Chapter 2: The Eve’s Celebration

The evening had descended upon House Arthion like a velvet cloak, studded with the glittering jewels of countless stars that painted the sky in shades of deep indigo and silver.

The transformation of the estate was nothing short of magical—thousands of enchanted lanterns floated lazily above the gardens. The main banquet hall blazed with warmth and splendor, every crystal chandelier was fully illuminated, every surface was gleaming with the reflection of nobility in their finest attire.

The air was alive with the gentle strains of string music, played by a quartet of elven musicians positioned in the eastern alcove as Master Thalion had so meticulously arranged.

Their melody wove through the conversations and laughter of the gathered guests, a harmonious backdrop to the evening’s festivities. The scent of exotic delicacies drifted from the grand tables that lined the hall—roasted meats glazed with honey and herbs, filled with spiced cream, fruits imported from distant lands that glistened with a thin coating of edible gold, and towering confections that seemed almost too beautiful to consume.

Noble families from across the realm had answered the summons, their carriages and entourages filling the estate’s expansive courtyard. Lords and ladies in gowns of silk and velvet moved through the crowd with practiced grace, their jewels caught the light and throwing rainbows across the walls.

The air buzzed with the murmur of polite conversation, the clink of crystal glasses, and the occasional peal of carefully modulated laughter.

Among the honored guests was the royal family of Solkonaia, represented by none other than Prince Kariv himself. The young Alpha prince cut an imposing figure despite his relatively youthful age, his tall frame clad in formal attire of deep crimson and gold that spoke of his royal lineage.

His dark hair was swept back from his face, revealing sharp features and intelligent amber eyes that missed nothing. His presence was commanding attention, and the noble families clustered around him like moths drawn to a flame, eager to bask in the glow of his favor.

Prince Kariv moved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering gracious smiles and diplomatic pleasantries to all who approached him. His manners were impeccable, his words were carefully chosen, his demeanor was perfectly suited to the role he played as representative of the Sovereign.

Despite the casual warmth he projected, there was an undercurrent of keen observation in his gaze, a calculating intelligence that weighed every interaction.

At the center of the main hall, surrounded by the most prominent members of the noble houses, stood Lord Arthion and Lady Elaria. The Lord of House Arthion was a striking figure, his elven heritage was evident in the slight point of his ears and the ageless quality of his features.

His height was considerable, his build was strong and commanding despite the elegance of his formal attire. His hair was swept back from a face that rarely revealed the depth of his thoughts. His eyes, however—a piercing shade of silver—held the keen intelligence and dangerous edge of his Lycan heritage.

Lady Elaria stood beside her husband, a vision of otherworldly beauty. Her divine heritage was unmistakable in the luminescent quality of her skin, the gentle curve of her figure, and the warm, nurturing presence she exuded.

Her hair fell past her shoulders in soft waves, and her eyes held the depth and wisdom of her forest goddess lineage. Her gown was a masterpiece of Goddess design, the fabric was the color of autumn leaves in shades of amber and gold, embroidered with patterns that seemed to shift and flow like living branches.

Together, they made a formidable pair—the Alpha lord and his divine omega wife, the foundation upon which House Arthion had been built.

"Your Highness," Lord Arthion greeted, his voice was a deep, resonant timbre that carried authority without effort. "We are deeply honored by your presence this evening. You must convey our sincerest gratitude to the Sovereign for extending such kindness to our humble celebration."

Prince Kariv inclined his head with a warm smile, the gesture was conveying respect without subservience. "Please forgive my <anno data-annotation-id="99496680-f853-0224-47d1-49db696a9b4b" data-title="Ama">Ama¹</anno> if she could not make it tonight," he said, his voice was smooth and melodic.

"The demands of rulership are unceasing, and she sends her deepest apologies for her absence. She wishes she could be here to witness the splendor of this celebration personally." Kariv added

"Oh, Prince Kariv, please do not apologize," Elaria responded, her voice was like the gentle rustle of leaves in a summer breeze. "We are already filled with joy by your presence tonight. We understand Her Majesty’s obligations entirely—she is the ruler of our realm, and her duties must take precedence. The fact that she sent you as her representative is honor enough for our manor."

"You are too kind, Lady Elaria," Kariv replied, his smile was widening slightly. "I must say, the legends of your beauty do not do you justice. I can see clearly now where your daughters have inherited their grace."

Elaria’s cheeks flushed with a soft pink, and she lowered her gaze modestly. "Your Highness flatters me far too generously."

"Your Highness, if you would permit me," Lord Arthion interjected, his tone was smooth, "I would be honored to introduce you to some of our most distinguished guests. There are several noble houses who have expressed a keen interest in making your acquaintance."

"Of course, Lord Arthion," Kariv agreed with an easy nod. "I would be delighted to meet them. It is always a pleasure to forge new connections."

The evening continued in this vein—polite conversation, strategic alliances, the careful dance of noble politics conducted beneath the veneer of celebration.

The guests mingled and laughed, plates were filled and emptied, and the music swelled and softened in perfect accompaniment to the flow of the evening.

And then, Eiravelle arrived.

She had entered through a side entrance, hoping to slip into the festivities unnoticed. Her lavender gown, while not nearly as elaborate as her sisters’ attire, was the finest dress she owned.

She had spent hours preparing for this evening, carefully curling the ends of her pink hair, applying a touch of rose water to her cheeks, and donning a pair of delicate heels that she had borrowed from one of the more sympathetic maids.

The gown, though simple compared to the finery around her, had been her most prized possession. It had once belonged to Arielle’s wardrobe, a gift from a generous noblewoman who had visited the estate years ago.

Arielle had outgrown it quickly, and rather than letting it languish in storage, she had gifted it to her youngest sister. Eiravelle had kept it carefully preserved, bringing it out only for the most important occasions.

Tonight, she had hoped, would be one such occasion.

Her face lit up with barely contained joy as she spotted the familiar figure of Prince Kariv across the hall. Her heart swelled with affection—he had always been kind to her during his previous visits before, offering gentle words and small kindnesses when no one else would.

He had called her by her name, had looked at her without judgment, had treated her as though she were worthy of attention. And that is why Eiravelle fell in love with him.

Without thinking, without considering the proper etiquette or the weight of her actions, Eiravelle called out in a voice that cut through the elegant murmur of the gathering.

"KARIV!!!"

The name rang through the banquet hall like a bell, shattering the carefully constructed atmosphere of refined celebration. Conversations faltered, heads turned, and every eye in the room was fixed upon the source of the outburst—a small, pink-haired girl standing near the edge of the hall, her face was alight with innocent joy.

Silence descended like a blade.

Eiravelle’s enthusiasm did not waver. She lifted the hem of her petticoated gown and began to hurry across the polished floor, eager to reach her fiance. Her heels clicked against the marble in sharp, rapid taps that seemed unnaturally loud in the sudden hush.

Behind her, she could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon her, but she was too focused on reaching Kariv to notice. She did not see her mother’s eyes close in mortification, her face was paling slightly as the whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

She did not see her father’s jaw tighten, his silver eyes narrowing with barely suppressed irritation at this sudden display of impropriety. She did not see the nobles exchange knowing glances, their lips curving into smirks of barely concealed amusement.

All she saw was Kariv.

And then she felt something catch her ankle.

It happened so quickly that Eiravelle did not have time to react. One moment she was moving forward, her skirt was lifted, her face was bright with anticipation. The next moment, her foot struck something solid—a misplaced limb, an extended foot—and she was falling.

The world tilted crazily. Her arms flailed, grasping for something, anything, to steady herself. Her heel caught on the fabric of her gown, and she pitched forward, her cry of alarm swallowed by the collective gasp that rose from the watching crowd.

She hit the floor with a jarring impact, the breath was driven from her lungs in a pained whoosh. Her carefully styled hair tumbled from its pins, cascading around her face in a wild halo of pink curls.

Her gown pooled around her, the lavender fabric had tangled around her legs, and her heels had slipped from her feet, skittering across the marble to come to a rest several feet away.

For a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a titter of laughter broke the stillness. It was quickly joined by others—high-pitched giggles from a group of female omegas, mocking chuckles from several male nobles who had witnessed the fall. The laughter spread like ripples in a pond, growing louder and more confident as others joined in.

"Oh my, did you see that?" one noblewoman whispered, her voice was carrying clearly in the silence. "How terribly embarrassing."

"The poor dear," another added, though her tone lacked any genuine sympathy. "One would think someone of her station would learn to walk properly."

"She is such a clumsy creature," a third voice chimed in. "I am surprised she is allowed to attend such prestigious gatherings."

Eiravelle lay on the cold marble floor, her face was burning with shame as the laughter washed over her. She tried to push herself up, but the heavy fabric of her gown made the movement difficult, and the heels—she could not even see her heels.

She tried again, her palms were slipping against the polished floor and her arms are trembling with the effort.

"Please," she whispered, the word barely audible. "Please, someone..."

But no one came to her aid. The guests continued their mocking observations, their whispers were sharp and cruel. The servants who had been positioned nearby simply looked away, pretending not to see. Even her parents, though their expressions were carefully schooled, made no move to help her.

And Kariv—the fiance she had been so excited to see—simply stood where he was, his expression was carefully blank. He shook his head slowly, a gesture of disapproval that cut deeper than any insult. He lifted his wine glass to his lips and took a measured sip, averting his gaze as though the sight of her was beneath his notice.

Eiravelle’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

She made another attempt to rise, her body was protesting the movement, her muscles are screaming from the impact. The gown was impossibly heavy, the fabric weighing her down like a cage. Her ankles were twisted in the petticoats, and every attempt to free herself only seemed to make the situation worse.

The laughter continued. The whispers continued. The shame continued.

Eiravelle’s eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She would not give them the satisfaction. She would not—

And then, the grand entrance doors swung open.

The heavy oak doors parted with theatrical grandeur, and the assembled guests immediately fell silent, their attention shifted from the fallen girl to the spectacle unfolding at the entrance.

Arisia stood in the doorway, a vision of breathtaking beauty. Her gown of midnight starlight shimmered with every movement, the silver and gold embroidery catching the light and casting sparkles across the walls.

Her hair had been arranged in an elaborate coiffure, woven with tiny gems that glittered like captured constellations. Her wolf ears were proudly displayed, fully visible, and her tail swayed gently behind her, partially concealed by the folds of her gown but unmistakable nonetheless.

On either side of her stood her guardians for the evening—Arielle and Ariphale, both resplendent in their own formal attire. The tradition was ancient and deeply respected: the one being celebrated would be flanked by their closest blood, a symbol of protection and unity that had been observed by their family for generations.

As Arisia stepped into the hall, the crowd erupted into cheers. The applause was thunderous, a wave of adulation that swept through the room like a tide. The laughter that had been directed at Eiravelle moments before was forgotten entirely, replaced by genuine warmth and celebration for the evening’s honored guest.

Arisia’s smile was radiant as she acknowledged the greeting, her gaze swept across the gathered nobility with practiced ease. She moved with perfect grace, her steps were measured and elegant, every movement was calculated to convey sophistication and poise.

She had been trained for this since childhood, and it showed.

But then, her eyes landed on Eiravelle.

The change was instantaneous. Arisia’s smile faltered, her expression changed from warmth to cold disdain in the space of a single heartbeat. Her wolf ears flattened slightly against her head, a subtle sign of displeasure that those who knew her recognized immediately.

Her tail stopped its gentle sway, growing still as tension coiled through her body.

The applause began to die as the guests noticed the shift in the atmosphere. Conversations faltered, smiles faded, and the same silence that had descended when Eiravelle fell returned, thick and heavy with anticipation.

"What kind of foolish act is this, Eiravelle?" Arisia’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, cold and sharp and utterly devoid of warmth. She looked down at her fallen sister, her expression was flat and her eyes held nothing but contempt.

Eiravelle’s face burned with humiliation. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, to defend herself, but the words would not come. Her throat felt tight, her voice was trapped somewhere inside her chest.

"Uhm... It is... Err..." She stammered, her gaze darted around the room as she desperately searched for something to say.

"You always do this," Arisia continued, her tone turned more flat but unmistakably laced with anger. "Always trying to ruin everything." Her hands clenched at her sides, her knuckles are whitening with the effort of maintaining her composure.

"You interrupt events. You draw attention to yourself with your ridiculous displays. You behave as though you have no understanding of proper conduct whatsoever."

"Arisia, please," Arielle whispered, stepping forward slightly. She placed a gentle hand on her sister’s arm, her voice was low and pleading. "Please understand Eiravelle. She did not mean—"

"Did not mean what?" Arisia snapped, whirling to face her sister. "Did not mean to make a spectacle of herself in front of the entire noble court? Did not mean to embarrass our family in front of the royal prince? Did not mean to—"

She stopped herself, her jaw tightened as she visibly composed her features. The anger was still there, burning in her eyes, but she forced it down, forced herself to appear calm.

"Fine," she said at last, her tone was clipped and controlled. She turned her gaze back to Eiravelle, and there was something almost cruel in her smile. "This is your last chance, Eiravelle. Behave yourself."

She did not wait for a response. She simply turned away, lifting her chin and composing her features into a gracious smile as she continued into the hall.

The silence stretched for a long, terrible moment.

Then, as though a spell had been broken, the crowd erupted once more into cheers and applause. The celebration resumed, the guests turned their attention back to Arisia as though nothing had happened.

Lord Arthion and Lady Elaria stepped forward to greet their daughter, their expressions were carefully neutral and their words of welcome had mask whatever displeasure they might have felt.

Eiravelle remained on the floor, forgotten.

She watched as Arisia was surrounded by admirers, as her family basked in the warmth of the crowd’s adulation. She watched as the laughter and joy that had been so cruel moments before transformed into something genuine, something beautiful that she was not allowed to share.

She was still lying there, still unable to rise, when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Come here, dear," Arielle said softly, crouching beside her. Her expression was warm with concern, her blue eyes were filled with a tenderness that made Eiravelle’s heart ache. "Let us get you up."

With careful movements, Arielle helped her youngest sister to her feet. She took Eiravelle’s weight, steadying her as the girl swayed slightly, her legs were weak from the fall and the lingering embarrassment.

"You know that you do not entirely need to wear this heavy gown," Arielle added, her voice was gentle as she brushed a stray curl from Eiravelle’s face.

Eiravelle’s smile wobbled, but she forced it back into place. "I just wanted to be presentable too," she confessed, her voice was small and vulnerable. "Sister Arisia is so beautiful tonight. I did not want her to feel angry just because I did not put effort into my appearance, like last time, during Sister Ariphale’s birthday."

She remembered that occasion all too clearly—the harsh words, the cold looks, the way Arisia had refused to speak to her for days afterward. She had promised herself she would never make that mistake again.

Arielle’s expression softened, her eyes were filled with a sorrow that words could not express. She sighed, a sound of helplessness, of frustration at a situation she could not fix.

"You are already beautiful by being you, Eiravelle," she said firmly. "Take it from me, all right?"

Eiravelle’s heart was immediately lifted at the words, a fragile warmth spreading through her chest. "Thank you, sister!"

"Ha ha, do not thank me," Arielle replied, a genuine smile curving her lips. "You are beautiful. I am merely stating facts."

Eiravelle’s gaze drifted across the hall, searching for a familiar figure. "Oh? Sister, have you seen Kariv? I wanted to..."

She trailed off, unable to find the prince anywhere in the crowd. He seemed to have vanished, absorbed into the sea of nobles that filled the hall.

"I am not certain where he is," Arielle said, following her gaze. "But Eiravelle..."

Eiravelle turned back to her sister, her eyes were bright with curiosity. "Yes, sister?"

"Please be careful how you address Prince Kariv from now on," Arielle said gently, her voice was carrying a note of caution. "We are in public, surrounded by the most influential families in the realm. I do not wish for others to think you lack manners. If His Highness permits it, you may call him by his name during private moments, but here..." She shook her head slowly. "Please, no."

The words sank into Eiravelle’s mind like stones into deep water. Her expression fell, the joy was fading from her eyes as she processed the gentle reprimand.

"I understand," she said quietly, nodding. "I did not mean to be rude. I was just so happy to see him."

"I know you were," Arielle replied, pulling her youngest sister into a warm embrace. "I know you meant no harm. But the world we live in is not always kind to good intentions."

Eiravelle hugged her sister back, drawing comfort from the warmth of the embrace. She could hear the celebration continuing around her—the music, the laughter, the clink of glasses—but it all seemed distant, as though it were happening in another world entirely.

"Since this is a banquet," Arielle continued, pulling back with a bright smile, "I shall help you get everything you wish to eat. There are delicacies from across the realm, and I am certain there is something that will lift your spirits."

Eiravelle shook her head. "I am full for now, sister. Perhaps later."

Arielle studied her for a moment, her expression was unreadable. "Very well. That is acceptable. Just stay close to me, all right? I want to ensure you are well taken care of."

"I will, sister."

The two stood together in comfortable silence, Eiravelle was leaning against Arielle’s side as the celebration swirled around them. It was almost peaceful, if one ignored the whispers and the stares that continued to follow the youngest daughter of House Arthion.

And then, a royal knight approached.

The knight was tall and broad-shouldered, his armor was polished to a gleaming shine, the crest of the Solkonaian royal house emblazoned on his chest. He moved with the precision of a warrior, his steps were measured and purposeful, and when he reached the two sisters, he bowed formally.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Eiravelle," he said, his voice was deep and respectful. "But His Highness, Prince Kariv, has summoned you to the gardens. He wishes to speak with you privately."

Eiravelle’s face lit up instantly, the joy returned to her eyes in a dazzling burst. "Kariv?!" She exclaimed, her voice was rising with excitement. "Let us go, then!"

Without a moment’s hesitation, she gathered the heavy fabric of her petticoated skirt and began to follow the knight, her heels was clicking against the marble floor as she hurried after him.

She did not look back, did not see the concerned expression on Arielle’s face, did not notice the way her sister’s hand reached out as though to stop her.

Arielle stood alone in the crowd, watching her youngest sister disappear through the garden doors. A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with unspoken worries.

"Arielle, what are you doing standing here by yourself?" A voice called out, and Arielle turned to find her mother approaching. But unlike earlier, Lady Elaria’s expression was not warm.

Her eyes were cold, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her posture radiated barely concealed displeasure.

"<anno data-annotation-id="7986950e-9471-9c9d-ddd6-bf69ecd894a0" data-title="Oma">Oma¹</anno>," Arielle greeted, her tone was cautious as she noted the shift in her mother’s demeanor. "I was just speaking with Eiravelle. She seems to be doing better now."

"Eiravelle," Elaria repeated, the name left her lips like a sharpened blade. Her gaze followed the direction in which her youngest daughter had disappeared, and her jaw tightened. "Yes, I saw her. I saw her make a spectacle of herself in front of the entire noble court. I saw her embarrass this family, yet again, in the presence of the royal prince."

Arielle’s brow furrowed. "Mother, she did not mean any harm. She was simply happy to see Prince Kariv—"

"Do not make excuses for her," Elaria cut her off, her voice was low but carried a biting edge. "That girl has no sense of propriety. She behaves as though she were raised in a common hovel rather than the household of a noble lord. I have tolerated her follies for years, but tonight was the final straw."

"Tolerated?" Arielle repeated, her own voice was rising slightly with disbelief. "Mother, she is your daughter. She is my sister. She is a member of this family, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not."

Elaria’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. "A member of this family? Do not speak to me of family, Arielle. You know as well as I do that she is not—" She stopped herself, drawing a sharp breath, but the implication hung heavy in the air between them.

Arielle’s hands clenched at her sides, but her voice remained calm, "I know that she has been treated unfairly for as long as I can remember. I know that she tries harder than any of us to please everyone around her, and she receives nothing but scorn in return. I know that she is kind, and gentle, and she does not deserve the contempt you are directing at her tonight."

"Kind? Gentle?" Elaria let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "She is a liability. She disrupts every gathering she attends. She draws unwanted attention to our house. She—" Her voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, something flickered behind her cold eyes.

Guilt? Regret? But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a hardened resolve. "She is always like this, Arielle. Always. I have watched her grow from a child into a young woman, and she has never once learned to control herself. She has never once considered how her actions reflect upon this family."

"Perhaps that is because she has never been taught properly," Arielle countered, her voice was soft but steady. "Perhaps if someone had shown her patience instead of disdain, she might have learned differently. But you, Mother—you have never given her that chance. None of you have."

Elaria’s eyes narrowed. "You defend her so fiercely. Do you truly believe she is worthy of such loyalty?"

Arielle met her mother’s gaze without flinching. "I believe she is my sister. And that is enough."

The two women stood in silence, the tension between them was palpable. Around them, the celebration continued in oblivious revelry, the music and laughter a stark contrast to the quiet battle being waged in the corner of the hall.

Finally, Elaria shook her head slowly, her expression was hardening into cold contempt. "You are a fool, Arielle. You cling to sentiment where there should be pragmatism. That girl will bring nothing but trouble to this house. Mark my words."

"Then I shall bear that trouble gladly," Arielle replied, her voice was unwavering. "Because unlike the rest of you, I see her for who she truly is—not a mistake, not a burden, but a being deserving of love."

Elaria’s lips curled into a bitter smile. "Love. You speak of love as though it were a cure for all ills. But love will not erase the whispers. Love will not restore the honor she has cost this family. The honor she had cost me. Love will not make her one of us."

"Then perhaps," Arielle said quietly, "the fault lies not with her, but with those who refuse to see her as one of us."

Without waiting for a response, Arielle turned and walked away, her stride was purposeful, her head was held high. She did not look back at her mother, did not see the flicker of something—pain, perhaps, or frustration—that crossed Elaria’s face before she composed herself once more.

<annotations style="display: none;">This is the term they use to describe a female Alpha parent. Ama is Alpha Ma or Mother.This is a term used to address a female Omega mother.</annotations>