Unforgiving
1559 Words
The first day, Esmeray locked herself in her quarters and refused every knock at her door.
She sat at the window overlooking the training grounds where she and Sagan had learned to fight as children. The same place their mother had been murdered after the pack was attacked by rouges. Where she stood and decided to serve the kingdom a year later.
Her phone buzzed incessantly—messages from warriors she’d served with, pack members offering congratulations that felt like condolences. She ignored them all.
You need to eat, Snowflake urged.
For what? Esmeray thought back. To have strength for my cage?
When darkness fell, she finally moved to the bathroom. The mirror showed her the same face—deep brown skin, sharp cheekbones, eyes that had witnessed too much death. But something fundamental had shifted. She looked like a woman standing at a cliff’s edge, deciding whether to jump or be pushed.
Her phone lit up.
Sagan: We need to talk.
She typed back: No, we don’t.
Sagan: Es, please. Let me explain.
There’s nothing to explain. You made your choice.
Sagan: It wasn’t like that.
Then what was it like? Tell me how selling your sister to the crown was noble.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: The pack needs this alliance. I’m sorry.
Esmeray set the phone down and didn’t pick it up again.
On the second day, Sagan came to her door.
Three sharp raps—the same pattern they’d used as children when they wanted to talk without their parents knowing. It twisted something painful in her chest.
“Go away,” she called from her bed.
“Es, please.” His voice was muffled through the wood. “Let me in.”
“Why? So you can explain how you didn’t have a choice?” She stood, anger flooding her veins. She yanked the door open to find her twin looking haggard, dark circles under eyes that mirrored her own. “Save it.”
“I know you’re angry—”
“I’m devastated,” Esmeray corrected, leaning against the doorframe. “There’s a difference.”
Sagan’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want this.”
“But you accepted it.” She crossed her arms. “You stood there while Father negotiated my future without telling me. You let him arrange a marriage contract like I’m livestock. And you said nothing.”
“What was I supposed to say?” Frustration bled through his voice. “The council supported it. The pack elders supported it. Father was adamant. I’m one voice against dozens.”
“You’re my brother,” Esmeray said quietly, and the words felt torn from somewhere deep. “You’re my twin. We came into this world together. And when it mattered most, you chose the easy path.”
“There was no easy path,” Sagan said. “Every option was impossible.”
“Then you should’ve chosen me.” Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You should’ve fought for me the way I would’ve fought for you. But you didn’t. And now I have to live with the consequences of your cowardice.”
Sagan flinched. “Es—”
“I need you to leave,” she said, stepping back. “Because if I look at you right now, all I see is the person who betrayed me.”
“I’m sorry,” Sagan said, voice cracking. “I’m so f*****g sorry.”
“So am I,” Esmeray said, and closed the door in his face.
She heard him stand there for a long moment, heard his breathing on the other side of the wood. Then his footsteps retreated, and she was alone again.
That was cruel, Snowflake said softly.
He deserved it.
Maybe. But you’ll regret it later.
I’ll regret a lot of things later, Esmeray said. Might as well add one more to the list.
On the third day, her father summoned her to his office.
Esmeray went because refusing would only delay the inevitable. She dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, instead of her uniform. She wanted him to see her as his daughter, not the general he was so proud of.
Alpha Theron Blackthorne stood at his floor-to-ceiling windows when she entered, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over pack lands. His office was all dark wood and leather, walls lined with photographs of pack history.
“You look well,” he said, only glancing back briefly.
“I look like someone who hasn’t slept in three days,” Esmeray corrected, moving to stand beside him. “Because that’s what I am.”
“You’re angry.”
“I’m a lot of things right now, Father. Angry is just the loudest.”
Theron finally turned to face her. Grey threaded through his dark hair and beard. Lines creased his face that hadn’t been there when she’d left for the war. He looked tired.
“I know you don’t understand this decision,” he said carefully. “But I need you to trust that I’m doing what’s best for Blue Moon.”
“What’s best for Blue Moon,” Esmeray repeated flatly. “Not what’s best for me. Not what I want. What’s best for the pack.”
“You’re part of the pack,” Theron said. “What’s best for Blue Moon is best for you.”
“That’s a convenient lie.” She took a step closer. “Tell me something, Father. If Sagan had been the one offered in this arrangement, would you have accepted? Would you have sold your son to secure an alliance?”
Theron’s expression hardened. “That’s not a fair question.”
“Why not? Because we both know the answer?” Her voice stayed level. “You would’ve fought for him. You would’ve told the crown that your heir was too valuable to be bartered away. But me? I’m expendable. I’m just the daughter. The spare. The one you can afford to lose.”
“That’s not true,” Theron said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Isn’t it?” Something cold settled in her chest. “I’ve spent eight years proving myself. Eight years leading soldiers, winning battles, earning every scar and medal. I came home expecting to take my place as Beta alongside Sagan. And instead, you sold me to the highest bidder.”
“The Crown Prince is not a bidder,” Theron said sharply. “He’s the heir to the Wolf Kingdom. This marriage elevates you, Esmeray. It gives you power beyond anything you could achieve here.”
“I don’t want power in someone else’s kingdom,” Esmeray said. “I want what’s mine. What I earned. What you promised me when I left for the war.”
“I promised you nothing,” Theron said, and the words landed like a physical blow. “You assumed. You left thinking you’d come back and claim the Alpha title, but I never said that was your path.”
Esmeray stared at him, and something inside her cracked. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “You never promised me anything. I just thought—” She stopped, swallowed hard. “I thought I mattered more to you than this.”
Theron’s expression softened slightly. “You do matter. You’re my daughter. But you’re also alpha blood, and that comes with responsibilities. Obligations.”
“Why can’t I run off and live whatever life I want?” Esmeray demanded. “Sagan gets to. He gets to stay here, rule the pack, make his own choices. Why is my alpha blood a chain while his is a crown?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
The words hung in the air between them, brutal in their honesty.
Esmeray felt the last piece of hope she’d been clinging to shatter. “At least you’re finally saying it out loud.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Theron said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “I’m trying to be realistic. The pack won’t accept a female Alpha, not when there’s a male heir available. You know this.”
“I know that you never fought for me,” Esmeray said, her voice steady despite the rage building in her chest. “I know that when the council questioned whether I should share the Alpha title, you didn’t stand up and say ‘yes, my daughter is just as capable as my son.’ You let them decide. You let them push me aside. And now you’re doing it again.”
“I’m doing what’s best for Blue Moon Pack,” Theron repeated.
“No,” Esmeray said. “You’re doing what’s easiest. There’s a difference.”
She turned to leave, but her father’s voice stopped her.
“Esmeray.”
She paused, hand on the door, but didn’t turn around.
“I am proud of you,” Theron said. “I know I don’t say it enough. But everything you’ve accomplished—I’m proud. And I hope someday you’ll understand why I made this choice.”
Esmeray’s throat tightened. She wanted to say something cutting, something that would hurt him the way he’d hurt her. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Goodbye, Father,” she said instead, and walked out.
She didn’t look back.
- Writer
