My Alpha Lost Me the Day Our Daughter Died

The gates of Silverthorn had new iron on them.

I noticed that first. Twelve years ago they were oak, carved with my moon and Damon's wolf, side by side. Now the moon had been chiseled off.

Two spears crossed in front of me.

"Halt."

The guard was young. Too young to have ever bowed to me. His gaze dropped to the small body in my arms, and his lip curled.

"Is that the girl?"

I said nothing. Snow gathered on Elowen's hair. I brushed it away with my thumb.

"Elowen was cast out of the family by the Alpha himself," he snapped. "Who gave you leave to bring her back here?"

I lifted my eyes to him.

He stopped talking. For one second his mouth hung open, and I watched him see it. The silver. The same silver he must have seen in a little girl's face a hundred times while he walked past her.

Then he laughed.

"Oh, I get it. You're some relative of the dead brat, aren't you? Some poor cousin from the border come to beg." He leaned closer. "Let me save you the trouble. There's only one princess in Silverthorn now. Lady Vivienne's daughter. Nobody here wants this one back."

Behind him, the others snickered.

"Look at her clothes," one said. "Tomb rags."

"Maybe she's come to bury the kid in the courtyard."

"Let's see if it's really her." A third guard, red-bearded and grinning, reached out. His fingers were an inch from Elowen's cheek. "Bet she still smells like the cells—"

I caught his wrist.

I didn't squeeze. I turned.

The crack was loud in the cold air. He dropped to his knees, howling, his hand flopping wrong at the end of his arm.

"Who gave you permission," I asked quietly, "to touch my daughter?"

Nobody laughed now.

The gate opened wider. A big man in a captain's cloak shoved through, face purple with rage.

"What the hell is this? Grab her! Drag her to the cells, let her rot down there like the—"

He never finished.

I shifted Elowen to my left arm. My right hand closed around his throat and drove him back into the castle wall. Stone cracked behind his skull.

My nails were already changing. Silver. Long. Curved like crescent moons.

"Like the what?" I asked.

His boots kicked against the wall. "Let... me..."

"You were going to say *like the girl.* Weren't you?"

His eyes bulged. He didn't deny it.

I pushed my claws into his chest.

It was easier than it should have been. His blood hit the snow in hot, steaming spatters. He made a small wet sound, almost surprised, and then he slid down the wall and stopped moving.

The guards stared at me. One dropped his spear.

"What are you?" the young one whispered.

I wiped my hand on the captain's cloak.

"Late," I said. "I'm late."

I walked through the gate. Nobody tried to stop me again.

---

The east hall still smelled of cedar. My feet remembered the way before I did. Third door. The one I'd painted with stars when Elowen was born.

The stars were gone. A gold plaque hung there now.

*Princess Lyra.*

I read it twice. Then I pushed the door open.

Silk gowns filled the room. Pink, cream, pale blue, hanging in rows like little ghosts. Jewel boxes lay open on the dresser. Porcelain dolls watched me from every shelf, glass eyes shining.

Elowen's bed was gone. So were her drawings.

Something glinted near the hearth, kicked half under a rug.

I knelt.

A moonstone pendant. The one I put around her neck on her fifth birthday. *So I'm always with you, baby.* The chain was snapped in two places, the stone scratched and dull.

"My... my Luna?"

An old woman stood in the doorway with a stack of folded linens. Gray braid. Shaking hands.

Marta. She used to sing Elowen to sleep when I was at council.

The linens hit the floor. So did she.

"Oh, Goddess. Oh, Goddess, it's you." She crawled toward me, then saw what I held, and pressed both fists to her mouth. "My little lady. My little lady."

"Tell me what they did to her."

"My Luna—"

"Every year, Marta. Start at the beginning."

She sobbed into her hands. Then she started talking, and she didn't stop.

"The second year after you went under, the Alpha moved Vivienne into your chambers. Into your bed. The third year, Lyra was born. They took all of Elowen's dresses. Her jewelry. Gave everything to the baby. Said she wouldn't need them."

My grip tightened on the pendant.

"The fifth year, they moved her to the servants' wing. A room with no window. She asked me why. Every night she asked me what she did wrong."

"Go on."

"The seventh year..." Marta's voice broke. "Young Master Kieran pulled the heir's crest off her collar. In front of the whole court. He said she shamed the family. She just stood there. She didn't cry until he walked away."

My son. My son did that.

"And the tenth year?"

"Lady Vivienne wanted Lyra to be the only heir. So she arranged a Goddess betrothal for Elowen. A *betrothal*, my Luna, at that age. The elders went along with it. The Alpha signed it." She grabbed my sleeve. "I begged him. I begged."

I waited for the tears to come.

They didn't. Something in me had gone smooth and still, like a lake freezing over.

"She wrote to you," Marta whispered. "Every year. Every birthday. She'd give me the letters and say *put them by Mama's tomb.* But the Alpha found out. He said you would never wake up. He made us burn every one."

"All of them?"

She hesitated.

"Marta."

She reached into her apron and pulled out a scrap of paper. Brown at the edges. Half of it eaten by fire.

"I pulled this one out of the grate. I'm sorry. It's all I saved."

I unfolded it.

The letters were crooked, pressed hard into the paper like she'd gripped the pen with her whole fist.

*Mommy, I was good today. Can you please come home?*

My fingers shook so hard the paper rattled. I folded it once. Twice. My hands wouldn't steady.

Then, down the hall, a roar of cheering went up.

Marta flinched. "That's the ceremony. They're naming Lyra heir tonight."

I tucked the letter and the pendant into Elowen's hands, beside the felt wolf.

"Then I'd hate to miss it."

---

The great hall blazed with candles. Music. Wine. Hundreds of wolves in their finest furs.

At the head of the room, under my old banner, stood Damon.

He was fixing a shawl on Vivienne's shoulders. Gently. Tugging it straight, smoothing the fur with his palm, the way he used to do for me before every winter feast.

Beside them, a tall young man laughed and held out a goblet.

"You look beautiful, Mom."

Kieran.

My feet stopped.

Vivienne turned first. She saw me across the hall, and every drop of color left her face.

Then her eyes filled. Her lip trembled. She lifted her skirts and ran.

"Seraphina? Is it really you?" Her voice rang through the hall, bright and broken. "You came back! You finally came back!"

The music stuttered out.

Damon spun around.

He went still. Completely still. Like a man who'd seen a ghost walk through his door.

"Sera..."

He took one step. Then another. His voice cracked open. "Sera, you're awake. You're—"

His gaze fell to what I was holding.

And his brow creased. Not in grief. In irritation.

"Why did you bring Elowen here?" he said. "Today is Vivienne's daughter's ceremony."

I looked up at him.

And I smiled.

"Our daughter is dead, Damon." My voice carried to every corner of that bright, warm room. "And you're worried about a ceremony?"

The hall went silent.

Somewhere behind me, a goblet slipped from someone's hand and shattered on the stone.

Deep beneath my ribs, the old thing stirred, and laughed.