Asrai

Chapter16: Being seen unaware

Vince quickly got swept up by the she‑wolves, each of them trying a little too hard to charm him, their smiles sharpening as they subtly competed for his attention. I eased back a step, letting their chatter fade as my eyes drifted around the room.

That’s when Bram Ironhide’s gaze locked onto mine—steady, unmistakable. He started making his way toward me, and as he did, I caught the ripple it caused. Conversations faltered for the briefest moments, heads tilting just slightly, eyes flicking in our direction before pretending to refocus elsewhere.

They thought they were being discreet.

They were not.

Bram stopped in front of me, a kind grin softening his features.

“Now, Ms. Asrai… aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hi, Mr. Bram,” I replied quietly.

His eyes warmed, a small twinkle catching in them. “You do look beautiful—so much like your mother.”

I felt the words settle in my chest. I’d known Mr. Bram my entire life. He had always been one of the kindest wolves in the pack, steady and dependable. He was also one of my instructors at the school, the sort of man who remembered everyone’s birthday and never raised his voice unless he absolutely had to.

“Oh, you’re too kind, Mr. Bram. How have you been? It’s been such a long time,” I said, suddenly feeling sheepish.

“Why yes, it has, hasn’t it?” he joked lightly. “Everything has been… well, you know. Steady.”

He lowered his voice, almost whispering, “I would love to hear about your travels outside. Your gran kept us updated, but nothing beats hearing it firsthand.” His tone was half‑teasing, half‑earnest.

I blinked. “Wait—Gran was checking up on me?” The surprise slipped out before I could stop it.

Bram faltered, just a fraction. “Oh… you didn’t know.” He glanced around as if making sure no one was listening. “Yes, yes,” he said quickly, trying to smooth it over. “She told us the looking pool would show you to her.”

I stared at him, taken aback.

“That thing has a mind of its own,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Sometimes it would show you without any prompting or payment.” His brows pulled together in confusion, as if he were only now realizing the oddity of it.

“You know,” he continued, “she even put spotters around the pool. That silly thing would show you all the time at weird times.”

He paused, really looking at me now—longer, deeper.

“I wonder why…” he murmured.

“Ah… well,” I began, trying to gather myself. “It seems I actually need to speak with you about something, Mr. Bram—”

Before I could finish, Cook appeared in the doorway, her voice carrying easily over the hum of conversation.

“Everyone, dinner is served,” she announced with a warm smile. “Please take your seats at the grand table.”

Vince was suddenly at my side, slipping an arm around mine as he guided me toward the dining room. I managed a quick goodbye wave to Mr. Bram, though the questions still flickering across his face mirrored the ones racing through my own mind.

Why would the looking pool be showing me?

It had never done that before.

The pool—though it wasn’t truly a pool at all, but a fae fountain—was ancient magic. You tossed in fae coins to access the visions it held. In return, it granted direction or glimpses of what might come. People used it for everything: recovering lost memories, navigating relationships, sealing business deals, making life‑altering decisions.

The difficult part wasn’t the magic.

It was getting the coins.

But the pool didn’t just… show people.

Sometimes, yes, it would bubble up on its own, but that was rare. Unpredictable. Wild fae magic always was. The visions would float beneath the surface, shimmering circles sealed too tightly to be seen or opened.

Only the fae could place their hands in the water.

But even they couldn’t open the conceal curcular ball visions.

Only a Royal could.

And in Enchantsville, there were no royal fae.

The fae could recollect the coins thrown in and reuse them, passing them along to some hopeful soul unwilling to wait for answers. But the idea that it had shown me—repeatedly, enough for Gran to place spotters around it—made my stomach twist.

Vince walked me to the end of the table, pulling out my chair with quiet grace before taking the seat beside me.

The table stretched before us, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. Flames flickered across rich red and deep forest‑green linens, catching on silver accents and crystal glassware. Soft chimes rang as glasses were set down, and the air was thick with the savory aroma of roasted venison mingled with the earthy sweetness of spiced root vegetables.

I settled beside Vince, who sat directly across from my mother, Eva. She sat poised beside Aunt Alexandria and Uncle Austin, their conversation low and measured. Vianna lounged beside her father, swirling her wine with idle elegance, her expression a mask of practiced indifference.

At the far end of the table, the guests of honor begin to take their seats in quiet prominence, their presence anchoring the room’s attention.

“Oh River, you look beautiful,” my mom said, her eyes twinkling with warmth. Out of her uniform, she looked radiant—her dark hair cascading in soft waves around her shoulders, her eyes, that also didn't follow the trademarked Monaco variations of grey were a soft hazeled green. They seeming brighter, almost luminous. Her skin glowed under the soft lighting, and the emerald green dress she wore hugged her gently, accentuating her long legs and graceful figure.

“You too, Mom,” I whispered, meaning every word.

I glanced down, about to speak again, when Aunt Alex’s voice cut through the moment.

“What, no compliments for me?” she said with a dry edge, one brow lifting in a practiced challenge.

She wore a sleek black dress that fit her like a second skin. Her brown hair was sculpted into the sharpest blunt bob I’d ever seen—so precise it could make a hairdresser weep. Her grey glinted eyes, so much like Gran’s, were hooded and intense, carrying a quiet fierceness that made you sit up straighter.

Aunt Alex smirked, her voice laced with mock offense. “Honestly, I wear black like a blade and still get overlooked.”

“You look like you could cut glass auntie,” I replied with a grin, earning a wink from her.

The room buzzed with quiet energy, our guests observing quietly each making their own assumptions on the interaction. Each of them dressed like characters in a play we hadn’t rehearsed. The candlelight flickered as if trying to keep up with the shifting moods. I caught Gran watching Mom with a soft smile, the kind that held decades of stories. Across the room, Vianna raised her glass in a silent toast to no one in particular, her eyes scanning the table like she was cataloging weaknesses.

The pack. They moved with practiced efficiency, unloading tray after tray onto the sideboard as soft murmurs of small talk rippled around the table. The air grew rich with the scent of roasted meat and herbs—there was a golden roast surrounded by vegetables, creamy mac and cheese bubbling at the edges, glazed yams, black-eyed peas, and warm rolls that gleamed with butter.

It looked—and smelled—like comfort and celebration.

One of the women approached with my plate. Her expression was tight, her eyes flicking over me with thinly veiled disdain. She set the dish down with a little too much force, the clink of ceramic louder than necessary. I looked up, catching her gaze just as she brushed past me.

It was barely audible, but the word slipped from her lips like venom.

“Blemp”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

The word hung in the air like smoke—thin, acrid, impossible to ignore. I blinked, wondering if I’d imagined it, but the sharp sting in my chest said otherwise.

Around the table, conversation carried on, oblivious. Soft laughter drifted between the Fae Alliance and Vianna. Glasses clinked near the Lycan Committee and Aunt Alex. Silverware scraped gently against porcelain. But for me, the room had shifted—tilted just slightly off its axis.

I glanced at Vince, searching his face for any sign he’d heard. His gaze stayed fixed on the roast, carving with careful precision, his jaw tight enough to c***k stone.

Across the table, my mother’s eyes flicked toward me—quick, assessing, unreadable. Her fingers toyed with the stem of her glass, the emerald silk of her sleeve catching the candlelight. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The faint click of her jaw told me she’d heard every syllable.

Our eyes locked.

And something unfamiliar sparked behind hers—something fierce, something I never saw before.

Defiance.

For the first time in a very long time, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Things were about to change.