Chapter2

I thought, at least my fiancé Damian would stand by my side.

I was wrong.

Damian stood up, raising his horn cup, his silver-gray fur cloak making his figure appear tall and straight.

"To Darkmoon Tribe." His voice cut through the murmurs. "May the Blood Moon forever bless our alliance."

The tribespeople raised their cups in response. Damian's gaze swept over, pausing briefly on my face before quickly moving away.

I gripped my wooden cup, knuckles turning white. This was my last public feast before going to Silverfang Tribe. I thought he would say something. A private farewell, or at least a word of care.

He turned to my father Michael, and the low table where the elders sat fell silent.

"Honored Alpha," Damian began, his tone formal, "while all the elders are present, I must raise a matter concerning our two tribes' future."

Father set down his wine cup. "Speak."

"About my betrothal to Aria." Damian's voice was clear, each word striking the stone walls. "She is about to become a hostage at Silverfang Tribe. The risks... are immeasurable. She may be injured, she may be marked, she may not even return intact."

The hall fell so silent you could hear the torches crackling.

"So?" Father's voice deepened.

"Graymane Tribe cannot stake the position of future Alpha's mate on an... asset of uncertain value."

When Damian spoke that word, he didn't look at me.

"I request that we temporarily suspend the betrothal. Once Aria returns, once she proves she still retains sufficient... integrity, we can reassess whether this alliance still holds equivalent value."

Asset. Assessment. Value.

I stared at the mead swaying in my cup, watching my reflection shatter into golden fragments. My ears buzzed.

The elders exchanged whispers. Some nodded, some frowned. Mother turned her face away across the table. Emily sat beside her, taking small bites of berry cake.

"You want to break the engagement?" Father's voice carried anger.

"It's a prudent adjustment." Damian corrected. "For the benefit of both tribes. If Aria can return safely and unharmed by irreversible damage, the betrothal can naturally be restored. This is the responsible approach for both parties."

He looked at me, finally. His gaze calm, like assessing a horse's teeth.

I wanted to stand up. Wanted to ask him, what about those words you said in my tent last night? You said you'd wait for me, you said the marriage alliance wouldn't change. Were those just drunken nonsense?

But I didn't move. My legs felt rooted to the stone bench.

Just then, Emily let out a faint whimper. The wooden cup slipped from her hand, berries rolling across the floor. She pressed her forehead, her body swaying.

"Emily?" Mother cried out.

Emily's eyes closed and her entire body slid softly from the bench.

"She's fainted!" Mother screamed.

Damian moved. He practically rushed over from the other end of the long table, his cloak flying, shoving aside two attendants who tried to help. "Move! Don't touch her!"

He knelt beside Emily, cradling her head with painfully gentle movements. "Emily? Can you hear me?"

Emily's lashes fluttered, slowly opening her eyes, her gaze unfocused. "Damian... brother? I'm so dizzy..."

"You haven't recovered from the blood loss, you shouldn't have attended such a noisy feast." Damian scolded, but his tone was tender. He glared at the surrounding tribespeople. "What are you all standing around for? Get water! Get blankets! Can't you see she's shivering from cold?"

Attendants scrambled away. The elders craned their necks to look. Father also stood and walked over.

Damian wrapped Emily in a blanket, carefully feeding her water from a skin.

He'd completely forgotten the previous topic, forgotten about me still sitting there.

Every gaze in the hall focused on them. Worried, sympathetic, ambiguous.

Then several pairs of eyes turned to me. Appraising. Comparing. Assessing.

I sat there, wearing the silver-embroidered leather skirt I'd prepared for the feast, my hair neatly combed. But the scar on my forehead made me feel like defective merchandise put on display then rejected.

They watched Damian tenderly care for the fainted Emily, then glanced at me sitting alone, their eyes full of unspoken conclusions.

Damian helped Emily to her feet, his arm around her shoulders. "I'll take her back to her tent to rest."

Father nodded. "Go, take good care of her."

They turned to leave. Damian's arm encircled Emily, Emily leaned on his shoulder, her steps unsteady. As they passed by me, Emily's lashes fluttered rapidly, the corner of her mouth lifting in an almost invisible arc.

Damian didn't look at me. Not even once.

I raised my wooden cup and drained the mead. The liquid burned down my throat, unable to suppress the ice in my chest.

The elders resumed their conversations, Father returned to his seat, quietly discussing something with the chief elder beside him. Mother followed out to look after Emily.

The feast continued. Music started again, people began dancing.

I set down my cup and stood.

I crossed the hall, heading for the side door.

Laughter and music gradually blurred behind me.

Stepping out of the stone corridor, the night wind rushed in. I took a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs.

The scene just now replayed in my mind: Damian publicly objectifying me as an asset to be assessed, then unhesitatingly abandoning me when Emily fainted, in front of the entire tribe.

The betrothal? It still existed in name. But it was as good as dead.

So this was what abandonment felt like.

I looked up at the sky. Five days from now, in the place I was going, would the moon look the same?

It didn't matter anymore.