Never Free

Ch. 5 The Crown at Home

Spring passed quickly and led to warm summer days. The sun rose over the Walton Pack lands without ceremony. No school. No morning drills. No structured order—unless Amber made one.

The Walton Luna sipped her tea from the balcony, watching William Miller stumble over a broom he was too small to carry on the front porch of her neighbor's, the Millers’, house. William was one of the eight children the Walton pack currently had. He’d been the last child born to the Walton Pack—five years ago.

The pack had grown quiet over the years. Smaller. Children were rare now, too rare. And the ones they had didn’t always know their place. She had seen it repeatedly as she managed the pack's daily life.

She placed her teacup down with care and straightened her blouse. If order didn’t happen naturally, she’d force it into existence.

Arthur would’ve disagreed with that.

She could hear him now—his gentle voice teasing her from a balcony. “You can’t squeeze a flower to make it bloom, Amber,” he would say with that infuriating smile, a book of poetry still open on his lap. Then he’d kiss her hand, leaving her too charmed to stay mad.

That was the thing about Arthur. He could steady her without ever making her feel small.

But he was gone. Killed in a border skirmish just months after Byron was born.

And the world hadn’t balanced since.

With a sigh, Amber finished her tea and entered her bedroom, closing the French doors behind her.

She meticulously finished getting ready. Every strand of hair was in place, not a fleck of dust on her clothing, and her makeup was impeccable.

“Today will be a great day,” she beamed into the mirror.

Unfortunately, Byron disappointed her before breakfast.

She had asked him to present a basket of herbs to Elder Roma, a simple gesture, for the Elder's 80th birthday. A show of respect.

He’d delivered it, yes—but without a smile, without charm. Just a nod and a mumbled greeting.

Amber’s jaw clenched as she watched from Elder Roma's front porch. He had Arthur’s stillness. Arthur’s thoughtfulness. But none of her fire. None of Brandon’s command.

She excused him and made something up to explain his behavior, hoping Elder Roma didn't think poorly of her as a mother. Luckily, Elder Roma laughed it off and thanked Amber for the thoughtful gift.

And then—of course—there was Xochi.

She carried a tray too large for her arms, carefully balancing Mrs. Miller's expensive tea set that Amber had asked to borrow.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw Byron cross the yard without hesitation and take half the load without a word.

The tray wasn’t heavy, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to give her some independence, let her fail or stand on her own.

Amber waited until Mrs. Miller returned to her house and Xochi was busy washing the tea set in the kitchen to pull him into the hallway.

“You’re not here to play nursemaid to charity,” she said softly, smoothing his collar with motherly grace. “She needs to learn her place. And so do you.”

Byron said nothing. Just met her eyes for half a second, then looked away.

Arthur would’ve met her gaze—and held it, she thought to herself.

She let him go with an annoyed wave of her hand and prepared for her weekly visit to Sara Briggs’ house. Sara had lost her husband during the same skirmish that had taken Arthur. They had bonded over their pain.

Her visit with Sara had been uneventful until she was leaving. As she gathered her things up, Amber looked out the window and saw her boys playing with a handful of other pack children.

Brandon strutted around the group like he owned the land they walked on. He leaned against a nearby tree and smiled at the children like he was their king. Amber smiled too—he was learning. Watching. Becoming.

He approached one of the other boys who had tried to take command of the group and repeated a line she had said the day before to Tom Dunn after he failed to gather the pack together for a meeting. Brandon repeated it almost word-for-word.

“Leadership means making others want to obey,” he said. “And right now, no one wants to listen to you.”

Amber’s heart swelled. For a second.

Then Brandon shoved the boy’s shoulder—not hard, but too casually, too publicly. The boy stumbled and went red with embarrassment.

Brandon didn’t notice. He was too busy posing.

Amber turned away from the window, her brow furrowed.

He had her words. But not her timing. He still had much to learn.

By midday, she had about half a dozen ladies at her house. She had staged a casual luncheon—just a summer meal for the wives of Arthur's top men, the inner circle.

She kissed cheeks, handed out pie, and cheerfully hosted like she was the center of the universe. She even called Xochi her “little helper” when the girl set the table correctly and praised her in front of all the ladies, earning the girl smiles and Amber's praise for doing such a good job raising the girl.

Amber was calculated, and it was all performance. All precision.

Byron sat on the stairs, silent, watching from the steps.

Not admiring.

Watching.

Amber wasn’t sure how to interpret Byron, so she focused on her guests.

After the plates were cleared and the guests dispersed, Amber found Xochi wiping down the counter in the kitchen.

The girl had been helpful during the luncheon, and Amber was still riding the high from her guests’ praise.

“You do so much better when you try,” Amber said sweetly, brushing a hair from the girl’s cheek. “Keep it up, and who knows what you might become.”

Xochi paused, her hand gripping the cloth she was cleaning with. She looked up at Amber and nodded.

Polite. Controlled. Blank. It made her skin crawl.

There was no fear in it. No gratitude. Not even anger.

Just... silence.

Arthur would’ve called it strength. Said the girl had a spine made of steel.

Amber called it disrespect.

That's all it took for her mood to sour. She sneered at the girl and walked out the room. She didn't have time for this girl's game. She was a real Luna. A Luna with tasks and responsibilities.

Amber continued her day as planned, and nothing was out of the ordinary until that evening, when she heard voices rise in the hallway—Brandon shouting, Byron’s voice low and sharp in return.

“You’re always on her side,” Brandon snapped. “What, you think that makes you better than me?”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Byron answered flatly.

She didn’t need to hear the full argument to know what it was really about.

Xochi.

That girl had always been a problem.

Amber had brought her here for a reason—had plans for her. Xochi was supposed to be part of the future. Bound to Brandon. Stabilizing the bloodline.

But Brandon hated her. Could barely speak to her without spitting venom. And Byron—quiet, observant Byron—watched her like she hung the moon.

Amber didn’t know which was worse. Brandon’s hatred made the future uncertain. Byron’s protectiveness made it dangerous. If Brandon’s rage didn’t crush her, Byron’s softness might. And if either boy broke because of her...

Amber didn’t know who she’d punish first.

She got up and told the boys to go to their room, ending the argument. She didn't have a solution for this problem yet, but she would eventually think of one. She had to. Because if she couldn’t fix this—who was she, really?

The moon was high by the time she returned to her bedroom balcony.

The land was quiet. Obedient.

She thought of Arthur again—how he used to read under this same moonlight, always with a second chair beside him.

He never needed to raise his voice. He never required control to feel powerful.

Amber stared out at the stillness, and for a moment, she wondered if the pack missed him more than her.

But the thought passed.

They needed her. Without her, it would all unravel.

And Amber Walton did not let things unravel.