The night slipped by faster than I expected.

When I stepped outside at dawn, the royal house thrummed with unusual energy.

Maids bustled everywhere—some stringing silken banners across the courtyards, others clipping the lawns to perfection, while the air from the kitchens carried the rich scent of roasted meats and spice.

In the center court, laughter spilled like tinkling bells. I was tempted to peek.

Eira reclined like a queen among bolts of fine fabric, her sharp eyes glinting as her friends and aunts preened in gowns.

“Don’t just stand there gaping.” The head maid snapped, jolting me back to my world.

“Make yourself useful instead of staring at silk you’ll never touch?”

“Sorry ma'am” I murmured, keeping my head low.

Her gaze snagged on my uneven braid.

“What happened to your hair?” Her tone carried a tinge of emotion, at least to my ear.

“I… got into trouble with Luna.”

She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable, then lowered her voice.

“Today is Alpha Kaelen’s wedding. Stay away from the main court.”

“A wedding in the palace?” I thought aloud, my eyes blooming.

“Don't be cheeky. You're not invited” her voice thrashed the castle I was building in my fantasy.

“Go to the vineyard and press the wine”

“Yes, ma’am.” I bobbed a nod and scurried away, her eyes following me.

“Poor girl,” I heard a flint of her mutter.

Perhaps pity, perhaps nothing at all. But after Leoric, she was the only one who had ever shown me even a ghost of care.

“Yes!” I giggled, barely containing my excitement. “There's a wedding”

I spun once along the stone path, my roughspun skirts whispering against the ground, before hurrying toward the vineyard.

Leoric was definitely going to come — Luna Isolde would bring him herself.

The vineyard was quieter than the courtyards, but not silent.

I picked the finest fruits and got to work. At first, I struggled with the wine press, but once the first trickle poured out, it grew easier.

After a while, I ran out of grapes and headed deeper into the plantation for more.

Somewhere between the thick rows of gria fruit, I heard a moan.

Curiosity overtook me. I paused, setting my basket on the ground.

Thralls were trained to ignore what wasn’t their business, but my feet betrayed me.

I slipped between the hanging clusters of heavy fruit, their skins bruising against my shoulders as I pressed deeper.

And there he was — still in armor. Kaelen, the cursed Alpha.

His back was to me, but the sound had come from him— I was certain.

His shoulders rose and fell, a cursed wolf too strong to be destroyed in the battlefield, yet breaking here, in the quiet of the vineyard.

Under the assumption that he hadn't noticed me, I turned to leave because even though a Thrall, the cursed Alpha was plague enough to my kind.

A branch snapped beneath my heel and he whipped around.

His eyes—storm-cloud ash—burned straight through me.

The tears I thought I’d see in his eyes weren’t there.

Instead, there was only emptiness. Aloofness. The kind that pressed harder than the Luna’s wrath ever had.

“What—”

“Forgive me, Sir” I rasped, dropping into a clumsy bow. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

I waited for his verdict, but he said nothing, turning his back.

He never spoke much at all, ever since I knew him.

Taking it as mercy, I turned to leave— but something stirred inside me, a faint whimper from my depths.

I couldn’t ignore it— whatever it was—because it stirred restlessly, like something bound in chains.

As if under the guidance of an unseen force, my gaze snaps to the ground beneath him. My feet followed before I could think to stop them.

Kaelen sat motionless. His gauntlets hung loose at his sides, and blood dripped steadily onto the soil, staining the crushed gria fruit beneath his boots.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed closer to him.

“Sir,” I breathed. The word trembled from my lips, though he gave no sign he’d heard it.

Gathering courage, I gripped the edge of my roughspun skirt and tore off a strip.

His head stirred sharply at me and I thought he'd turn away or worse— plague me.

“I can help,” I whispered, holding out the torn cloth.

His eyes flicked from my trembling hands to the blood that dripped from his own.

“No need” he declined, his tone rough, carrying years of burdened curse and exhaustion.

I swallowed again. My voice coming out steadier than I felt.

“Even the moon bleeds—let me”

I reached for him slowly, my fingers brushing the cold buckle of his gauntlet as I pulled it away.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t strike or turn me away, so I sank to my knees.

With the torn cloth, I dabbed gently at the wound until the bleeding eased.

My skirt was already smeared with red droplets, before I even noticed. Nevertheless, I tore a longer strip and wrapped it around the cut, binding it firm.

Neither of us spoke. Only the slow rhythm of our breathing filled the silence until I was done.

“The cut is deep. The healer might be of help,” I said, straightening to my feet.

Above us, storm clouds gathered and lightning struck, promising rain.

I didn’t wait for his reply. I turned and hurried away.

Kaelen’s POV

“Morwen!” I whispered, watching her hurry away. Still in my armor.

That name had settled more than any other thing, somewhere it shouldn’t— beneath my ribs.

Like others, she avoided me like a plague— the one whose very presence was said to stain the air.

But today, she came closer to me and her breath brushed my face and she saw that I was just a man in pain, not a beast.

I glanced down at my hand.

The strip of the rough cloth she’d tied around my palm was already darkened by my blood. Uneven, clumsy, but warm.

“Even the moon bleeds,” the words echoed, low and stubborn, beneath my skin.

I had returned from Shadowcrest skirmish with pain burning like a frost in my veins.

Silver poisoning.

It should’ve killed me but I was cursed— death itself had forgotten my name.

I came straight to the vineyard to drown the agony.

Because it was the only place that offered me a quiet solitude—away from spiteful sneers and whispers that called me unfit to rule.

But as the curse gnawed quietly at what remained of me.

Morwen! She found me.

Did she hear my grief or was it just a coincidence?

I exhaled, as the first drops of rain began to fall.

The storm was here.

Somewhere beyond the vineyards, in the Palace, the bells toll —the signal for wedding ceremonies.

“Who is getting married?” I muttered, standing.

The wound throbbed beneath her makeshift bandage, a dull reminder of her touch.

I turned toward the palace and started back— to my chamber, just to avoid souring the merriment atmosphere with my presence.