Steam curled around Mira’s shoulders as she sat on the edge of the tub, scrubbing dried sweat and shame from her skin. The water was lukewarm at best, but she barely noticed. Her mind had fractured somewhere between Ronan’s voice and the bile in her throat. Every breath hurt, but not in the way it used to. Now it was deeper—like something vital had snapped.
She let the sponge drop into the water and pressed a cloth against her face. Ronan’s voice sounded so calm. As if betraying her had been a formality.
“I believe in polygamy.” The words burned hotter than the bathwater ever could.
She tilted her head back against the tiled wall, eyes closed. It hadn’t always been this way. Once, he had looked at her like she mattered.
She remembered the first time she saw him: tall, sure of himself, the heir to a future that seemed impossibly far from her own. She was just the adopted daughter of a loyal warrior, raised in quiet loyalty and obedience. But when the moon rite began and his eyes met hers, the bond flared. He chose her. Or so she thought.
It had felt like a fairytale at first. He was charming in public, intense in private. The bond had been new and electric, pulling them together like gravity. But quickly, reality crept in. Ronan didn’t want a Luna. He wanted a symbol, one that looked right by his side, one that didn’t speak out of turn, one that didn’t bruise so easily under his mother’s tongue.
Mira had tried. Goddess, she had tried. She learned court etiquette. She softened her voice. She wore the colors he liked, laughed when she didn’t feel like it, endured dinners where Lady Virella cut her down with a smile. All to make it work. To be enough. But it was never enough.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the tub as her stomach twisted again. The bond hadn’t broken. It had rotted.
By midmorning, she dressed in plain layers, pulled her hood low, and made her way through the back corridors of the packhouse. The healers would still be busy with morning treatments. She knocked softly, heart pounding, and stepped inside without waiting for a reply.
The room smelled of herbs and hot stones. Healer Maren looked up from a boiling kettle, her eyes widening with surprise.
“Luna Mira.”
“Just Mira,” she said quickly.
“Please.” Maren’s brow furrowed, but she nodded.
“What do you need?” Mira’s voice trembled as she spoke. “I think I might be…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Maren’s face softened. She said nothing, just motioned Mira toward the small examination cot near the fire. The process was quiet. Efficient. Mira stared at the wooden beams in the ceiling, counting knots while Maren worked. When it was done, the healer gave a small, certain nod.
“You’re pregnant.”
Mira didn’t smile. Her throat closed up. Her arms wrapped around her middle, not protectively—but defensively. Maren looked at her as if expecting tears of joy, but none came.
“Congratulations,” the healer said gently.
Mira shook her head. “Don’t.”
The healer’s smile faded. “Do you… want me to inform Alpha Ronan?”
Mira laughed. It was short, bitter, broken. “He threw me away like I was nothing.”
Maren blinked, then nodded once. “Then I’ll say nothing.”
Outside, the snow had begun to fall again. Light, dry flakes clung to her cloak. Mira walked quickly, keeping her face down, heart racing with every step. No one stopped her. The guards didn’t question her. She slipped through the gate like a shadow.
She returned to her quarters for the last time. The silence greeted her like an old companion. She pulled a travel bag from beneath the bed and packed quickly—two tunics, one coat, a pair of boots, a pouch of coins she had hidden weeks ago. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and touched her stomach once.
The door creaked as she stepped out, the wind biting hard.
“Perfect night to disappear,” Mira muttered, pulling her coat tighter.
Frozen grass cracked beneath her boots. No one turned. No one called out. She kept walking.
“Barren,” she said aloud, like testing the weight of it. Then louder—
“Barren.”
Her voice trembled. She laughed once, short and bitter.
“They looked right at me when they said it. Like I was broken glass they couldn’t wait to sweep away.”
She kept walking. Past the fields, the creek.
“Guess what, Virella?” she said into the cold. “Your precious son didn’t just touch a ‘failure.’ He made a life with her.”
She paused to breathe. Her hands pressed over her stomach.
“You hear that?” she whispered. “You’re real. And they don’t get to claim you. Not one of them.”
Hours passed. Her voice was hoarse by the time she reached the border.
The trees loomed ahead, dark and indifferent.
“No guards,” she noted. “Of course. Why would anyone protect the edge of nothing?”
She took a step forward, then another.
“Just forward,” she told herself. “Always forward.”
Her knees buckled once. She caught herself on a low branch, breath shaky.
“Keep going, Mira,” she said through her teeth. “You’ve survived worse than cold and wolves.”
A hawk screamed in the distance. She glanced at the sky.
“Watch over me, Moon Goddess,” she whispered. “Or don’t. I’m used to being alone.”
Wolves howled ahead.
Her hands covered her belly again.
“I don’t know if I’ll make it,” she told the child. “But I swear, I’ll try. You deserve more than scraps and silence.”
She turned toward the trees.
“Let them call me a ghost. At least ghosts don’t belong to anyone.”