The morning began with whispers. They trailed Liora through the stone halls like a second shadow, curling around her as she passed. At first she thought them the same murmurs that had haunted her for months—suspicions, doubts, reminders that Vanya still breathed. But these whispers were different. They carried a note of awe, as though the stones themselves had heard a secret before she had.
By midday, she was summoned to the healer's wing. A different healer, not Nyssa. The priestess laid cool fingers on her wrist, eyes shining with reverent certainty. "The Moon has blessed you, my Lady. You carry the Alpha's child."
The words clanged in her head like a bell. For a heartbeat she could only stare, her mouth dry, her chest full of something sharp. Then relief surged up, dizzying, and her knees nearly gave way. A child. Gonzalo's child. Proof of her place carved in blood and bone.
The stronghold erupted in celebration. Drums echoed from the courtyard, the cooks slaughtered two goats for the feast, and wine spilled freely. Wolves raised their muzzles in howls that seemed to shake the sky itself. Liora walked among them, hands brushing hers, faces lifted with smiles, and for once she did not feel invisible. She was not shadow, not second, not substitute. She was the future, the Alpha's chosen, the mother of the heir.
She caught sight of Vanya standing at the far edge of the crowd, her face smooth as porcelain, her eyes unreadable. Guilt needled at Liora's joy. She had once known what it meant to be overlooked, and she could not savor her triumph if it meant stepping on another woman's throat.
That evening, when the torches flickered low and the feast had grown quieter, Liora sought Vanya in her chambers. She found her seated by the hearth, the pale glow painting her face in soft lines.
"Vanya," Liora began, her hands twisting together. "I came to speak with you."
The other woman lifted her gaze, cool and guarded.
"I know the pack calls me Luna now," Liora continued, forcing the words through the tightness in her chest. "But that does not have to erase you. You are Luna too. Gonzalo…he has room in his heart for both of us. The kingdom does as well. We could share this. We could be stronger together, if we stood as sisters instead of rivals."
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Then Vanya rose slowly, her gown whispering against the stone. She did not speak. She only turned and walked out, the door closing behind her with a sound that seemed to echo in Liora's bones.
Liora stood alone, her words still hanging in the air like smoke.
The next day she sought Nyssa. She found her tending herbs in the healer's garden, her sleeves rolled, her hands stained with green. Nyssa did not turn when Liora approached, though her shoulders stiffened.
"I came to make peace," Liora said softly. "Whatever has passed between us…perhaps now, with this child, we can lay it down. I want you with me, not against me."
Nyssa straightened and brushed soil from her hands. For the first time in days she looked directly at Liora. Her gaze was neither warm nor cruel, only distant. "Congratulations," she said evenly. Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned back to her herbs. The dismissal was sharper than any slap.
Liora felt the sting but did not press further. With a small shrug that was half armor and half surrender, she turned away.
Her feet carried her to the palace garden, where rows of apple trees bent under the weight of late fruit. The air smelled of sweet earth and ripening fruit, bees humming softly in the blossoms. A girl moved among the trees, her braid slipping loose as she filled a basket. She could not have been much older than Liora herself, though her clothes marked her as a servant.
When she noticed Liora she froze, hastily bowing her head. "My Lady."
"Don't be afraid," Liora said, stepping closer. "What is your name?"
"Elira," the girl answered, voice low.
Liora reached for an apple from the basket, red skinned and fragrant. The girl dipped it into the basin of water she had carried, washing it with careful hands before offering it. Liora accepted with a smile and bit into the crisp flesh. Sweetness burst on her tongue, startling after the bitterness of the day.
"You look my age," Liora observed after a moment. "Why don't you sit with me?"
The girl's eyes widened. "I couldn't. I'm only a servant."
"I insist." Liora lowered herself to the grass beneath one of the laden trees, patting the space beside her. After a long hesitation, Elira obeyed, perching lightly as if ready to spring away at any moment.
But as minutes passed, the stiffness eased. They spoke of small things—the taste of apples in autumn, the tricks of coaxing bees from blossoms, the mischief of children who stole fruit when they thought no one watched. Liora found herself laughing, real laughter that shook loose the weight in her chest. Elira laughed too, eyes bright, and for a moment they were simply two young women in a garden, not Luna and servant.
The sun sank low, painting the apples gold. For the first time in many moons, Liora felt not like a rival or a usurper or even a mother to be, but like herself—still whole, still capable of friendship and joy. She bit into another apple and let the sweetness flood her mouth.
Perhaps, she thought, this was how healing began.