Chapter 128: Elaria’s Understanding

Arielle and Ruthina went back to the Arthion mansion together by night. The winter air was sharp and cold, biting at their cheeks and noses as they walked through the quiet streets, their breath misting in front of them like small clouds.

The sky above was clear and dark, scattered with stars that glittered like frost, and the moon hung low on the horizon, casting a pale silver light over the cobblestones. They had left the palace hours ago, after the celebrations had finally begun to wind down, and they had walked in comfortable silence for most of the journey, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Arielle was exhausted. The day had been long, far longer than she had expected, and the emotional weight of it pressed down on her shoulders like a physical thing. She had watched her little sister scream in pain, had stood helpless while Qazaethel took that pain into herself, had waited with her heart in her throat for the cry of a newborn child.

And then, when it was over, when the baby was safe and Eiravelle was sleeping, she had allowed herself to breathe again. The relief had been overwhelming, so overwhelming that she had nearly collapsed. But she had held herself together, had smiled and congratulated and celebrated with the others, and now she was finally going home.

Ruthina, in contrast, was practically vibrating with energy. The golden rabbit had been running through the mansion’s corridors for hours, spreading the news of the birth to anyone who would listen, and she had only stopped when Arielle had firmly told her it was time to leave.

Even now, she was bouncing on her heels, her eyes bright with excitement, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. "I can’t believe it! A female alpha! And so small! And so beautiful! Did you see her little fingers, Arielle? They were so tiny! And her eyes—they were golden, just like Qazaethel’s! Oh, I can’t wait to see her again! Do you think they’ll let me hold her? I want to hold her! I want to—"

Arielle held up a hand, and Ruthina fell silent, though her excitement was still plain on her face. "You can hold her tomorrow," Arielle said, and her voice was tired but fond. "For now, let’s just get inside. It’s cold, and I want to sleep."

They entered the mansion, and the warmth of the hearth washed over them like a blessing. The foyer was lit with candles and lanterns, their flames casting a soft golden glow over the polished wood and the rich tapestries, and the scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen—something warm and savory that made Arielle’s stomach rumble despite her exhaustion.

The mansion was quiet, the servants having long since retired to their quarters, but there was a light in the sitting room and the sound of voices murmuring within.

"Lady Elaria!" Ruthina excitedly ran to Elaria and hugged her, her arms are wrapping around the older woman’s waist with a fierceness that made Elara laugh. "Ohhh~~~ I miss your cooking!" Ruthina said, and Elaria chuckled as she patted the golden rabbit’s head, her fingers gentle against Ruthina’s hair.

"Hahaha, you just ate the dish I cooked early this morning. How come you miss it again?" Elaria chuckled softly. She was a warm, and she looked genuinely delighted to see Ruthina. But there was something in her expression—a flicker of worry, perhaps, or curiosity—that suggested she had been waiting for them to return.

"Lady Elaria, how about we deliver some dish for sister Eivy? She just gave birth today...!" Ruthina announced, and the room went silent. The murmurs stopped. The gentle warmth of the hearth seemed to fade, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension that made the air feel thick.

Elaria’s hands stilled on Ruthina’s head. "What?" She asked, and her voice was barely a whisper. Ariphale, who had been sitting by the fire with a book in her lap, looked up sharply, her eyes widening with shock.

"Is that true? But I thought that was next month?!" Ariphale said, and her voice was high with disbelief. Arisia, who had been dozing in a chair beside her, jerked awake at the sound, her eyes blinking owlishly as she tried to understand what was happening.

Ruthina shook her head, her earlier excitement dimming as she registered the shock in the room. "No, the empress dowager tried poisoning her. The physician said that the stress triggered her body to force the delivery," she said, and the words fell into the silence like stones into still water.

Arielle became silent for a moment, her jaw tightening. She had not told them the details. She had not told anyone the details, not even Ruthina, not even Dawn. She had kept the truth locked inside her chest, a burning coal of fury and grief that she could not put into words.

But Ruthina had been there. Ruthina had heard the whispers, had seen the faces of the servants, and she had pieced together the truth on her own. And now she had spoken it aloud, in this warm, quiet room, and there was no taking it back.

Arthion, who had been standing by the window with his back to the room, turned around slowly. His face was unreadable, his expression carefully composed, but his eyes were troubled. "Is that real?" He asked, and his voice was unusually soft. It was the voice of a man who was afraid of the answer, who already knew the truth but wanted—needed—to hear it confirmed.

"Yes... That’s what happened," Arielle confirmed, and her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. She had no energy left for anger, no energy left for grief. She was tired. She was so tired.

Elaria gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "How is she?! Is Eiravelle alright?!" She tried to compose herself, tried to draw herself up and be the lady of the house, but she couldn’t stop the worry that made her voice quiver with fear. She was a mother. Whatever else she was, whatever mistakes she had made, she was still a mother, and her daughter had almost died.

"She’s fine. That’s all you need to know," Arielle coldly replied, and her voice was like ice, sharp and cutting. She did not want to talk about this. She did not want to discuss Eiravelle’s pain, Eiravelle’s fear, Eiravelle’s near-death experience with the people who had thrown her away. Not now. Not ever.

"Arielle, you will not talk to your mother like that," Arthion said, and his voice was firm, authoritative, the voice of a father who expected to be obeyed. But Arielle did not flinch. She did not even look at him.

Arielle averted her gaze, but not out of shame. She averted her gaze because she could not bear to look at them, could not bear to see the guilt and the regret and the self-pity on their faces.

"Forgive me, but whatever happens to Eiravelle, she is none of your concern. I am excusing myself," she said, and her voice was cold, final. She turned and pulled Ruthina with her, her fingers closing around the golden rabbit’s wrist, and she walked out of the room without looking back.

Elaria watched them go, her heart heavy with a pain she could not name. "I should make sure she is okay. She probably knows nothing about pregnancy. This is her first time," Elara said, and her voice was high, almost panicked. She was already moving toward the door, her hands reaching for her shawl, and her mind was already racing with a thousand worries. "She needs someone who understands. She needs—"

"Elaria, stop," Arthion said, and his voice was gentle but firm. He reached out and caught her arm, holding her in place. "They won’t allow us. We have already thrown Eiravelle away and cut all ties with her. The Sovereign would never allow us." He said the words slowly, deliberately, and each one was a knife in his own heart.

He remembered Qazaethel’s punishment. He remembered the cold fury in her eyes, the way she had looked at them as though they were less than nothing. He remembered the words she had spoken, the sentence she had passed, and he knew that there was no going back. They had made their choice. They had chosen pride over love, tradition over their own daughter, and now they were living with the consequences.

Elara nodded in understanding, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears. All she could do was frown in defeat as she realized what they had done. She had thrown her daughter away. She had let her go, had let her walk out of their lives, had told herself that it was for the best.

And now Eiravelle had almost died, had almost lost her child, and Elara had not been there for her. She had not been there to hold her hand, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay. She had not been there because she had chosen not to be, because she had put her husband’s pride and her family’s reputation above the daughter she had carried in her womb.

And that knowledge—that terrible, inescapable knowledge—would haunt her for the rest of her days.

Arthion watched his wife, and he felt a pain that was old and deep, a pain that had been festering for months. He had been so sure of himself. He had been so certain that he was right, that tradition mattered, that reputation mattered, that the laws of gods and men could not be broken.

He had been so certain that Eiravelle was making a mistake, that she would come crawling back, that she would realize the error of her ways. And then, when she had not come back, he had told himself that it was her choice, that she had made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

He had hardened his heart, had closed himself off, had pretended that he no longer cared. But he did care. He cared more than he had ever admitted, even to himself. And now, watching his wife cry over a daughter they had cast aside, he realized that his pride had cost him everything.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls, and the silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. Ariphale and Arisia exchanged a glance, their earlier excitement forgotten, replaced by a quiet, aching sadness that none of them could put into words.

They had been so happy. They had been celebrating a new life, a new member of their family, and now they were confronted with the truth of what their family had become. They had thrown Eiravelle away. They had turned their backs on her. And now, when she needed them most, they could not even be there for her.

The night stretched on, and the Arthion mansion remained quiet, the light in the sitting room burning low, and the shadows in the corners growing deeper. The news of the birth had brought joy to the palace, but here, in this house, it had brought only pain.