"She will live," the healer said at last, though there was no triumph in his voice—only grim resignation. "But the scars will remain. Deep ones. Flesh can mend, but not everything can be restored. Her left eye…" He hesitated, the flickering torchlight catching on the blood-stained edge of his sleeve. "It is gone. She will be blind in it—forever."
He turned away without waiting for a response, the scent of old herbs and dried wolfsbane trailing behind him as he disappeared into the corridor. The heavy door groaned closed, swallowing him into silence.
Corinne sat beside Hazel's still form, her heart beating far too loud in the quiet chamber. Hazel's skin was nearly white—translucent, like wax. A deathly stillness clung to her, broken only by the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Slowly, with trembling hands, Corinne pulled the black translucent veil down over her face . Not just over the ruined eye—but all of it. As was tradition. A veil not just for modesty but for protection. Against what, no one ever said aloud.
Cassius stood in the corner, silent, his figure half-swallowed by the shadows. His golden eyes were fixed on Hazel, burning with something wild and haunted.
"When do you think she'll wake?" he asked, voice hoarse—like something in him had cracked.
Corinne didn't answer at first. She reached out to touch Hazel's hand, and recoiled slightly—it was ice cold. Too cold. "I… I don't know," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Her temperature has dropped she is not burning again ,".
Back in Silvermoon, Roxanne sat alone in her dimly lit chamber, knees pulled to her chest, her gaze fixed on the swollen moon beyond the frost-kissed window. It bathed the stone floor in silver light—cold, indifferent.
"Moon Goddess…" she whispered bitterly, voice cracking. "Do I not deserve happiness, like any other soul beneath your sky? Must my fate always be soaked in abandonment and shame? Am I not worthy of even a shred of respect?" Her voice trembled, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You bless Fiona despite all she's done. But me? You look away. You always look away."
The door creaked open behind her, the sound slicing through her moment of solitude.
Mr. Canelo stepped into the room, his presence as suffocating as ever. "You speak to the Moon Goddess as if she owes you something," he said coolly. "But your suffering isn't divine punishment—it was my choice. Your fate was sealed the moment you took your first breath. You were born to serve Fiona. And that is all you will ever be. A slave."
Silence. Then—crack.
In one sudden, fluid movement, Roxanne stood, seized his arm, and slammed him to the ground with supernatural force. Bone snapped with a sickening crunch. Mr. Canelo howled in agony.
She didn't flinch.
A soft, chilling scream escaped her lips—not of fear, but power—and with it came a surge of something ancient. Her voice reverberated through his marrow, amplifying the agony tenfold. His screams echoed against the walls, helpless.
She leaned down, eyes glowing faintly with something no longer human.
"If you ever speak to me like that again," she said in a voice calm and cold as death, "I won't stop at your arm. My next target will be your throat."
She tightened her grip just for a moment, letting him feel the threat bloom like poison.
"And even if you heal, the pain will stay. I've made sure of that. It will haunt your bones long after your skin forgets. And if I ever decide to kill you—know this: your soul will carry the agony through every realm you pass. That is my promise."
She released him, letting him writhe in stunned pain. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her silhouette vanishing into the dark corridor.
Mr. Canelo could only lie there, breath shallow, staring after her in disbelief.
For the first time, he feared her.
And he should.
In Bloodmoon.
Vangelis rose silently from the bed, his movements slow, deliberate. He cast a final glance at the motionless figure beneath the silken sheets. Fiona lay curled on her side, the once-radiant queen now gaunt and withered. Her cheekbones jutted like ivory blades, and her eyes—though closed—seemed sunken into hollow shadows. The price of her return was written across her body.
He draped the blanket over her carefully, as if covering a corpse, and turned away.
Elsewhere in the hall, Mrs. Valeria knelt beside Roxanne, her tone desperate yet trembling. "My dear… please. Don't go. You belong here now. You're one of us. You're my family."
Roxanne flinched from her touch, snatching her hand away as if burned. A long, oppressive silence followed. Then, with quiet fury, she spoke—her voice cracked but strong.
"Family?" Her laugh was hollow. "Which of you dares to call yourselves my family? The kind that vanishes when I'm humiliated? The kind that makes promises only to break them when it's convenient?"
Her voice grew louder, sharper. "You promised me, Valeria. Even if Queen Fiona returned, you said the marriage would stand. You told me we'd divorce in secret.But where were you when I stood at that altar, draped in disgrace, while whispers turned to laughter and no one came to take my hand? Not even to help me down?"
Her hands trembled with rage. "Not a call. Not a word. Just silence."
She looked to the heavens, eyes glinting with unshed tears. "If this is what the Moon Goddess calls family… then may I be cursed to wander all my lives alone. I would rather be homeless in every existence than chained to liars dressed as kin."
"Roxanne…" Lord Vangelis's voice echoed down the stairs as he descended into the hall, his tone heavy with sorrow.
"Please," Mrs. Valeria whispered to him, frantic. "Talk to her. She trusts you. I will offer her a title—let her marry your cousin. She'll be second in command of Bloodmoon. Just… don't let her leave."
But to everyone's shock, Vangelis did not speak. He walked forward and fell to his knees before Roxanne—before the servants, nobles, and wolves alike. Gasps filled the chamber. The king… kneeling to a girl born of no name.
His voice was raw, stripped of pride. "Roxanne… I'm sorry. For everything. These past months, you cared for me—not out of duty, but from the heart. I saw it. You took my burdens, lifted them without asking, and stood by me even when I was at my weakest. You were… my friend."
He swallowed hard. "And if that's all I can be to you now—then let me be that. Let me give you the place you deserve. Let me call you family… truly."
Roxanne's eyes shimmered, her lips trembling with the weight of unshed emotion. For a moment, the hall held its breath.
"If it were the past…" she whispered, voice cracking. "Maybe I would've believed you. But now? You are the one I hate most. You—and the family you kneel for."
She pulled her hands from his, slow and deliberate. "You left me to rot at that altar. And in that moment, I stopped being your friend you became a betrayer . I became your shame. So don't look to me for forgiveness. Don't speak to me of loyalty."
Her voice turned icy, final. "Your queen has returned. Go serve her. Go find her. You don't need a friend like me anymore."
She turned, her cloak sweeping the ground as she walked toward the gate, her bags slung over her shoulder like chains finally unshackled.
Vangelis remained on his knees, his heart pounding in his ears as the guards quietly helped him to his feet. He didn't resist.
He simply stared at the gate as it closed behind her.