Chapter 17: Arielle’s Assurance To Eiravelle

The Arthion manor rose against the night sky like a slumbering beast, its ancient stones illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns that lined the winding pathways leading to its grand entrance.

The estate had belonged to the Arthion family for generations, passed down through centuries of loyal service to the Solkanaia throne, and it bore the marks of that long history in every carved pillar and weathered archway.

Ivy crept along the eastern walls, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted through the open windows of the upper floors.

Eiravelle walked the familiar corridors with heavy steps, her heart weighed down by a guilt that had become her constant companion. The events of the past few days had taken their toll on her—the ruined marriage engagement with Prince Kariv, beig humiliated, and now, her sister, the powerful Prime Minister Arielle, had been punished for defending her honor, and Eiravelle could not shake the feeling that it was all her fault.

The manor was quiet at this hour, the servants had retired to their quarters in the eastern wing. Only a few night attendants remained, their soft footsteps are echoing in the distance as they went to their duties.

The silence should have been comforting, but Eiravelle found it oppressive, each shadow seems to hold a whispered accusation. The marble floors gleamed under the flickering light of the enchanted sconces, reflecting her own tired expression back at her as she passed.

She reached the entrance to Arielle’s wing, a grand set of double doors carved from dark oak and adorned with the Arthion family crest—a soaring phoenix wreathed in flames, symbolizing rebirth and resilience.

Eiravelle paused, her hand hovered over the cool brass handle, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her heart was pounding, her palms were clammy, and she could feel the familiar prickle of tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

The moment she stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

A group of maids were clustered near the servants’ passage, their heads were bent together in hushed conversation. They looked up as Eiravelle entered, and their eyes immediately flickered with that familiar gleam of gossip that Eiravelle had learned to recognize from a young age. Their expressions were a mixture of disdain and curiosity, as though she were a curious specimen to be examined and discussed.

"Did you hear? Lady Eiravelle is the reason the Lordess Arielle was punished," one of them whispered, not bothering to lower her voice enough to avoid being heard.

That maid was a beta with sharp features and sharper tongue who had served in the manor for nearly a decade.

"Of course I heard. Everyone has heard. The sovereign’s guards came and took her away, and when she returned, she could barely stand," another replied, her voice was carrying a note of theatrical sympathy that was clearly feigned. This was another maid, a young omega who had always resented Eiravelle’s position as the prime minister’s sister.

"All because of that omega and her reckless behavior. First the scandal with the third prince, now this. What will she bring upon this house next?" The beta continued, shaking her head with exaggerated concern.

"Perhaps she should have been more careful. Running around like a commoner, embarrassing the family name," The omega added, her voice was dripping with contempt.

Eiravelle felt the words like physical blows, each one was landing against her already bruised heart. The maids did not care what she thought or felt—they stood right there in front of her, sharing their gossip as though she were not even present, as though she were invisible, unworthy of their consideration.

She forced herself to keep walking, to keep her head held high despite the ache that threatened to overwhelm her. She had heard such whispers all her life, had grown accustomed to being the subject of cruel speculation and judgmental stares.

The "plague," they called her. A being born from disgraceful acts. A stain upon her family’s honor.

The maids’ gossip continued as she passed, their voices were carrying in the quiet hallway.

"An omega should know her place. Causing such trouble for her alpha sister..."

"She should be grateful the prime minister even allows her to live here. After what their Oma, her mother did..."

"What do you expect from a disgrace like her?"

Eiravelle’s steps faltered at that final insult, her chest constricting with pain. She clenched her hands at her sides, her nails are digging into her palms, and forced herself to keep moving forward. She could not let them see her cry. She could not give them the satisfaction.

But the tears were already threatening to spill, hot and persistent, blurring her vision as she continued down the hallway. She blinked rapidly, trying to push them back, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

She had endured so much, had weathered so many storms, and yet the cruelty of others still had the power to wound her.

She was almost at the door to Arielle’s chambers when a passing maid—a young girl named Petra who had always been kind to her—caught her eye. Petra’s expression was one of pity, and she opened her mouth as though to say something, but Eiravelle shook her head quickly.

She did not want comfort. She did not want reassurance. She just wanted to see her sister and make sure she was alright.

Her focus was on Arielle, her older sister. The only person in this world who had never looked at her with contempt or judgment. The only person who had always been there, protecting her, sheltering her, and loving her despite everything.

Eiravelle reached the grand door to Arielle’s chambers and paused once more. Through the crack in the doorway, she could see the healer—an ancient beta named Mr. Gahks—bending over her sister’s prone form.

His hands glowed with soft blue magical light as he worked, easing the pain that had taken root in Arielle’s back. The light pulsed gently, soothing, and casting soft shadows across the room.

The prime minister had always been strong, the pillar upon which the Arthion family rested. But now she lay on her stomach on the massive silk-covered bed, her robes partially removed to reveal the angry red welts that marked her skin.

The punishment had been severe—too severe, Eiravelle thought, her heart was twisting at the sight.

"Y-Yeah," Arielle said, her voice was hoarse and strained, carrying a faint tremor that she was clearly trying to suppress. "It is a bit better now. Thank you."

She was pale, her features were drawn with exhaustion, but she was smiling. Smiling despite the pain, despite the injustice, because that was who Arielle was—a female alpha who bore the burdens of the world on her shoulders without complaint.

Her silver hair, usually immaculate, was disheveled and spread across the pillows like spilled moonlight.

"If you need anything, please summon me, my Lordess," the healer said, gathering his supplies and placing them in a leather satchel. His movements were efficient, practiced, but there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of concern.

Arielle nodded, a gesture that seemed to cost her considerable effort. "Mm. I will. You are dismissed."

The healer bowed low and made his way toward the door, his footsteps were soft on the thick carpet. He looked up as he reached the threshold, and his eyes met Eiravelle’s.

"Lady Eiravelle," he said, his tone was cold but not overly rude. "Why are you here?"

Eiravelle flinched at the hostility she sensed in his demeanor. She had never been comfortable with Mr. Gahks—he had always looked at her with suspicion, as though she were a problem to be solved rather than a person to be treated with dignity. "H-Healer, I just... I just want to check if my sister is okay."

The healer’s expression hardened, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I suppose you are not satisfied that this happened to the prime minister?" He asked, his voice dripped with barely concealed accusation. "Is this what you wanted, Lady Eiravelle? To see your sister suffer on your behalf?"

Eiravelle felt the words like a knife to her chest. She frowned, her brow furrowed with confusion and hurt. What did he mean by that? Why would she not be satisfied? She had never wanted this, never wished for harm to come to the sister who had been her only protector.

"I—I do not understand—" she began, but her voice faltered, the words died in her throat. She could feel her hands trembling, the tears that threatened to spill once more. Why did everyone assume the worst of her? Why did they always believe she was the cause of every misfortune?

From across the room, Arielle’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Mr. Gahks, your only job here is to attend to my needs. Not to reprimand my little sister." Her tone was sharp, carrying the full weight of her authority despite her weakened state. "As far as I can remember, you have no rights to do so."

The healer’s face paled slightly. He turned back toward the bed and bowed low, his earlier arrogance deflated like a punctured balloon.

"Forgive me, my Lordess. I was just—"

Arielle cut him off with a wave of her hand. "You may leave, before I change my mind entirely."

The healer did not need to be told twice. He hurried out of the room, his head bowed, and his earlier confidence was utterly shattered. Eiravelle watched him go, her heart was still racing from the confrontation, and felt a strange mixture of gratitude and guilt wash over her.

Arielle’s gaze softened as it fell upon her sister. "Eiravelle, dear, come inside."

Eiravelle hesitated at the threshold. The maids’ words still echoed in her mind, their cruel accusations was fresh and raw. She did not want to cause more trouble for her sister, did not want to add to the burdens that Arielle already carried.

"I... I do not want to cause more trouble for sister Arielle," she said, her voice was small and uncertain. Her hands were clasped before her, fingers are twisting nervously together. "I have already done enough damage."

The way she referred to herself in the third person, rather than "you"—broke Arielle’s heart. It spoke of a distance, a sense of unworthiness that had been drilled into Eiravelle since childhood. It was a habit she had developed as a child, a way of separating herself from the pain of being constantly blamed for things beyond her control.

Arielle sighed, wincing slightly as she forced herself to sit up. Her muscles protested, the welts on her back was still tender and raw, but she pushed through the pain. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose on unsteady feet, then walked toward the door with slow, measured steps. Each movement was a trial, but she refused to show weakness in front of her sister.

The distance between them seemed vast, but Arielle closed it one step at a time. She reached the doorway and pulled it open wide, revealing Eiravelle’s tear-streaked face and trembling form.

"Eiravelle, please do not blame yourself for this," Arielle said, her voice was firm yet impossibly gentle. "You did not ask me to hurt Kariv. You did not ask me to defend your honor in the way I chose. I made that decision myself, and I stand by it. Do you understand me?"

But the words did not soothe Eiravelle’s pain. She still carried the weight of guilt, still believed that her very existence was a curse upon those she loved. The thought that Arielle had suffered because of her, had been punished because of her actions, was more than she could bear.

"I just don’t like seeing you hurt because of me," Eiravelle said, her voice trembled. "I shouldn’t have drag you to my problems, I should’ve run away and disappeared, I should’ve died! I am a jinx!"

"Eiravelle." Arielle’s voice was firm, cutting through the spiral of self-recrimination. "Look at me."

Eiravelle looked up, her pink ruby eyes are swimming with tears. Arielle met her gaze and held it, her expression was one of unwavering love and conviction.

"You are not a jinx. You are not a curse. You are my sister, and I would do anything for you. That is not your fault that this is my choice. My love for you is my choice. Do you understand?"

Eiravelle’s lip trembled. "But—"

"No buts." Arielle reached out and took her sister’s hands, squeezing them gently. "I love you, Eiravelle. I have loved you since the day our mother brought you into this world, and I will love you until the day I die. Nothing you do will ever change that."

A sob escaped Eiravelle’s lips, and then another, and then she was crying in earnest, her body shook with the force of her grief. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around her sister’s neck and burying her face against Arielle’s chest. The sobs came freely now, each one was wrenched from the depths of her soul.

Arielle winced as the embrace tightened around her injured back, but she did not make a sound. She could feel the pressure of Eiravelle’s arms, the way her sister clung to her as though she were the only anchor in a storm.

If she made even the smallest sound of pain, Eiravelle would notice, would pull away, and would blame herself all over again.

And so Arielle endured the ache, cradling her little sister with all the tenderness she possessed.

"There, there," Arielle murmured, her voice was soft and soothing. "Everything is alright. Everything is going to be alright. I am here, Eiravelle. I am not going anywhere."

She gently cradled Eiravelle’s head, her fingers are threading through the soft pink strands with gentleness. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Eiravelle’s head, breathing in the familiar scent of her sister. Lavender pheromones, the same scent that had comforted her through countless nights.

But Eiravelle continued to sob, her body trembling against Arielle’s arms. The tears came in waves, each one more violent than the last, and Arielle could do nothing but hold her and wait for the storm to pass.

"It was my fault, sister," Eiravelle muttered against Arielle’s chest, her voice was muffled and broken. "It was all my fault. Everything that happened, it is because of me. If I had not been so foolish, if I had not asked you to help me, if I had just accepted my place—"

"No," Arielle said firmly, cutting off the self-recrimination again before it could take root. "It is not your fault, plese stop saying that. You did not ask me to hurt Kariv. I acted on my own, because I love you and I could not bear to see anyone harm you. What happened to me was the consequence of my own choice, not yours. Do not take that burden upon yourself. Am I making myself clear?"

"But you did it for me," Eiravelle insisted, pulling back just enough to look up at her sister’s face. "You did it for me, and because of that, you were punished. How can you say it is not my fault when I am the reason you acted at all? If I had never fallen in love with Kariv—"

Arielle smiled softly, a gentle expression that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Despite the pain in her back, despite the exhaustion that pulled at her limbs, she found Eiravelle’s crying adorable. Her little sister, so full of guilt and self-doubt, blaming herself for things she had no control over.

"Eiravelle," Arielle said, her voice was tender. "Listen to me. You fell in love with Kariv because you are young and hopeful and full of dreams. That is not a weakness. That is not a flaw. That is what makes you who you are, and I would never wish to change that."

She reached up with trembling hands and gently wiped the tears from Eiravelle’s cheeks, her thumbs traced the paths of the salty tracks. Eiravelle’s skin was soft beneath her touch, warm and alive, and Arielle felt a surge of protectiveness wash over her.

"Stop crying, my dear sister," Arielle continued. "I promised I am alright, and I will be okay by tomorrow. Do not cry, please. It breaks my heart to see you like this."

"Please do not do that again, sister," Eiravelle pleaded, her voice was trembling with desperation. "Please? I cannot bear to see you hurt because of me. Please promise me you will not do anything like that again."

Arielle hesitated. The words she wanted to say would only frighten Eiravelle further. So instead, she nodded and smiled, a gentle reassurance.

"I promise," she said softly. "No more violent things. I will find other ways to protect you."

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eiravelle’s forehead, her lips lingered against the warm skin. Eiravelle’s tears had begun to slow, the sobs faded into soft sniffles, and Arielle felt a measure of relief. The storm was passing, as it always did, and her sister’s smile would return soon enough.

"Do you want to sleep next to me tonight?" Arielle asked, her voice carried a hint of hope. "It would comfort me to have you near. I have missed your warmth."

Eiravelle nodded immediately, her eyes brightened despite the lingering traces of tears. "Mm! I want to! I will guard sister!" She declared, her voice was taking on a determined note that made Arielle’s heart swell. "I will make sure nothing bad happens to you tonight."

Arielle smiled gently and nodded. "Then stop crying and let us go to bed. I am exhausted, and I suspect you are as well. It has been a long day for both of us."

She guided Eiravelle inside the room, her hand rested on her sister’s shoulder as she closed the door behind them. The soft click of the latch was a comfort, sealing them away from the rest of the world, from the whispers, the gossip, and the judgment.

In this room, there was only them, only the bond that had sustained them through so many trials.

The room was warm, lit by a single enchanted candle that cast a soft, golden glow across the space. The bed was massive, its silk sheets was a deep crimson that matched the curtains framing the windows.

Eiravelle nestled close, her head was resting on Arielle’s shoulder, her hand curled against her sister’s chest. She was so small, so fragile, yet there was a strength in her that Arielle had always admired.

The same strength that had carried her through years of cruelty and judgment, that had kept her smiling even when the world seemed determined to break her.