.

"I had one sip," I said, perfectly reasonable. "One big sip."

I held the cup out toward Oden with my most persuasive expression. He was a kind old wolf. He'd understand.

Oden shook his head gently and looked at Severin.

I looked at Severin too.

He was already up, walking around the end of the table toward me.

He reached down and lifted the cup out of my hand, standing over me with that unhurried, immovable calm.

"The aftertaste hits hard. That mouthful is already enough. Any more and you'll be drunk."

I looked up at him. "Then just a little more."

"No."

"Half a sip."

"No."

I frowned. "Fine. I don't like you anymore." My instincts told me that line always worked.

His expression didn't change. "Alright."

I stared at him.

I tried a different approach. I let my voice go soft and slow. "Severin… just one tiny sip…"

"Pouting won't help."

I crossed my arms and turned my head away.

Severin went back to his seat and said something low to Oden.

I didn't pay attention.

Then Oden set a plate down in front of me.

My eyes moved on their own.

A pastry, golden all over, honey drizzled thick across the top and running slowly down the edges.

Was that — was that a honey cake?

I was still annoyed. But my back straightened up without my permission.

Severin slid it closer to me. "Dessert or the wine. Pick one."

I swallowed. I picked up the fork. "Honey cake."

Severin lifted his cup and drank, unhurried, making no move to stop me.

I cut off a piece and put it in my mouth.

Chewed twice.

A clean, mild sweetness that spread across my tongue, something fruity underneath.

I stopped. I looked down at the plate more carefully.

That was not a honey cake. That was an apple tart with honey poured over the top.

I looked up at Severin.

He was still drinking, eyes on the rim of his cup, expression completely unbothered.

"This isn't a honey cake," I said. "You tricked me."

"I never said it was."

I stabbed my fork into the tart.

I should have taken the wine.

I cut off another piece and shoved it in my mouth, furious.

It was actually very good.

I was not going to say that.

I looked up and found Severin watching me.

I was still annoyed, so I glared back.

He didn't look away.

I finished the tart and set my fork down.

My face felt warm.

I pressed the back of my hand to my cheek. Definitely warm.

The fire was still going strong, the whole room full of heat. Something slow and heavy was settling over me, my eyelids dragging a little, my body going soft.

"Drunk?"

"No way." I shook my head stubbornly.

"Stand up and walk around."

I didn't move. I folded my arms on the table and dropped my face into them. "Don't want to."

A moment of quiet. Then footsteps, stopping beside me.

"I'll have someone take you back to your room."

I didn't lift my head.

After a moment, I slowly raised one arm.

I tilted my head back and looked up at him.

The candlelight came in from the side, catching the silver crescent mark between his brows, making it glow faintly against his skin.

My eyes felt a little wet from the wine. I didn't bother wiping them.

"Carry me."

He didn't move right away.

I said it again, quieter this time.

"I don't want to walk. Carry me back."