The library's sanctuary dissolved behind me as I emerged into corridors that suddenly felt foreign despite twenty years of familiarity. The echo of our conversation with Tavric rang in my ears.
"No," I whispered, though even denial couldn't erase the horrible logic of it. "That's not... I married into Grimhowl just days before. The alliance was supposed to create peace between our packs."
"The marriage was a deception," Tavric said gently. "They needed Silvermoon's potential heir removed from the board. You left, and three days later, Grimhowl's warriors descended upon us like death itself."
My hand found the wall's cold stone for support, fingers tracing mortar lines that had witnessed countless passages, yet now seemed to pulse with the blood of Silvermoon.
My marriage, my years as Luna, every moment I'd spent in these halls—all of it built upon the corpses of my family, my pack, my entire world.
I had shared a bed with the heir of those who had murdered my parents. I had borne children whose grandfather had orchestrated genocide.
Rheakar's father—that jovial man who had welcomed me as daughter, who had praised my grace at formal dinners… Had orchestrated genocide with the same casual authority he used to arrange seating charts.
Tavric's survival was no mercy but calculated cruelty, a healer's value recognized even amid slaughter, his decades of servitude the price of witnessing what should have remained hidden.
Most devastating was the certainty that crashed through me with each heartbeat: Rheakar knew. Groomed from childhood to inherit his father's blood-soaked throne, he would have learned such significant history.
Every tender moment of our marriage, every shared meal where he smiled across the table, every night in our marriage bed when he whispered promises of legacy...
"You seem troubled, my dear Luna." Rheakar's voice struck with the precision of cruel fate. “Why are you walking around unaccompanied?”
He stood at the corridor's turn, his frown at finding me unguarded transforming into something more calculating.
The late afternoon light caught his features in profile, and suddenly I could see his father's shadow in the angle of his jaw, the set of his shoulders.
"Stop it, Rheakar," I managed, the words emerging steady despite the maelstrom within. "You know perfectly well I'm not running away from here. Your guards maintain their vigil at every exit."
Meeting his gaze required every fragment of composure I possessed.
Tavric's revelations overlaid his features with blood that would never wash clean—my parents' blood, my pack's blood, the blood of children who had played with me beneath Silvermoon's ancient oaks.
Yet I could not confront him, not with Korin suffering in dungeons below, not with plans balanced so delicately that one wrong word could shatter everything.
"Actually," I continued, forcing my voice into something approaching normalcy, "I was hoping we might speak. About our situation, about why conception continues to elude us despite your... dedicated efforts."
Rheakar's expression shifted to interest, then satisfaction as he closed the distance between us.
His hands found my waist with presumptuous intimacy, pulling me against him while lifting my leg to rest against his thigh—a gesture of possession performed in the open corridor where anyone might witness.
"My old Luna is finally returning and remembering how to serve her Alpha?"
His breath warmed my throat as he spoke, each word a violation.
"That makes me happy, Lyanna. No matter what you thought of me, literally fighting you for the right to touch what is mine has been incredibly exhausting, and not just for you."
The urge to recoil, to strike him, to scream the truth of his heritage into his satisfied face nearly overwhelmed me.
Instead, I extracted myself with calculated gentleness, my hands against his chest suggesting intimacy while creating necessary distance.
"That's precisely what I wish to discuss," I said, allowing vulnerability to color my tone. "I've been thinking about why my body refuses to accept your seed... I believe the issue runs deeper."
"Deeper?" His eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering beneath interest. "Explain."
"Emotional distress can prevent conception—you've seen it in the breeding programs, how anxiety affects fertility." I moved slightly away, as if the confession required space.
"Every time you come to my chambers, every time we attempt to create this heir you need, my mind fills with the image of Korin in those dungeons. The guilt of knowing he suffers because he helped me, the weight of that debt—it creates a barrier my body cannot overcome."
"You concern yourself with a traitor's comfort?" Rheakar's voice carried dangerous edges, but I had anticipated this resistance.
"I concern myself with success," I corrected gently.
"You need an heir, and I need peace of mind to provide one. Keeping Korin in chains demonstrates that his betrayal still holds power over you, that you fear what he might do if released….”
I watched the idea take root, his expression shifting as he considered the implications.
"Imagine it—your former Beta serving wine at your table, maintaining weapons for guards who once followed his commands. Every member of Grimhowl would witness daily what happens to those who betray you."
"You suggest I should reward his treachery with freedom from the dungeons?" The question carried less conviction than before, his mind already working through the possibilities.
"I suggest you transform hidden punishment into public humiliation," I said, pressing the advantage with careful precision.
"A truly powerful Alpha doesn't hide his conquered enemies—he displays them as trophies. Let the pack see him broken but functional. Every day, he would serve as a walking reminder of your absolute authority."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with calculation. I could see Rheakar weighing the proposal, his ego wrestling with pragmatism. The corridor's shadows lengthened as afternoon aged toward evening, and still he considered.
"The emotional burden truly affects you so deeply?" His question carried unexpected softness, though I knew better than to trust it.
"Every moment of every day," I admitted, allowing real emotion to bleed through—though not for the reasons he assumed.
"I heard you." The decision came suddenly, his voice carrying the particular quality that marked choices already made.
He pulled me close once more, his lips brushing my forehead in a mockery of affection.
"Return to your chambers. I'll visit tonight to begin taking advantage of your newfound peace of mind."
As he strode away, satisfaction radiating from every movement, I remained frozen in the corridor where I had just manipulated the son of my family's murderer into serving my purposes.
The victory tasted of ash and grave dirt, another move in this horrible game played on a board built from Silvermoon's bones.