The banquet was not held in the great hall that night but beneath the open sky, where lanterns swayed gently from tree branches and the river shimmered under the silver light of the moon. A long row of tables, dressed in white linen, stretched along the grassy bank. Music floated from a corner where minstrels played softly, and the mingled scents of roasted venison, honeyed bread, and spiced wine perfumed the evening air.
Abigail moved quietly among the nobles, her tray balanced carefully in her hands. Every step was measured, every movement cautious. She wore the plain servant's dress that marked her apart from the glittering gowns around her, yet the moonlight made her pale skin glow like ivory. She kept her eyes lowered, determined to endure the night without incident.
Selene's laughter rang above the music, bright and sharp as shattered glass. She sat near the high table, her gown a cascade of emerald silk that shimmered like the river itself. She watched Abigail with a smile that promised mischief.
"Abigail," Selene called sweetly, her voice laced with venom. "More wine."
Abigail obeyed, approaching with quiet composure. But as she bent to pour, Selene's hand "slipped," striking the edge of the tray. The goblets clattered, and crimson wine spilled not on Selene's gown this time, but down Abigail's front, staining the coarse fabric and dripping onto the grass.
Gasps rose from the gathered nobles. Laughter followed, quick and cruel. Abigail froze, her breath caught in her throat, as Selene leaned back with feigned innocence.
"Oh dear," Selene murmured, tilting her head. "So clumsy. You really should be more careful."
Abigail felt her cheeks burn. She turned swiftly, clutching the tray to her chest, and fled the ring of laughter. Her feet carried her to the river's edge, where the moonlight danced on ripples. Kneeling, she plunged her stained gown into the cool water, scrubbing furiously, as though she could wash away not just the wine but the shame that clung to her.
From the shadows beyond the trees, a pair of eyes watched. Steve stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides, the beast within him straining against the chains of control. The sight of Abigail on her knees, drenched and trembling beneath the laughter of his people, cut deeper than any blade.
But he did not move. Not yet. To act would be to expose everything. So he remained in the shadows, the river whispering between them, while Abigail fought to steady her breath and silence her sobs.
And the moon bore witness.