Chapter 3: Kariv’s Cruelty Towards Eiravelle

The garden path stretched before Eiravelle like a ribbon of silver moonlight, the stones were worn smooth by centuries of footsteps from the noble families who had walked these grounds before her.

Ancient oaks lined the pathway, their branches are reaching overhead to form a natural canopy that filtered the starlight into dappled patterns across the ground. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers, their petals were glistening with dew that caught the soft glow of the enchanted lanterns floating lazily above. ℯℯ𝘭.

Eiravelle’s heart beat with anticipation as she followed the royal knight through the winding paths. Her gown rustled softly with each step, the fabric was whispering against the carefully trimmed hedges that bordered the walkway. She could hear the distant strains of music from the banquet hall, muffled now by the distance and the thick foliage that surrounded her.

The knight led her to a secluded section of the garden, a hidden alcove surrounded by climbing roses and ancient marble statues depicting figures from elven, lycan, and Deer goddesses and gods of Forest tales. A small fountain burbled softly in the center, its waters catching the moonlight and scattering it into tiny diamonds that danced across the surface of the pool below.

"His Highness awaits you within, Lady Eiravelle," the knight announced, his voice was formal and detached. He stopped at the entrance to the alcove, his posture was rigid, his gaze was fixed straight ahead. "I have been instructed to remain here."

Eiravelle barely registered his words. Her attention was fixed on the shadowed space beyond the rose-covered archway, her excitement was building with every beat of her heart. "Thank you, Sir Knight," she said hastily, already moving past him. "I shall not keep His Highness waiting."

She did not notice the way the knight’s jaw tightened slightly, or the brief flicker of something—pity? concern?—that crossed his features before he composed himself. She did not notice the way his hand twitched as though he might reach out and stop her.

She was too focused on the promise of Kariv’s presence, too eager to see the prince who will become her spouse.

The moment she stepped through the archway, she heard the soft click of the garden gate closing behind her. She paid it no mind, her gaze swept across the alcove as she searched for the familiar figure of the prince.

"Kariv?" She called out, her voice was bright with anticipation. "Where are you?"

The alcove was empty. Moonlight spilled across the marble benches and the stone pathway, illuminating the fountain and the carefully arranged flower beds. But there was no sign of the prince.

Eiravelle frowned, taking a few more steps forward. "Kariv? Are you here?"

She scanned the corners, peering around the pillars that supported the rose-covered trellis. Her heels clicked softly against the stone as she moved, the sound echoing in the quiet space. The music from the banquet hall had faded to almost nothing, replaced by the gentle burble of the fountain and the distant chirping of night insects.

A flicker of doubt crept into her heart. Had she misunderstood? Had the knight led her to the wrong place?

And then, she saw him.

Prince Kariv emerged from the shadows near the far end of the alcove, his figure was tall and imposing against the moonlit backdrop. His expression was unreadable, his features were shadowed by the darkness, but there was something in his posture—a stiffness, a coldness—that made Eiravelle’s heart falter for just a moment.

"I am here, Eiravelle," he said, his voice was flat and devoid of the warmth she had come to expect.

But hearing his voice, even in such a detached tone, was enough to summon a smile to her face. The flicker of doubt vanished, replaced by the overwhelming joy of seeing him again. He had called her here, he had wanted to see her. That was all that mattered.

"Kariv!" she exclaimed, her voice was rising with pure delight. She gathered her skirts and rushed toward him, her heels clattered against the stone as she closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him in a tight embrace, pressing herself against his chest with all the enthusiasm of a child greeting a beloved friend.

"KARIV! I MISS YOU!" She shrieked, her voice was muffled against the fine fabric of his coat. "I have not seen you in so long! I thought you had forgotten about me!"

She was so caught up in her joy that she did not see the way his eyes rolled skyward in barely concealed annoyance. She did not notice the way his body stiffened at her touch, or the way his hands remained at his sides rather than returning her embrace. She did not feel the tension that radiated from him like heat from a dying fire.

"Get off me," Kariv said, his voice turned sharp. "And be a proper omega, Eiravelle. What you did back there in the banquet hall was embarrassing. Have some shame for yourself."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Eiravelle’s arms loosened, and she stepped back, her smile faltered as she looked up at him. His expression had shifted—the coldness was still there, but now it was accompanied by a sneer of contempt that she had never seen on his face before.

"I-I..." She stammered, her hands are dropping to her sides. "I am sorry, Kariv. I promise it will not happen again. I did not mean to embarrass you—"

"Did not mean to?" He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "You called out to me like a common merchant’s daughter haggling in the marketplace. You drew the attention of every noble in attendance. You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the most influential families in the realm."

Eiravelle’s cheeks burned with shame. She looked down at her feet, unable to meet his gaze. "I am sorry," she repeated, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I was just so happy to see you. I did not think—"

"No," Kariv interrupted, his voice was dripping with mockery. "You clearly did not think. You never do, do you, Eiravelle? You simply act on whatever whim strikes you, consequences be damned."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She would not cry and she would not give him more reason to be disappointed in her. "I promise it will not happen again," she said, her voice was trembling despite her efforts to control it. "I will be better and I will be more careful. Please, Kariv, forgive me."

Something shifted in his expression at her words. The coldness remained, but a smirk began to curl at the corner of his lips. Her submissive tone, her desperate pleas, her tear-filled eyes—they seemed to please him somehow, to feed something dark and hungry within him.

"You really mean that?" He asked, his voice was softening to a sickly sweet tone that made her heart flutter with hope again. "You really are sorry?"

"Yes!" Eiravelle nodded frantically, her tears finally spilling over and tracing hot paths down her cheeks. "I am so sorry, Kariv. Please forgive me. I will do anything to make it right."

"Anything?" The smirk widened into a predatory grin. He stepped closer to her, his hand rised to cup her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across her cheek, wiping away the tears with a gentleness that seemed almost tender. "Prove how sincere you are to me, Eiravelle."

She blinked up at him, confusion mingling with the tears in her eyes. "Huh? How? What do you want me to do?"

He did not answer with words. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was passionate, but not gentle or soft. It was claiming, possessive, and rough—the kiss of an Alpha asserting dominance over an Omega, demanding submission without asking for permission. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her against him with a force that made her gasp against his mouth.

Eiravelle froze, her mind was struggling to process what was happening. This was not what she had expected. This was not what she had dreamed of when she imagined her first kiss. She had thought it would be tender, romantic, filled with whispered words of affection.

Instead, it felt like being consumed, like being devoured by something she did not understand.

She whimpered against his lips, her hands rised to press against his shoulders. She wanted to push him away, but she was afraid—afraid of angering him, afraid of losing him, afraid of what he might do if she refused.

And then, he bit her lower lip.

The sharp pain made her cry out, and before she could think, her hands shoved against his chest with all her strength. Kariv stumbled backward, his feet catching on the uneven stone, and for a moment, he nearly fell.

"Ouch!" Eiravelle cried, her hand flew to her lip. She could taste blood, metallic and sharp, and tears of pain mingled with the tears of shame already streaming down her face.

Kariv caught himself against a marble pillar, his expression twisted from shock to fury in the span of a heartbeat. His amber eyes blazed with barely contained rage, and when he straightened, his entire demeanor had shifted from cold indifference to simmering violence.

"What on earth is that?!" He snarled, his voice was low and dangerous. He stalked toward her, and Eiravelle instinctively stepped backward, her back hitting the rough bark of a nearby tree. "How dare you push me?! Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Kariv, I—I am sorry—" she tried to apologize, her words are tumbling out in a desperate rush. "I did not mean to—"

But before she could finish, his hand lashed out and struck her across the face.

The slap echoed in the quiet alcove, sharp and brutal. Eiravelle’s head snapped to the side, her cheek was blazing with pain, her ears rang from the impact. She brought her hand up to her face, touching the spot where he had hit her, and felt the warmth of swelling beneath her fingers.

"I thought you said you were sincere!" Kariv’s voice was still low, but it trembled with the effort of containing his rage. "Why did you push me? Why did you reject me?!"

Eiravelle was shaking now, her entire body was trembling with fear, pain and confusion. More tears fell from her eyes, hot and unrelenting, and she could not seem to stop them.

"I-I... I’m..." She swallowed hard, trying to force the words past the lump in her throat. "I did not mean it. Please forgive me, I was just surprised, that is all. I did not mean to push you. Please, Kariv, I am so sorry."

"Sorry?" He repeated, the word dripped with contempt. "You are always sorry, Eiravelle. Sorry for embarrassing me. Sorry for pushing me. Sorry for being useless and pathetic. But sorry does not change anything, does it?"

"I will do better," she pleaded, her voice was cracking. "I promise I will do better. Just please, please forgive me. I will not do it again. I swear it."

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze was cold and calculating. She could see the anger still simmering behind his eyes, the barely contained fury that made him seem like a predator sizing up its prey.

Finally, he let out a long, slow breath. "Fine," he said flatly. "I forgive you. Again."

The words were like a balm on her wounded heart. A fragile smile broke through her tears. "Thank you, Kariv! Thank you so much! I promise I will not disappoint you again."

"See that you do not," he said, his tone turned dismissive. "Because I am growing tired of your constant failures, Eiravelle. I am growing tired of having to forgive you again and again."

"I understand," she said quickly. "I will be better. I will make you proud. I swear it." She added, her voice sounded so desperate.

A sly smirk crept back onto his face. "Since you are so sincere," he said slowly, his voice taking on a honeyed quality that made her skin prickle with unease, "how about you strip now and serve me properly?"

Eiravelle blinked, her mind struggled to process his words. "Huh?"

"Strip," he repeated, his smirk widened. "Take off that ugly gown and show me how grateful you truly are for my forgiveness. Or do you not want to prove your sincerity after all?"

"Kariv, I do not understand," she said, her voice was small and confused. "Serve you? What do you mean? I thought we were just—"

"Do not play the confused, shy virgin with me, Eiravelle," he snapped, his patience was clearly at an end. "You know exactly what I mean. You are an Omega. I am an Alpha. This is how things work between us. You obey me, and I take care of you. That is the natural order of things."

"But I—I did not know that you wanted—" she stammered, her cheeks were burning with shame and confusion. "I thought you called me here because you wanted to see me, because you cared about me—"

"I do care about you," he interrupted, stepping closer. "That is precisely why I am giving you this opportunity. Do you know how many Omegas would throw themselves at my feet for the chance to serve me? But I chose you, Eiravelle. I gave you this chance because I believed you were special. Do not disappoint me now."

His hand shot out and gripped her chin, his fingers are digging into her jaw with bruising force. She gasped at the pain, her hands were flying up to try to loosen his grip.

"I said strip," he growled, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Or do you want me to tear that ugly gown off you myself?"

"Please, no!" Eiravelle cried out, shaking her head frantically. "This gown was from my sister! It is all I have—"

"I do not care about your sister," Kariv snarled, tightening his grip on her chin. "I do not care about this pathetic gown or anything else you own. What I care about is whether you are willing to prove yourself to me. Are you, Eiravelle? Or have you been lying this entire time about how much I mean to you?"

She whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto his hand. "I am not lying. I swear I am not lying. Please, Kariv, I just—I cannot do this. I am not ready. I have never—"

"You have never what?" He released her chin abruptly, shoving her away. "You have never been with an Alpha before? You have never been touched by anyone? Poor little Eiravelle, so innocent and pure." His voice dripped with mockery. "And yet you expected me to wait? You expected me to believe you were special when you are just like every other desperate little Omega?"

Eiravelle stumbled back, her body was shaking. "I am sorry," she whispered. "I am so sorry, Kariv. I did not mean to deceive you. I just—I thought you actually cared about me. I thought we had something real."

"Real?" He laughed harshly. "You thought there was something real between us? You are a nobody, Eiravelle. The daughter of a disgraced noble house, a child who does not even belong to the family that claims her. You have no power, no influence, no worth. The only reason I ever spoke to you was because I thought you might be useful. But now I see you are not even capable of that."

The words cut deeper than any slap could have. Eiravelle felt as though her heart was being ripped from her chest, torn apart piece by piece with every cruel syllable he uttered. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, to plead with him to take it all back, but no words came.

Kariv turned away from her, his shoulders were rigid with contempt. "I am tired of your whining," he said flatly. "I am tired of your excuses... And I am tired of you." He began to walk away, his footsteps are echoing against the stone.

"Kariv, please!" Eiravelle cried out, her voice was breaking even more. She stumbled forward, her legs nearly giving out beneath her, and threw her arms around him from behind, pressing her face against his back. "Please do not leave me! Please give me another chance! I will be better, I swear I will be better. Just give me more time—"

He stopped walking, but he did not turn around. His hands came up and gripped her wrists, his fingers dug into her skin with bruising force. And then, with a cold and detached motion, he peeled her arms away from him and stepped forward, breaking her embrace completely.

"Do not touch me," he said, his voice was now flat and devoid of any emotion. "You are beneath me, Eiravelle. You always have been. I was a fool to believe otherwise."

He walked away, his figure disappeared into the shadows of the garden. The sound of his footsteps faded, replaced by the gentle burble of the fountain and the distant strains of music from the banquet hall.

Eiravelle stood alone in the alcove, her arms were still outstretched as though she could somehow reach him, bring him back, make him understand. But he was gone, and she was alone, and the tears that had been threatening to consume her finally broke free in a torrent of anguish.

She sank to her knees on the cold stone, her lavender gown pooled around her like a flower wilting in the dark. Her hands gripped the fabric, twisting it in her fingers as she sobbed, great heaving gasps that seemed to tear themselves from the depths of her soul.

"Why?" She whispered to the empty garden. "Why does no one ever want me?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The moon continued to shine down on the alcove, indifferent to her pain. The fountain continued its gentle burble, oblivious to her suffering. And somewhere in the distance, the celebration continued, the music and laughter was a cruel reminder of the joy she would never truly be a part of.

She was invisible, forgotten, and alone.

Just as she had always been.