Why should the one to walk away empty-handed… be me?
Still, I knew Draven. He couldn’t distinguish love from guilt—he was addicted to repaying kindness.
Thankfully, Calder had promised to handle the rituals and parchments. All I needed was Draven’s alpha mark.
That night, I returned home with a basket of ingredients to brew moon-herb broth for my father.
The moment the broth finished simmering, I heard footsteps.
Draven entered—carrying Myrielle in his arms.
Her ankle was wrapped in glowing lunar gauze. She leaned into him, pale and delicate, as though the slightest breeze could shatter her.
“Lunessa, you’re home?” Draven frowned, worry flashing through his eyes. “You’re still not fully healed. You should be resting in the healer-sanctum. Let the house maid handle the cooking.”
I met his gaze evenly. “You sent all the maids to Myrielle’s manor to make her moon-desserts. Remember?”
It had been an offhand remark—Myrielle claiming she preferred my maid’s food over hers. The next day, Draven sent every maid we had to her estate, leaving me feverish, cooking alone.
He froze, realization flickering in his eyes. His expression tightened before he smoothly shifted the subject.