Chapter 31

Elara

The morning came far too quickly. It felt like I’d shut my eyes for no more than five minutes, and then suddenly bright sunlight was streaming in through the curtains as they were unceremoniously ripped open.

Of course, none other than Grace was the culprit for the brutal awakening.

“Out of bed, Elara,” she snapped, striding over to the bed and yanking the covers off of me. I shivered in the cold morning air. “You have much to learn today if you are going to avoid embarrassing this family any further.”

“Good morning to you, too,” I muttered under my breath, but she was already rifling through my closet and didn’t hear me. I yawned, rubbing my eyes as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

I didn’t have the energy to fight her this morning, not when I knew exactly how this day would go. Grace wasn’t interested in my input—she only wanted a compliant punching bag.

“Hurry up,” Grace called over her shoulder. “We are starting with etiquette training this morning. If you are going to be a proper Luna, you will at least pretend to act like one.”

I sighed but put on the stuffy outfit she picked out for me—a scratchy wool cardigan and a skirt that fell to my knees, complete with a pair of low pumps that I only wore for funerals and job interviews—and allowed her to yank my hair back into another too-tight bun.

Once she was seemingly satisfied with my appearance, although I looked like I was about to bust out of the uncomfortable outfit, I followed her without complaint. Hopefully, if I just got through this, she would leave soon.

Hopefully.

As we made our way into the drawing room, I stifled a yawn and looked around. A stack of books was already arranged neatly on the table, along with a set of teacups and a few other seemingly random items that would no doubt have something to do with my etiquette training.

Grace turned to me with a smug expression on her face. “We are going to start by fixing that horrendous posture of yours. Sit down.”

I obeyed, perching on the edge of one of the chairs by the table. Grace’s gaze swept over me critically.

“Straighten your back,” she barked. “No, straighter. Chin up. Shoulders back.”

I adjusted my posture under her hawk-like scrutiny, feeling like a doll being arranged.

Once my spine was almost painfully ramrod straight, she picked up a book from the stack and dropped it onto my head without warning, making me wince. “There. Now, you will walk the length of the room without letting it fall.”

I wanted to roll my eyes but managed to hold my tongue. Instead, I stood carefully, balancing the book as I took cautious steps across the carpet. My back ached and my ankles wobbled. I’d only seen this sort of etiquette training in movies, and it was a lot harder than it looked.

“Pathetic,” Grace sneered as the book slipped from my head and fell about halfway across the room. “How you managed to land my son, I’ll never know.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay silent as I picked up the book and placed it back on my head. After some trial and error, I reached the other side of the room and turned back. Grace, of course, wasn’t satisfied.

“Again,” she ordered.

And again, and again, and again.

Hours passed—or at least it felt like hours—as Grace cycled through her list of humiliations. Walking with books, pouring tea without spilling a drop, then balancing the saucer and full teacup on one palm while practicing my curtsying.

“Pitiful!” she barked as some of the hot tea sloshed out of the cup and onto my hand, burning my fingers and making me suck in a sharp breath. But I kept my mouth shut, no matter how much I wanted to throw down the entire cup and tell her to go to hell with her ‘training’.

By the time she finally allowed me to sit, my legs were trembling, and my patience was wearing thin.

But then, as I sat down, she froze, her eyes narrowing. “What is that?”

I followed her gaze to my hand. My heart sank as I realized what she was staring at: the flower stem ring from yesterday, now wilted and brown, still looped around my finger. I had completely forgotten to take it off last night.

Grace’s expression darkened as she realized what it was. “You’re still wearing that?” She reached for my hand, yanking it roughly toward her. “This… this pathetic thing?”

“It’s just a ring that the girls made,” I said quietly, trying to pull my hand back. But she held firm, her nails digging into my skin.

“Just a ring,” she repeated mockingly. “You think this means something? That Alaric would ever care enough to buy you a real ring?”

My chest tightened at her words, but I kept my expression neutral. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Look at it!” she snapped, shaking my hand so the ring twisted loosely around my finger. “It’s brown, wilted, worthless. Just like you. This is the only ring you’ll ever have, do you hear me? And certainly nothing compared to the ring Alaric gave his late wife.”

She released my hand long enough to tear the ring off my finger. I gasped, but she didn’t care. With a cruel sneer, she tossed it to the floor and stomped on it with her boot, grinding the stems into the carpet.

“Stop it!” I said, shooting to my feet. I reached for the crushed remains, but Grace shoved me back. I stumbled, falling to my knees.

She loomed over me, her face twisted with anger. “You manipulative little witch,” she spat. “Trying to play the victim, clinging to these pathetic gestures as if they’ll change anything. You’ll never be more than low-class scum.”

My throat burned, but I forced myself to stay silent. Alaric’s words echoed in my mind: “Don’t fight with my mother.” But it was getting harder by the moment.

Grace’s voice grew colder as she took a step closer. “Alaric will never love you. Never. You think he would waste his time on a worthless Omega like you?”

Her words cut deep, but I refused to let her see how much they hurt. I kept my gaze down, my fingers curling into fists against the carpet.

“Get up,” she barked. When I didn’t move fast enough, she shoved me again, harder this time. As an Omega, my strength was nothing compared to hers, even with her advanced age. My shoulder hit the edge of the table, hard, and I winced, clutching my arm as I hit the ground.

“You’re pathetic,” Grace hissed. “A stain on this family.”

Suddenly, I heard the scuff of her boot against the carpet, and I realized too late that she was pulling her leg back to kick me. My instincts took over, and I raised my arms to shield my face, squeezing my eyes shut.

But the impact never came.

Instead, I felt a sudden warmth envelop me, a solid presence blocking out Grace’s looming figure. Warm arms wrapped around me, the familiar scent of pine and forest air filling my senses.

I opened my eyes slowly, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up.

Alaric crouched between me and his mother, his arms encircling me. His eyes were like shards of ice as they stared down at me, and yet there was a tiny fire flickering behind each one, as if he were trying to hold back his fury.

His jaw clenched as he pulled me closer.

“That’s enough, Mother.”