Nara Moon Priestess Guardian-Part Two
1016 Words
Nara
The pup slid across the water until I caught the back of his coat and hauled him against my chest.
“I have you,” I whispered.
The ice broke behind us.
I ran for the bank, each step freezing a breath before my foot landed.
The moment I reached land, the river shattered.
The boy’s mother tore him from my arms and collapsed into the snow, sobbing.
For one foolish second, I thought someone might say thank you.
Then the whispers began.
“I heard he is a jinx.”
“Did he steal that magic?”
“How could he? He does not even have a wolf.”
“I heard only royals are born with magic like that.”
“Royal?” someone scoffed. “He was born a useless omega.”
“Bad luck follows that boy.”
“How unfortunate for the pup, to be saved by such a thing.”
“He should have let a warrior handle it.”
“Walking on water… maybe he is a demon.”
“Isn’t he the Alpha’s bastard omega son? From the first Luna?”
“Shh. We are not allowed to speak of her.”
Then they went back to their morning.
As if a child had not nearly died.
As if I had not walked across a river.
As if I was still nothing.
I picked up my pail and ran back to the packhouse.
Late.
That was all Seraphine cared about.
The twins’ bath was not ready. Breakfast had not been set. The halls had not been cleaned.
And then Nara dropped the tray.
No.
Callan tripped her.
But in SilvaFrost, truth mattered less than who had power.
Nara fell. Plates shattered. Hot tea spread across the floor. Callan laughed and called her stupid.
When Seraphine ordered lashes for her, I stepped forward.
“I will take them.”
Nara begged me not to.
I took them anyway.
Now silver tore through my back for both of us.
Callan appeared near the edge of the yard, dressed in clean training clothes, his golden hair combed back, his mouth curved in a smirk.
Beside him stood Cael.
Same face.
Same alpha-born height.
But Cael’s expression was different.
Pity flickered in his eyes.
He hid it the moment Callan glanced his way.
Another lash fell.
My vision went black at the edges.
Then she appeared.
Veyra Moonwick stood beside the punishment post, eating an apple.
No one else saw her.
Of course they did not.
Fae magic made people notice what they expected to notice, then forget what they had seen.
Her face was sharper than usual.
No smile.
No joke.
Only old, furious eyes.
“Hold on, little wolf,” she said softly.
I almost laughed.
Little wolf.
I did not have one.
The lash came again.
My knees buckled.
Veyra’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach for me.
She did not.
Could not.
Rules.
There were always rules for people powerful enough to help and not allowed to.
“Last one,” Seraphine said.
The final strike landed across all the others.
This time, I did make a sound.
Not a scream.
Worse.
A broken breath.
The guard untied me, and I fell.
Nara reached me before I hit the ground fully.
“Ashen,” she whispered, hands trembling as she helped me up. “Ashen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” I said.
My voice barely worked.
She helped me inside through the servants’ entrance and down to the little space near the ash hearth where I slept. Not a room. Not even a proper bed. Just a thin blanket, a crate for my clothes, and enough warmth from the kitchen fires to keep me from freezing.
She knelt behind me and opened the jar of healing gel she had stolen from the laundry shelves.
“This will hurt.”
“It already hurts.”
Her laugh broke into a sob.
She spread the gel across my back with shaking fingers. I pressed my forehead against my folded arms and tried not to pass out.
When Nara left to return the jar before anyone noticed it missing, Veyra stepped from the shadows.
“I can heal it,” she said.
“No.”
“Ashen.”
“I will be fine.”
“You are bleeding into the floor.”
“I said no.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Stubborn little wolf.”
I opened my eyes and looked at her through the pain.
“Why didn’t you stop them?”
The question came out harsher than I meant it to.
Veyra did not flinch.
For once, she did not hide behind a smile.
“You know why.”
“Say it anyway.”
“I am fae,” she said quietly. “Not a goddess. Not fate. There are rules. Lines I cannot cross. I can hide. Guide. Protect when death comes close enough to touch you. But I cannot interfere every time wolves choose cruelty.”
My fingers curled against the floor.
“So they can do anything?”
“No.” Her eyes darkened. “But I cannot save you from every wound that shapes the path.”
I hated that.
I hated paths.
I hated rules.
I hated that my back was burning, my sister was crying in silence somewhere above me, and the whole pack would go on pretending this was a normal day.
Then Veyra turned her head.
Listening.
“What?” I whispered.
Before she could answer, the front horns sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The packhouse went silent.
Veyra’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“Royal horns,” she said.
I pushed myself up on shaking arms.
Pain tore through my back.
“Who is here?”
Veyra looked down at me, and for the first time that day, something like destiny moved behind her eyes.
“A messenger from House PentNova.”
The name struck through the room like moonlight.
And beneath my shirt, my mother’s ring turned ice-cold against my chest.
- Writer
