Chapter 5 Before the Door

After that night, the Vale house stayed quiet for several days.

Quiet did not mean they had spared me.

It only meant they were waiting for the Council to turn the lie into fact.

I did not sleep well either.

Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Adrian standing in that blood moon chamber, his fingers paused in front of my veil.

He could have touched me.

Instead, he stopped again and again.

What stayed with me most clearly was not the feeling of his hand on my mouth.

It was his voice.

“Say stop, and I stop.”

No one in the Vale house had ever said that.

Here, one command only led to the next. Stopping was never allowed to be an answer.

But that night, Adrian had placed the word in my hands.

Stop.

For the first time, I understood that a boundary could exist even when someone else had already given me away.

Several days later, the Council’s letter finally arrived.

Black sealing wax pressed down one corner, stamped with Blackmoor’s wolf crest and the Council’s silver ring. Mother sat at the head of the breakfast table. When she unfolded the letter, Celeste was slowly stirring honey into her tea.

I stood beside her, pouring.

Mother finished reading. Her face did not change.

“The Council has recorded the rite as effective.”

Celeste’s hand stopped for a breath.

So briefly that I might have missed it if I had not been standing behind her.

Then she stirred her tea again.

“Good.”

She said it lightly, as if the Council had only put her rightful place in writing.

Mother continued reading.

“The Alpha remains unstable after the blood moon backlash. His future Luna is expected to continue the soothing procedure until full containment is confirmed.”

The spoon touched the side of the cup with a soft click.

Celeste did not speak at once.

My grip closed around the teapot handle.

Continue.

The word was a thin thread. One pull, and I was standing before Blackmoor’s door again.

Mother lifted her eyes to Celeste.

“The Council expects you to go again.”

Celeste set down her spoon and smiled at last.

The smile was faint, almost without warmth.

“Then we should not disappoint the Council.”

She did not look at me.

But the silence in the room had already settled on my shoulders.

Mother folded the letter.

“Mira.”

My name in her mouth did not sound like a name.

It sounded like something taken out to be used again.

I answered quietly.

“Yes, Mother.”

Celeste lifted her teacup and took a slow sip.

“Do not make that face.”

Only then did I realize I had raised my eyes.

She looked at me over the rim of her cup, beautiful enough to seem harmless.

“You survived once.”

That sentence again.

As if surviving were reason enough for them to use me a second time.

Mother placed the letter on the table.

“Tonight will be easier. You know the room now.”

I thought of that room.

Silver chains. Blood. Bitter herbs.

And Adrian’s hand, stopped in front of my veil.

“Do not let them put Luna Bloom in your blood again.”

My throat went dry.

If only I could stop them.

But Mother had already turned to order the maids to prepare the dress.

The silver-white Luna gown was brought out again and laid across the bed. This one was cleaner, smoother, its shoulder line still not made for me. The maids kept their eyes down as they undressed me, as if they were simply dressing Celeste in a more convenient body.

Celeste sat before the mirror, watching me be dressed back into her name.

Today she wore a pale morning gown. The silver wolf clasp was gone from her throat. Her jewelry box was shut tight, as if everything from that night had been locked into its lowest drawer.

But I remembered it.

I remembered the shape of that wolf.

I remembered the thin cold pain that had slipped into my skin when the silver touched my fingertips.

The maids sprayed white rose perfume over me again.

Neck. Wrists. The inside of the skirt. The edge of the veil.

Mother looked at the perfume bottle.

“Enough to cover her.”

Celeste’s smile thinned.

“Enough to remind him.”

She meant Adrian.

But the words felt like a hand closing over my throat.

Mother came toward me with the small pale-gold cup in her hand.

Luna Bloom.

It was lighter than last time, as if watered down. Maybe the first time had proven enough, and they no longer thought they needed so much.

But I knew that even weakened, it was still a leash.

Mother held the cup out.

“Drink.”

My fingers hung at my sides. I did not move at once.

Celeste watched me through the mirror.

“Mira.”

Only my name.

That was enough.

I took the cup.

The porcelain was cool. The pale-gold liquid clung to the rim, its floral sweetness turning my stomach.

Adrian’s voice returned to my ear.

Do not let them put Luna Bloom in your blood again.

I could not stop them.

But perhaps I could make it less.

I brought the cup to my lips.

I did not close my eyes.

I did not look up.

When the first mouthful touched my tongue, I made my throat move.

Mother was watching my throat.

Celeste was watching me in the mirror.

They wanted to see me swallow.

So I let them see it.

Only a little slid down. The heat had barely touched my throat before I held the rest beneath my tongue. It burned enough to make me want to cough.

I held it in.

A maid lowered the veil over my face.

As the thin fabric fell, I lifted a hand as if to steady it, pressing my fingers to the corner of my mouth. The handkerchief hidden in my palm had been there all morning, damp from my grip.

I bent my head, pretending to adjust the veil.

Then I spat the rest of the Luna Bloom into the cloth.

No sound.

Only the flower scent thickened for a moment.

I tucked the handkerchief back into my sleeve. My heartbeat was so fast it seemed ready to break against the veil.

Mother did not notice.

Celeste only said impatiently,

“Do not wrinkle the veil.”

“Yes.”

Mother picked up the ointment next and smeared it along the inside of my wrist.

Adrian had wiped that place clean once before. The moment that sticky feeling touched my skin again, my body wanted to pull away.

Mother held me still.

“Stay still.”

I did not move.

The ointment carried the same sweetness as Luna Bloom, warming slowly against my skin. A maid turned away to fetch the cloak, and Celeste called Mother over to inspect the hem.

I saw the cup of rinsing water on the dressing table.

The chance was brief.

I picked it up and pretended to take a sip. Then, as I set it back down, I pressed the wrist covered in ointment against the rim and let the clean water scrape over that small patch of skin.

Cold struck my wrist first.

A breath later, fear followed.

The ointment did not wash away completely.

But the sticky sweetness thinned.

I returned the cup to its place and let my sleeve fall over my wrist.

The maid turned back.

Mother had not seen.

I kept my eyes lowered and adjusted my sleeve.

They had not noticed.

That was enough.

Celeste rose and came to stand behind me.

In the mirror, there were two Vale daughters.

She was clean, whole, the pearls in her hair softly gleaming.

I wore her silver-white Luna gown, her veil, and the faint trace of ointment still shining at my wrist.

She looked at my reflection and reached out to press the edge of my veil into place.

“Remember,” she said softly, “do not let him find out who you are.”

I looked at the face blurred beneath the thin veil.

Too late.

He already knew.

But I only answered quietly,

“Yes.”

This time, I did not tell her that her warning was not the one I remembered.

I remembered Adrian’s.

The carriage left after dusk.

Vale’s passage lamp hung at the front, casting silver-white light over the black stone road. Inside the carriage, there was only silence and the sound of wheels over gravel.

Through the veil, I could smell white roses. I could also smell the faint sweetness of Luna Bloom hidden in my sleeve.

I should have felt only fear.

But as my breath warmed behind the veil, I knew that was not true.

I wanted to see him again.

I wanted to know whether he was better.

And I wanted to know whether that night had been real.

Whether outside the Vale family, someone still remembered that my name was Mira. 

By the time the carriage stopped, my palms were damp.

The old servant was still waiting outside that door.

When he saw me, he lowered his head with practiced courtesy.

“Lady Celeste.”

My fingers tightened inside my sleeve.

The handkerchief was still hidden there, damp and sweet, like a tiny, filthy secret that truly belonged to me.

I did not correct him.

I looked up at the dark wooden door.

Blackmoor’s black wolf crest was carved into it, head lowered, fangs half-bared.

There was no sound from the other side.

I found myself hoping Adrian was better.

Hoping he would not have to spend tonight using every part of himself not to hurt me.

And hoping he still remembered who I was.

The old servant raised his hand and knocked.

Once.

Twice.

The door stayed closed.