Chapter 36: Throw Her Out!

"No," she repeated, her voice was steady. "It should be Eiravelle’s decision."

Arthion’s brow furrowed in frustration, the lines on his forehead deepened as he stared at his eldest daughter.

The exhaustion from the previous night’s careful planning still gnawed at his bones, a weariness that made his patience thinner than usual. He had spent hours ensuring that Princess Dawn would arrive at Solkanaia safely, had reviewed every security detail, every possible route, and every contingency.

His mind was still cluttered with logistics and tactical considerations, still weighed down by the responsibility of protecting a visiting royal. And now, instead of rest, he was faced with this.

This defiance. This constant, unyielding defense of someone who had done nothing but bring shame to their family name.

"Why do you always take her side, huh?!" Arthion asked, his voice rising despite his efforts to remain calm. "Why are you always protecting Eiravelle, Arielle?!"

Arielle met his gaze without flinching, though the tension in her jaw betrayed the effort it took to maintain her composure. She had expected this reaction, had prepared herself for her father’s anger.

But preparation did not make it easier to withstand. She took one step forward, her posture was straightening and her hands were clasping behind her back in a gesture that was both formal and defiant.

She was the Prime Minister of Solkanaia. She had faced down political rivals, had navigated treacherous negotiations, and stood her ground against powerful people who wished her harm. She could face her father.

"Father, she is your daughter," Arielle said firmly, her voice was carrying the weight of conviction. "Why are you treating her like this?!"

The words struck Arthion like a physical blow. His face was contorted with a mixture of anger and something else—something that might have been guilt he allowed himself to feel it.

But he had spent too many years burying that guilt, too many years convincing himself that his treatment of Eiravelle was justified. She was not his blood. She was not his responsibility. She was simply the product of his mate’s betrayal, a living reminder of a wound that had never fully healed. He would not allow his daughter to unravel that careful construction.

"She is not my daughter," Arthion yelled back, his voice was echoing through the living room. The words were sharp, cutting, designed to wound. "How many times do I have to say that?!"

Arielle looked away, frustration was evident in the tightness of her expression. She had heard those words countless times, had watched her father distance himself from Eiravelle with a coldness that bordered on cruelty.

But she had also seen the way Eiravelle still looked at him, still called him Apa, still sought his approval despite everything. The contradiction was maddening. How could a child love a man who refused to acknowledge her? How could she keep reaching for a hand that was always pulled away?

"You always say that," Arielle replied, her voice was quieter now but no less firm. "But Eiravelle still treats you as her apa."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with accusation. Arthion’s hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles were whitening with the effort of restraining himself.

The fire in the hearth crackled, sending shadows dancing across the walls, and for a moment, no one spoke. The silence was thick, suffocating, filled with all the things that had never been said and never would be.

"I did not ask her to do that," Arthion finally said, his voice was cold and measured. Each word was deliberate and controlled. "She is just a child your Oma had with another alpha."

The dismissal was absolute and final. Arthion had made his position clear long ago, had drawn a line between himself and the child who bore no blood relation to him. Eiravelle was a reminder of his mate’s infidelity, a living testament to a betrayal he had never been able to forgive. No matter how many years passed, no matter how many times Eiravelle called him father, he could not bring himself to accept her.

Arielle became silent, her gaze drifted away from her father. She turned her back to him, a gesture that was both disrespectful and deliberate. She had spent years trying to bridge the gap between Arthion and Eiravelle, had attempted to soften her father’s heart with patience and understanding.

She had defended Eiravelle at every turn, had shielded her from the worst of their father’s disdain, and had tried to create a space where her sister could feel loved. But there was no softening a heart that had turned to stone, no bridging a gap that had been carved by betrayal.

"You will know nothing about Eiravelle," Arielle said, her voice was barely above a whisper.

But before the words could settle, before the silence could stretch any further, Arisia’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Eiravelle is pregnant!"

The shriek was raw, desperate, the sound of someone who had been holding onto a secret for far too long. The words seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing off the walls, filling every corner with their terrible weight.

For a moment, everything stopped. The fire seemed to hold its breath. The shadows froze in place. The world itself seemed to pause, waiting for the consequences of that single, devastating sentence.

Ariphale immediately covered her sister’s mouth, her eyes turn wide with horror. She had tried to prevent this, had attempted to keep Arisia silent, to give Arielle the chance to handle things her own way.

Arielle was shocked, frozen in place as though the words had physically struck her. Her carefully constructed composure crumbled, and she stood motionless, her breath caught in her throat.

She had known about Eiravelle’s condition, had been the first to learn of it, had promised to keep the secret until Eiravelle was ready to share it. But that choice had been taken from her, ripped away by Arisia’s confession.

Elaria gasped, her hand was flying to her chest. She had not allowed herself to consider this possibility. The implications were staggering, and the consequences were unimaginable.

A pregnant, unmarried omega in a family like theirs was not just a scandal—it was a catastrophe.

Arthion did not immediately process the words. He sat in his chair, his expression was blank, as though he had not heard correctly. His mind, still fogged with exhaustion, struggled to make sense of what had been said.

"What?" He asked, his voice was sounding confused rather than angry.

His gaze snapped towards Arielle, and the force of his attention was almost physical. Arielle closed her eyes, her shoulders are slumping with the weight of the moment. She had wanted to protect Eiravelle, had hoped to give her sister time to make her own decision about how to handle this situation. But that choice had been taken from her, and now she had to face the consequences.

"Was Arisia telling the truth?" Arthion asked, his voice was low and dangerous. "Eiravelle was pregnant?"

Arielle sighed, the sound was heavy with resignation. She gathered enough courage to look at her father, to meet the cold fury in his eyes. She had faced him many times before, had weathered his anger and his disappointment. But this was different.

This was not about politics or duty or the endless expectations of their family name. This was about Eiravelle, about the sister she loved, about the life growing inside her.

"I..." Arielle stumbled on her words, her throat constricted with fear.

"Arielle, look at me and tell me the truth!" Arthion yelled, rising from his chair with a suddenness that made everyone in the room flinch.

Arielle flinched violently at his words, her body reacted before her mind could catch up. The movement was instinctive, a reflex born from years of enduring her father’s temper. She hated herself for it, hated the way her body betrayed her fear, but she could not stop it.

"Yes!"

The voice came from the doorway, cutting through the thick tension like a ray of light through darkness. All their gazes snapped toward Eiravelle as she entered the room, her figure was framed by the morning light that streamed through the door behind her.

She was pale, her face was drawn with exhaustion and fear, but there was a determination in her eyes that no one had seen before. She had heard the shouting from her room, had known that the moment she dreaded had finally arrived. And she had decided to face it head-on.

"Father, yes," Eiravelle said, her voice was steadier than anyone expected. "Please don’t yell at sister Arielle."

She walked slowly toward Arielle, her movements was careful and deliberate. Each step felt like a journey, her legs was heavy with the weight of what she was about to do. When she reached her sister, she grabbed Arielle’s arm and pulled her behind her, positioning herself between Arielle and their father. The gesture was protective, instinctive, as though Eiravelle believed she could shield her sister from the wrath that was sure to come.

"Eiravelle, what are you doing?!" Arielle demanded, trying to step forward, but Eiravelle’s grip on her arm held her in place.

"I am facing this mistake, sister," Eiravelle replied, her voice was quiet but firm. "This has nothing to do with you."

Arielle wanted to argue, wanted to insist that she would stand beside her sister no matter what. But the look in Eiravelle’s eyes stopped her. There was something there, something that spoke of resignation and acceptance, of a decision that had already been made. Eiravelle had chosen to face their father alone, had chosen to bear the weight of her mistake without dragging anyone else down with her.

Arthion stared at Eiravelle, his expression was unreadable. The fury was still there, burning beneath the surface, but there was something else too—confusion, perhaps, or a desperate attempt to understand how this had happened. How had the child he had never wanted become the source of so much trouble? How had she managed to bring disgrace upon his family yet again?

"Who was the alpha of the child?" Arthion asked, his voice was strained with the effort of remaining calm.

Eiravelle shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. She had known this question would come, had dreaded it more than anything else. The shame of it burned in her chest, a constant reminder of a night she could barely remember and a mistake she could never undo.

She had spent weeks trying to piece together the fragments of that night, trying to recall a face, a name, anything that might give her a clue. But the wine had blurred everything, had stolen her memories and left only confusion in their place.

"I... I-I... I don’t know, father," Eiravelle admitted, her voice dropped to a whisper.

But Arthion heard her.

His eyes widened, shock and fury warring for dominance on his features. He had expected many things—a name, perhaps, or at least some indication of who the Alpha might be. But this, this admission of complete and utter recklessness, was beyond anything he had imagined.

His daughter—no, not his daughter, never his daughter—had lain with someone she could not even identify. She had given herself to a stranger, had allowed herself to be used, had brought this shame upon their family without even knowing who to blame.

"What?!" He roared, rising from his chair. "How come you don’t know who is the alpha of the child in your womb?!"

Eiravelle flinched, her body was trembling with fear. But she forced herself to stand straight, to face her father with what little dignity she had left. She had made her choice, had decided to keep the baby despite the consequences and she would not hide from what she had done.

"It... it was..." She began, her voice was faltering. "A single night of indulgence, born from my madness and wine."

The admission hung in the air, a confession that laid bare the depths of her shame. Arthion’s eyes widened, his anger was giving way to something that looked almost like disbelief. Even Elaria was shocked, her hand was pressed to her mouth and her eyes widen with horror.

The words seemed to echo through the room, repeating themselves over and over, a damning refrain that could not be unheard.

"You!" Arthion pointed an accusing finger at Eiravelle, his hand was shaking with rage.

Arielle immediately pulled Eiravelle behind her, positioning herself between her sister and their father.

She had seen that look in Arthion’s eyes before, had witnessed the violence that lurked beneath his carefully controlled exterior. She would not let him hurt Eiravelle. She would not let him lay a hand on her sister.

"Father, please," Arielle pleaded. "Think about—"

But Arthion did not let her finish. He shoved Arielle aside with a strength that sent her stumbling, her back was hitting the wall with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs. Pain exploded through her body, radiating from her spine to her limbs, but she barely noticed.

All she could see was her father grabbing Eiravelle by the shoulders, his grip was so tight that she cried out in pain.

"You brought so much disgrace to this family!" He shouted, his face was inches from hers. "And all I did for you was give you chances, over and over again! Now, no more chances! You’ll know the consequences of what you’ve done! Let’s see if you’ll survive outside this manor!"

He began to drag Eiravelle toward the door, his grip was on her arm and was unrelenting. Eiravelle stumbled, her feet barely keeping up with his furious pace. She tried to pull away, tried to free herself from his grasp, but he was too strong. He had always been too strong.

"Father! Father, please! NO!" She cried, her voice was breaking with desperation.

"Apa! Please!" Arielle screamed, scrambling to her feet. She was about to rush forward, to protect her sister, but Arthion raised his hand and a surge of power filled the room.

Before Arielle could reach them, invisible bonds wrapped around her, forcing her back against a nearby pillar. She struggled against the magical restraints, but they held firm, and she could only watch in horror as her father dragged Eiravelle toward the courtyard.

"You don’t get to decide, Arielle!" Arthion yelled over his shoulder. "This omega has been far too disgraceful for this family, and I no longer can keep this stain!"

Servants who had witnessed the scene scattered, disappearing into the corridors and side rooms. They had seen their master angry before, had witnessed his temper flare on more than one occasion. But this was different. This was uncontrolled, terrifying, and no one wanted to be caught in the path of his wrath.

"Father, please," Eiravelle pleaded, her voice was growing weaker as he dragged her through the manor. "Please, I’m sorry—"

"No more!" Arthion shouted, cutting her off. "You’re a disgrace! Like a common whore!"

The words were like knives, cutting deep into Eiravelle’s heart. She had known her father did not love her, had known he resented her existence.

But to hear him call her such things, to hear the disgust dripping from his voice—it was more than she could bear. The tears came faster, blurring her vision, and she stopped resisting. What was the point? What was the point of fighting when she had already lost everything?

They reached the courtyard, the morning sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Arthion shoved Eiravelle down, and she fell into the dirt, her hands are scraping against the rough ground. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face and her body was trembling with fear and shame.

"That’s where you belong!" Arthion said, his voice was filled with disgust. "You’re filthy! Don’t ever come back in this place, or I will make sure you suffer more pain!"

He turned his back on her and walked away, his footsteps are echoing across the courtyard. He did not look back, did not hesitate, did not show even a moment of regret for what he had done.

Gertrude, one of the senior servants, had witnessed the scene from a window. She followed Arthion inside the manor, her expression was carefully neutral, though her heart ached for the young woman left crying in the courtyard.

She had known Eiravelle since she was a child, had watched her grow up in this very manor. She had seen the way Arthion treated her, and had witnessed the coldness and the cruelty, but she had never seen anything like this.

Arthion stormed through the halls, his fury was still burning hot within him. Servants pressed themselves against the walls, their eyes are downcast and their bodies are trembling with fear.

They had never seen him like this, had never witnessed the full force of his rage unleashed. He was a God, a warlord, a man whose word was law. And he had just cast out his own daughter—or the child he had never accepted as his own—without a shred of mercy.

"Throw her out!" Arthion bellowed, his voice was carrying through the manor. "Make sure she never comes back! And if any of you help her, I will make sure you suffer with her!"

The servants nodded frantically, too terrified to speak, too afraid to do anything but obey.

"Eiravelle is no longer a daughter of this manor!" Arthion added, his words was an ultimatum that left no room for negotiation. "From this moment on, I disown her entirely!"

The words echoed through the manor like thunder, a declaration that would change everything.

Arthion disappeared into his study, slamming the door behind him with a force that shook the walls. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of Eiravelle’s sobs drifting in from the courtyard.

On that morning, in the dirt of the courtyard where she had once played as a child, and Eiravelle cried as she remembered it. She cried for the family she had lost, for the father who had never truly been hers, for the life she had known and would never know again.

The tears fell freely, carving tracks through the dirt on her cheeks, and her body shook with the force of her grief.

She thought of her mother, Elaria, of the omega who had brought her into this world and then left her behind. She thought of Arielle, of the sister who had always protected her, who had stood between her and their father’s wrath more times than she could count.

She thought of the child growing inside her, the innocent life that had done nothing wrong, that deserved none of the shame and cruelty being heaped upon its mother.

But even as the tears fell, even as her body trembled with grief and shame, she made a decision. She placed a hand on her stomach, where the life inside her was barely beginning to grow. She could feel nothing yet, no movement, no flutter of life. But she knew it was there, a tiny spark of existence that depended entirely on her.

She would keep the baby.

The consequences were immense, the future was uncertain, the path ahead will be filled with obstacles she could not yet imagine.

She had been cast out, disowned, stripped of everything she had ever known. She had no home, no family, no protection. But she did not regret it.

She would not regret it.

Eiravelle pushed herself up from the dirt, her arms are trembling with the effort. She brushed the dust from her clothes, wiped the tears from her face, and took a deep breath. The morning sun was warm on her skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that had filled the manor.

She looked back at the building that had been her home, at the windows that had once held happy memories, at the door that had been closed to her forever. She felt no anger, no bitterness. Only a deep, profound sadness for what could have been.

Then she turned and walked away, her steps are slow but steady, her heart was heavy but resolute. She did not know where she would go, did not know how she would survive. But she would find a way. She had to.

For the child growing inside her, she would find a way.

The road stretched before her, leading away from the manor and into the unknown. The trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, their leaves are rustling as though whispering words of encouragement. The birds sang in the branches, their melodies a bittersweet soundtrack to her departure.

Eiravelle walked, one foot in front of the other, leaving behind everything she had ever known. And as she walked, she made a silent promise to herself and to the child within her.

She would survive. She would endure. And one day, she would find a place where she belonged.