~Lucienne~
The Boulevard Estate is alive, loud, and unbearably golden.
There are so many Laughters coming from the party outside. The music is so loud that it thrums against the glass of my window, rattling it faintly. Joy glitters in the air. This is not my night. It is not my anything.
The guards had unlocked my door for the first time in over a year, not out of mercy, but because Rowan is celebrating three years as Alpha of the Cedarshade Pack. I am here to be seen, not heard.
I look in the mirror, and my face stares back. A pale, dull face. My hazel eyes no longer have the spark it used to when I first found my mate. My lips pressed too tight, holding back all the words I am not allowed to say.
Thelma, the head maid, tucks the last pin into my hair, her hands careful, as if I might break.
"You look lovely," she says, her words soft and useless.
I fake a smile.
To me 'lovely' was a leash. And tonight, I'm wearing it.
"I'm hoping my looks will charm Rowan, tonight," I respond as my fingers stray to the curve of my stomach.
Small. Barely there. But mine.
One month of life curling inside me… and he doesn't know.
How could I tell him? How do you confess something sacred to a man who only comes to you like a thief, gone before the sheets have cooled?
Rowan hasn't touched me in weeks. Not since his last rut. And even then… it wasn't love.
It never is. It's never soft. Never kind.
Three weeks ago, the door slammed open after midnight, Rowan's aura swallowing the room whole. His shirt was half-buttoned, his boots caked with dried mud from the long night patrol. His scent, the smell of pine and leather and sweat clung to him, always leaving me dizzy.
He didn't speak. But I knew why he came.
It was his rut.
Rowan is never there when my heat comes. Not once.
Those nights are the worst…my body wound tight, my thighs pressing together until my muscles ache. I would stick my own fingers inside my vagina, my core would throb desperately, but it was never enough. I'd grind against the mattress like it could replace him, knowing it couldn't. The hunger builds and builds until I'm burning from the inside out. And still… I am alone.
But when it's his rut?
He comes.
That night, he crossed the room like he might shatter if he didn't get to me in time. Not out of longing, never that, but out of need. Ugly, selfish need.
His mouth crashed into mine, as he sank his tongue into my mouth. His hands were already on my thighs, shoving my nightdress up. The fabric caught, then tore.
He didn't notice. Or he didn't care.
He spun me toward the bedpost.
My chest met the wood, my palms braced against it. I didn't ask him to stop. I didn't beg him to slow down. Because he never does.
His zipper was still half-done when his pants hit the floor. A heartbeat later, he was inside me…hard, and careless. Too deep. Too fast. It hurt and not in a pleasurable way. My knees nearly gave out, but his fingers bit into my skin, holding me in place. Every thrust was so rough, every breath from him ragged. He muttered something, my name maybe, but the words drowned under the sound of my own pulse.
It didn't feel like sex.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek to choke the sound trying to escape. I wouldn't give the guards outside the pleasure of hearing me. I wouldn't give the servants another reason to whisper about "the Alpha's locked-up Luna" and how she must like it, because she always screams.
They don't know I cry after.
He finished with a grunt, holding me in place like he owned every inch of me. His cum spread inside me, and I knew, this was all I was to him now. A vessel. Something to fill.
Then he left. No words.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I stood there, sore and silent, staring at the wall until it blurred.
I blink away the memory now as I stand at the top of the staircase. The dress I wear tonight is pale pink, flowing, chosen to hide the swell of my belly. I look composed.
But inside?
Inside I am cracked glass, sharp enough to cut anyone foolish enough to touch me.
"The Alpha wants you at the east balcony," Thelma says, her voice hushed but firm. "Smile. Don't speak unless spoken to. And for the love of the goddess, keep your head down."
Her hand rests lightly on my arm as she leads me down the hall, my gown sweeping over the marble. I hate how her grip feels, gentle enough to seem kind, firm enough to remind me it's not.
We pass the grand staircase. Laughter drips from above like honey, and I envy the people that can laugh freely and genuinely.
Then I hear him.
Rowan's voice.
His tone is so alluring. It's coming from his office.
I stop walking.
Thelma turns, frowning. "Lucienne…" she calls, struggling to keep her voice low.
I tilt my head toward the sound. The words aren't very clear, but the conversation sounds serious.
"You can't," she whispers sharply, stepping closer. "You know what happens if he catches you listening."
But my feet won't move.
Because it's been weeks since I've heard him say anything at all to me, and I am starving for the sound.
I have rehearsed every word…how to tell Rowan I'm pregnant. How to remind him, softly, nervously, that this child could change everything between us. I've practiced the way my voice should tremble just enough to seem vulnerable, the way my hands might rest over my belly as though instinct is already pulling me into motherhood.
I raise my hand to knock, but his voice harshly cuts through the door like a knife.
"She's of no value," Rowan says, casually, like he's talking about livestock, not a person.
A crease forms between my brows. Who? Who is he talking about?
"So she holds no other value, then?" Oliver, his Beta, his stepbrother, asks, suspicion rising in his tone.
Rowan lets out a low, humorless laugh. "Sweet pussy. What else did you think, Oliver? She's the only one that has been able to take my nut. You know I'm beginning to think fucking your mate is way better than fucking any other bitch. Something you can't relate to, since you're mateless, Oly."
The words drip with contempt, like even speaking of me leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
"Be serious for once, Row. We both know my mate died in an accident," Oliver sighs, frustration pulling his voice taut.
My stomach twists, hot and sour.
"She's Lycan-born, isn't she? Your source even swears she's Royal blood. How could I have been so stupid to believe that, to believe you?"
Rowan scoffs. "You convinced me to buy her, despite knowing how much we hate Lycans. I bought that disgusting slave to breed my offspring and she's failed. Every time. She wouldn't if she indeed is royalty."
His voice is iron now. Unforgiving.
My breath catches. Me? Royal blood?
Apparently, I wasn't the only thing Kael sold to them, he must have sold him lies, too.
I thought if he knew about the pregnancy, he'd change. I thought he'd look at me like I was more than a warm body and a womb to fill. But no, Rowan will never value me.
"I've knotted her every fuck," Rowan continues ranting, bitterness seeping into every word. "Every rut, I fill her till she's crying and raw, and still…nothing. I'm done playing house."
I don't realize I'm shaking until the scrape of my own nails against the wooden frame rattles in my ears. My vision blurs. My throat burns.
Oliver's voice comes after a long pause. "Then why keep her? Reject her so she can be free of you."
Rowan laughs darkly. "Oh, I will. In fact, once I've claimed Claudia, I'll kill her off, the council members don't even approve of a Lycan as their Luna. She's of no use."
My legs weaken. I grip the wall to stay upright.
Oliver's voice lowers, cautious. "You're talking about someone the Moon Goddess paired you with…"
"Spare me that mate-bond bullshit," Rowan cuts in. "I hate that I'm even bonded to her. She's irritating. I only fuck her to get an heir out of that dumb bitch."
The words land like blows.
"Why do you think I haven't claimed her?" Rowan's voice is flat, almost bored. "What kind of Alpha would that make me? And on top of that, she's wolfless. Not even worthy of the bond."
"But worthy enough to bear your heir," Oliver mutters, his voice almost pleading. "She's been through enough, Row. You've kept her locked away, treated her like property…"
"What else is she if not a slave?" Rowan's voice is cold. "What other reason would I have to buy a Lycan if not to make her breed for me?"
Something inside me fractures.
I stagger back, shoulder colliding with stone. My chest feels too tight, each breath scraping against my ribs. My hands shake. They can't be talking about me.
But they are.
The air feels poisoned. My pulse hammers in my ears. I press my back to the wall. And then…my knees give way.
I'm on the cold floor before I know it, my breath short, vision swimming.
Thelma's voice cuts through the haze, urgent. "My lady!" Her hands are under my arms, pulling me up from the stones.
Her face blurs, then sharpens again, eyes wide and searching mine. "You're shaking…what happened?"
"I….," I try to speak, but my voice catches. My mouth moves, but the words refuse to leave. Because how do I tell her? How do I make someone else carry the weight of what I just heard?