Chapter 31: Confrontation

Around afternoon, Eiravelle stayed in Arielle’s bedchamber, propped up against a mountain of pillows that Arielle had arranged for her before leaving.

The room was quiet save for the occasional rustle of curtains in the breeze and the distant sounds of the manor going about its daily business.

Eiravelle had spent most of the morning drifting in and out of sleep, her body was still weak from the poison, and her mind was still struggling to process everything that had happened.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of the past few days even though she did not remember much of it. The poison had stolen her consciousness, had wrapped her in darkness and held her there while her body fought a war she could not see.

But she remembered the pain. She remembered the cold. She remembered the feeling of something dark and terrible crawling through her veins, consuming her from the inside out.

And she remembered the voice. A voice that had cut through the darkness, gentle and firm, telling her to hold on, to stay, to not let go. She did not know whose voice it was. She did not know if it had been real or a dream conjured by her fading mind.

But it had anchored her, had given her something to cling to when everything else was slipping away.

Arielle had left that time to check on the golden rabbit’s condition in the infirmary wing of the manor. She had been reluctant to go, had lingered by the door with worry etched across her features, her hands twisting together as she debated whether to stay or leave.

"I don’t want to leave you alone," Arielle had said, her voice was tight with concern. "What if something happens? What if you need me?"

Eiravelle had managed a weak smile, reaching out to squeeze her sister’s hand. "I’ll be fine, sister. Gertrude is here, and the servants are just outside. Besides, the golden rabbit needs you more than I do right now. She has no one else."

Arielle had hesitated for a long moment, her eyes searched Eiravelle’s face as if looking for any sign that she was hiding her true condition.

Finally, she had nodded, pressing a kiss to Eiravelle’s forehead before reluctantly pulling away.

"I’ll be back as soon as I can," she had promised. "Rest. Don’t strain yourself. And if you need anything—anything at all—send someone to call for me immediately."

Eiravelle had watched her sister leave, the door closing softly behind her, and then she had been alone with her thoughts. The silence had been oppressive, heavy with all the things she could not say, all the secrets she was still keeping, and all the shame that sat in her chest like a stone.

She was alone now, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the conversation she had shared with Arielle that morning. The pregnancy. The stranger in the forest.

The shame she had brought upon her family. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the disappointment in her sister’s face, heard the trembling in her own voice as she confessed the truth she had been hiding for weeks.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, angry at herself for crying. She had done enough crying. She had done enough of everything.

The sound of hurried footsteps in the corridor made her stiffen.

Arisia’s footsteps were sharp and urgent against the marble floor, each one was echoing with purpose. Servants scrambled to keep up with her, their voices were rising in desperate protest as they tried to block her path.

Eiravelle recognized the rhythm of those footsteps, the particular cadence that belonged only to her older sister, and her heart began to pound with a fear that had nothing to do with her weakened body.

"Lady Arisia! Please, don’t go there. Lordess Arielle said that Lady Eiravelle needs rest. She forbade anyone from entering without her permission!" One servant said, her voice was high with panic as she hurried alongside Arisia, her hands were raised in a pleading gesture.

Arisia halted midstep, her body was going rigid with fury. She turned her head slowly, fixing the servant with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass.

The servant flinched backward, her face was draining of color, and her hands are dropping to her sides as if she had been physically struck.

"I am the young lady of this manor!" Arisia yelled, her voice was echoing through the corridor with enough force to make the nearby paintings tremble on their hooks. "No one tells me what to do! Not you, not sister Arielle, and certainly not some serving girl who seems to have forgotten her place!"

She pushed open the door of Arielle’s bedchamber with enough force that it slammed against the wall, the sound cracked through the silence like a thunderclap.

Eiravelle was startled in the bed, her heart lurched into her throat, and when she saw who had entered, her face went pale with fear.

Arisia stood in the doorway, her chest was heaving with barely contained rage, her dark hair was wild around her shoulders as if she had been running her fingers through it.

Her eyes swept the room once, taking in Eiravelle’s fragile form, the piles of pillows, the half-empty cup of tea on the bedside table, and something in her expression twisted with contempt.

"Everyone! This is a family matter! Leave us!" Arisia commanded, and when the servants hesitated, she raised her hand and used her magic to slam the door shut with a resounding boom.

The servants outside immediately pressed their ears against the door, their hearts are pounding as they tried to hear whatever was going to be said.

They knew they should not be listening, knew the punishment for eavesdropping on noble family matters could be severe, but curiosity was a powerful thing, and Lady Arisia’s fury was impossible to ignore.

***

Arisia approached Eiravelle slowly, each step was deliberate and heavy, her face was wrapped in contempt. The afternoon light streamed through the window caught the sharp angles of her features, making her look almost predatory as she closed the distance between them.

Eiravelle pressed herself back against the pillows, her fingers are clutching the blankets, and her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

She knows, Eiravelle thought, her mind raced with panic. She knows about the pregnancy. She knows everything. How did she find out? Did sister Arielle tell her? No, sister Arielle promised she wouldn’t. But someone must have told her. Someone must have—

"What now?!" Arisia spat, her voice was rising with barely contained anger. "Aren’t you happy?! Congratulations, Eiravelle! You’ve already ruined our family’s name! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any concept of the shame you’ve brought upon us?"

Eiravelle flinched as if she had been struck, her body curled inward protectively. She looked away, unable to meet her sister’s blazing eyes, and tears immediately streamed down her cheeks.

She had known this was coming. She had known Arisia would find out eventually. But knowing and experiencing were two very different things, and the reality of her sister’s wrath was far worse than she had imagined.

"You were the one crying when you’re the one who brought so much shame to this family?!" Arisia continued, her voice was dripping with venom. "You sit there with your tears and your trembling form, playing the victim, when you are the one who spread your legs for a stranger! You are the one who threw away your purity, your reputation, everything our family has worked for, all for a moment of selfish pleasure!"

Selfish pleasure, the words echoed through Eiravelle’s mind, cutting deep. Is that what she thinks it was? Does she really believe I did it for pleasure?

She wanted to defend herself. She wanted to explain that it had not been about pleasure, that it had been about desperation, about feeling trapped, about wanting to make one choice for herself before her life was taken from her entirely.

She wanted to tell Arisia about the nights she had spent crying alone in her room, about the suffocating weight of their parents’ expectations, about the way Prince Kariv had looked at her like she was a thing to be owned rather than a person to be loved.

But the words would not come. They were stuck in her throat like thorns, choking her, and all she could do was cry.

Arisia sighed heavily and nodded, as if coming to some internal decision. She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Eiravelle with a piercing stare.

"Who is the alpha? Tell me who was the alpha who got you pregnant." Her voice was calmer now, but the calm was more terrifying than the yelling. It was the calm of a predator before it struck, the stillness of a storm about to break.

Eiravelle’s breath hitched. She shook her head slowly, her fingers are twisting in the blankets.

"I-I... I don’t... I don’t know who it was... S-Sister..." she stammered, her voice was barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, Arisia simply stared at her sister in disbelief.

"You don’t know?" She repeated, her voice was dangerously quiet. "You don’t know who the Alpha of your child is? You let some stranger take you, and you didn’t even bother to learn their name?"

Eiravelle shook her head again, fresh tears are spilling down her cheeks. "I didn’t ask... I didn’t want to know..."

I didn’t want to know because it wasn’t about her, Eiravelle thought, the words are screaming inside her head. It was about me. It was about feeling something other than fear and obligation. It was about having one night, just one night, where I was not a bargaining chip or a disappointment. It was about being free.

But she could not say that. She could not explain the tangled mess of emotions that had driven her to the forest that night, could not articulate the desperation that had made her approach a stranger and beg for something she had no words to name.

Arisia would not understand. No one would understand.

The confession hung in the air, raw and shameful, and Arisia’s composure shattered.

"You have to stop this nonsense!" She screamed, lunging forward and slapping Eiravelle across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed through the room like a whip crack. Eiravelle’s head snapped to the side, her cheek had burned with the force of the blow, and she let out a small, broken cry.

The servants outside gasped, their hands are flying to their mouths, their eyes are wide with shock.

Gertrude, who had been walking down the corridor with a fresh tray of tea, saw the cluster of servants pressed against the door and immediately set the tray down.

Her face hardened with anger, and she strode toward them with the authority of a woman who had managed this household for decades.

"You bunch of fools!" She hissed, her voice was low but sharp enough to cut. "You all have work to do, yet you’re all here listening to the young ladies’ private conversation! You know the punishment for eavesdropping! Would you like to spend the rest of the week in the scullery? Or perhaps you’d prefer to explain to Lordess Arielle why you were pressed against her door like common gossips!"

The servants scattered immediately, fleeing down the corridor in a panic, and Gertrude watched them go with a grim satisfaction. She picked up the tray and walked away, shaking her head.

Whatever was happening behind that closed door was not her business, and she had learned long ago that some things were better left unheard.

***

Inside the bedchamber, Arisia stood over Eiravelle, her chest was heaving, her hand was still raised from the slap. Her eyes were filled with fury, but beneath the fury was something else—something that looked almost like pain.

Eiravelle touched her cheek, her fingers are trembling against the hot, stinging skin. She could feel the imprint of Arisia’s hand, could feel the blood rushing to the surface, and the tears streaming down her face.

She had been slapped before—their mother had been liberal with her punishments—but never by Arisia. Never by the sister who had always been cold but never cruel.

"You know what happened, Eiravelle," Arisia said, her voice was shaking. "This is your last chance, but then you chose to waste it. You had every opportunity to make something of yourself, to marry well, to bring honor to this family. And instead, you threw it all away."

Last chance, Eiravelle thought bitterly. When did I ever have a chance? When did anyone ever give me a choice?

"Father will totally disown you for this," Arisia continued, her voice turning hard. "Do you understand what that means? You will have nothing. No home, no title, and no protection. You will be cast out into the streets like a common beggar, and no one will lift a finger to help you. Not mother, not father, not me. You will be alone, Eiravelle. Completely and utterly alone."

Eiravelle’s eyes widened in fear, her hand was still pressed against her stinging cheek. She wanted to speak, wanted to defend herself, wanted to plead for understanding. But the words would not come. They never came when she needed them most.

But there had to be a solution. There had to be a way to fix this before it destroyed them all.

Think, Arisia, she told herself. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be something we can do.

And then, slowly, an idea began to form in her mind.

"But there’s a way," Arisia said, her voice became quieter now.

Eiravelle looked up, her tear-streaked face filled with desperate hope. "What is it?" she asked, her voice was trembling.

Arisia took a deep breath. She knew this would be difficult. She knew Eiravelle would resist. But it was the only way. The only way to save their family from ruin. The only way to give Eiravelle a chance at a normal life.

"Abort the child," Arisia said.

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water, and Eiravelle’s eyes went wide with shock.

"What?" She breathed, her voice barely audible.