Chapter 3: The Chosen and the Cast Aside
1142 Words
They didn’t even pretend I was part of the conversation.
I stood in the corner of the parlor like a ghost someone forgot to exorcise, listening to the words that would sever whatever was left of my place in this family.
Selena sat with perfect posture, a golden pin in her braid, and that smug, glazed smile she wore like war paint. Across from her, Lady Saria Vale—my oh-so-gracious stepmother—was reading the letter like it was some kind of play. Like it didn’t just change everything for us.
“Well,” she says finally, folding the paper with this pleased little sigh, “it’s official.”
The High Council has summoned Selena to Blackthorn Court for formal presentation.”
The room fell into stillness.
Not silence. There was too much performance for that.
The staff stood near the door with lowered eyes. One of the servants—Mara, I think—held a tray that trembled slightly in her hands. She was younger than I, newer to the estate. Probably hadn’t learned yet that this house only felt safe when it was quiet.
And right now, it was too quiet.
My heart didn’t drop. It calcified.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Selena did. She inhaled like it was roses in the air. “Did they say why?”
Lady Saria smiled. “A formal visit. The royal court wants to meet all eligible daughters of high houses. But given your… standing…” She reached forward and adjusted Selena’s collar with the flourish of someone dressing a doll. “It’s no surprise you were selected first.”
First.
Not only.
Not instead of.
But I knew better.
I was never going to be chosen.
“Lyra.”
My name hit the air like a slap.
Lady Saria turned to me, and the smile vanished. “You will remain here. The estate requires order, and your father is abroad. It falls to you.”
“Right,” I said, my voice scraping out flat. “Order.”
Selena turned to face me, her smile polite but sharp. “Don’t worry. I’ll represent the family well.”
The words were practiced. Empty.
But her eyes flicked down to my boots, my worn tunic, the old scar on my hand.
And in that glance was the truth: she was glad.
Glad I was being left behind.
Glad I’d never be part of that world.
Glad I was still the mistake they kept in the back rooms.
I didn’t speak to anyone after that.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of noise I didn’t let inside. At dinner, I said nothing. At the stables, I brushed the horses until my fingers went numb.
By nightfall, I was outside.
Beyond the wall.
Again.
The moon hung low, gold instead of silver, like an old coin tossed into a black well.
I sat on the stone ledge with my knees pulled up, mother’s blade across my lap, my wolf pacing just under the surface.
She was angry. Not ainthe selection.
At the silence.
At the truth I wasn’t ready to name.
I’d felt the bond.
So had he.
Whoever he was.
And it wasn’t Lucien Thorne. Or maybe it was.
That was the worst part—not knowing.
The second worst?
Knowing that whoever was bound to me had chosen someone else anyway.
A rustle snapped me out of my spiral.
Leaves. Movement.
I rose in an instant, blade in hand, heart thudding—not in fear, but anticipation.
Someone was watching.
But not from the woods.
From the estate.
I turned toward the tree line that overlooked the far balcony.
And there, just for a second, I saw him.
A figure in black.
Tall. Still.
Too far to see his face.
But I felt him.
The bond yanked again—hot, sharp, furious.
Then—gone.
As if severed.
I ran toward the trees, breath burning in my lungs, but by the time I reached the overlook, the balcony was empty.
No footprints.
No scent.
No trace.
I didn’t sleep.
By morning, the estate was already buzzing.
Selena’s departure had become a full production. Silk dresses lay out in rows. Jewelry cases unlocked. Saria barking orders like a general preparing for war.
I stayed out of it.
Until I couldn’t.
“Lyra!”
I stopped mid-step at the edge of the corridor.
Saria beckoned me with one gloved hand.
I crossed the distance like I was walking into a duel.
She handed me a list, meticulously written.
“I assume you can read,” she said, eyes already flicking away.
I didn’t rise to it. I just looked.
It was errands. Supplies. Inventory. And a final line at the bottom: Deliver documents to the North Tower for review.
The North Tower hadn’t been used in years. Not since my mother died.
“Why there?” I asked.
“Because I said so.”
Of course.
She turned before I could press further.
“By the way,” she added over her shoulder, “stay out of sight when the envoy arrives. This is Selena’s moment, not yours.”
I didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
My silence was enough.
The envoy rode in just after noon—six black steeds, six cloaked figures, and a sealed carriage marked with the Thorne crest.
Everyone gathered to watch. Selena stood at the front in silver-blue robes, her hair curled and braided into something delicate and gleaming.
She looked every inch the future duchess.
I stayed behind the rose hedge like a servant. Like a ghost.
But when the carriage door opened…
Everything changed.
Not because of who stepped out.
But because of who didn’t.
No royal. No prince.
Just a man in gray.
And a second carriage.
Smaller. Older.
Markings scraped away.
And yet—
My chest pulled.
Not like before.
Harder.
Fiercer.
My wolf surged to the surface, ears flat, tail high, a growl building beneath my ribs.
He was here.
He was here.
And he wasn’t walking toward Selena.
He was heading toward the tower.
Toward me.
I broke away from the crowd.
Through the side garden. Past the fountain. Toward the old stairs carved into the stone wall.
I made it to the tower’s base just as the second carriage came to a stop beside it.
One figure stepped out.
Not Lucien.
Not a royal.
Not someone I recognized.
But the bond screamed anyway.
He turned.
Locked eyes with me.
And smiled.
Not soft. Not cruel.
Knowing.
Then he said a name—just one.
But not mine.
“Selena.”
And that’s when I saw it.
The mark on his wrist.
A matching one on mine—hidden under old bandages I hadn’t unwrapped in years.
A mark I’d thought was a scar.
He was glowing.
Mine started to burn.
- Writer
