Seraphina 6

The sun dipped below the distant peaks, casting long, purple shadows across the Bloodmoon Pack lands visible from my window.

The subtle chime of a bell signaled the dinner hour, a formal summons that echoed the structured routine of the Sect, yet here, it felt different.

A sense of anticipation, raw and primal, seemed to vibrate through the stone walls, an undercurrent of energy I rarely felt in my former home.

I smoothed my tunic, a rich, dark green that shimmered in the fading light, chosen for its elegance without being overly ostentatious. My plan for the evening was clear observe, assess, begin to lay the groundwork for my new strategy, and most importantly, engage Elias.

Aaron arrived promptly to escort me to the dining hall. It was a grand space, larger and less austere than the tea room, with a massive, polished wooden table dominating the center.

Flickering candlelight from wrought iron sconces cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, illuminating vibrant tapestries depicting moonlit hunts and powerful, shifting figures that could only be wolves.

The air, usually humming with lively conversation, was quiet tonight, save for the faint scent of roasted meats and hearty stews drifting from the distant kitchens a far cry from the bland, regulated meals of the Verdant Sect.

My eyes scanned the vast room. It was empty of the boisterous crowd I'd envisioned. Only a few silent bodyguards stood at the perimeter, their presences stoic and watchful, and the kitchen servants moved with quiet efficiency.

Aaron led me directly to a high backed chair at the long side of the table, perfectly positioned for intimate conversation. The seat to my immediate right, undeniably the Alpha's, remained empty. I realized this dinner was meant for just us. A private meeting. My opportunity.

I settled in, my spine straight, my gaze subtly sweeping the silent room. My internal calm was a meticulously crafted facade. My expectation had been to engage Elias directly, to observe him in an intimate setting, allowing me to gauge his true character beyond our initial, controlled exchange. His absence, in this otherwise private setting, was a glaring omission. A deliberate void.

Minutes stretched. The only sounds were the crackle of distant hearths and the soft rustle of Lara, who had instinctively moved to stand a respectful distance behind my chair. No one moved to sit in the Alpha's chair. A tense silence settled, broken only by the distant clatter from the kitchen.

Finally, Aaron, still standing beside me, cleared his throat. "Please, begin, my lady," he rumbled, his voice carrying a quiet authority that belied his servant's role.

"The Alpha?" I asked, my voice betraying nothing of my internal irritation, though I aimed for a tone of mild inquiry, almost casual.

"My lord is busy and would not be joining you for dinner," Aaron replied, his face a neutral mask that gave nothing away. Not a flicker of apology, not a hint of explanation beyond the bare minimum.

Was this his way of insulting me and belittling me? In his own house, in front of his chosen guard? Or maybe he really was busy, as he claimed. The thought rankled, a spark of indignation flaring. Elias wasn't just absent; he was deliberately not showing up for what was clearly meant to be a private dinner. This wasn't a mistake; this was a calculated move. "Uhm, okay," I replied with a small, brittle smile, forcing the word past my lips. My composure was everything.

A servant, efficient and silent, emerged from a side door. He was a thin boy with perpetually annoyed features, carrying not a platter, but a small, roughly carved wooden bowl.

He set it before me with a thud that was just a fraction too loud.

My eyes widened, my carefully constructed mask slipping for a fraction of a second. "What even is this?" I thought, the words a silent scream in my mind.

This looked nothing like the rich stews or roasted meats whose aroma still wafted from the kitchens. This was not the food I smelled. This looked like scrap. A watery, grayish gruel with unidentifiable lumps, smelling faintly of offal and something metallic. This was not food; this was an insult. A deliberate, direct affront.

I looked at Lara, who had the same look of wide eyed horror on her face, her small hand already creeping to cover her mouth. There was no way I was going to eat this.

My training in the Sect had prepared me for discomfort, for meager rations, for long fasts, but never for such open contempt. I poked at the foul-smelling concoction with my fork, recoiling slightly as a particularly slimy lump shifted. Never had I been so disgusted.

My stomach churned, threatening to revolt. The insult felt like a physical blow.

I looked to Aaron, whose stoic posture remained unchanged, betraying no hint of apology or explanation, no subtle indication that this was some kind of cultural misunderstanding.

There was no way this was normal. The distant scent of proper food, the general air of well-being among the few bodyguards, confirmed it. The people here, eating their hearty meals in the kitchens, didn't eat this, did they? Was this a test of my endurance? Of my patience? A direct provocation to see how I would react? Or was this just how the Bloodmoon Pack treated a bride from a rival Sect? My mind raced, trying to analyze the intent behind the blatant disrespect.

"Uhm, excuse me," I cleared my throat, the sound a little sharper than intended, cutting through the silence and catching the attention of the young servant who had just served me.

His face, already perpetually annoyed, tightened further.

"Yes, my lady?" he replied, his tone already laced with barely concealed irritation, as if my very presence was an inconvenience.

"Is this my dinner?" I asked, my voice calm, though my fingers tightened around the fork, the metal pressing into my palm. I needed clarity. I needed to understand. Was this a mistake? Or a deliberate act of humiliation orchestrated by Elias himself?

"Yes, my lady. Do you have an issue with this?" he retorted, his eyes narrowed, a clear challenge in his tone. He shifted his weight, his stance becoming subtly defiant.

The air in the dining hall seemed to thicken, a few nearby bodyguards shifting imperceptibly, their attention now fully on our exchange.

The silence grew heavy, amplifying the tension. The test had begun, and it was far more direct and personal than I had anticipated. My response would set the tone.