Chapter 8: Family’s Anger Towards Eiravelle

Eiravelle woke up slowly, her consciousness rising from the depths of a dreamless sleep like a swimmer breaking the surface of still water.

The first thing she became aware of was the extraordinary comfort surrounding her—a softness beneath her that cradled her weary body, and warmth that wrapped around her like an embrace. Her mind, still clouded with the remnants of slumber, took a moment to piece together where she was and how she came to be there.

Then the memories flooded back.

The celebration. The prince’s cruel words, spoken with such disdain that the entire hall had fallen silent, every noble eye turning upon her with contempt and amusement. The bitter wine she had drunk to drown her sorrows, hoping to erase the sting of humiliation.

And then—the alpha. The stranger with eyes like molten gold who had found her in that forest, saved her and they did something. She had carried her away from her misery, her arms are strong and steady, her voice was a low rumble that had soothed her fractured spirit.

Eiravelle’s eyes flew open, and she found herself alone.

The alpha was gone.

She lay still for a long moment, her heart was pounding against her ribs as she took in her surroundings. She was beneath a great tree, its ancient branches spreading wide above her like a protective canopy.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns of gold and green across her form. The grass beneath her was soft and cool, and someone had arranged a makeshift bed of moss and leaves to cushion her body from the damp earth.

And draped over her naked form was the alpha’s fur coat.

Eiravelle’s breath caught as she recognised the garment. It was the same long fur coat the alpha had worn the night before—rich and dark and impossibly soft against her skin.

She could still smell her on the fur, a scent of earth and pine and something wilder that she could not name. Her fingers trembled as she touched the coat, tracing the texture of the fur and the fine stitching that held it together. The garment was clearly made of high quality animal furs and was carefully maintained.

The alpha had left it for her. She had covered her naked body with her own coat, ensuring she would not grow cold in the night air.

Eiravelle’s cheeks flushed crimson at the thought. She remembered, in fragments, what had happened between them. The heat of the alpha’s body pressed against hers. The way her hands had moved across her skin like she was memorising every inch of her.

The whispers she had spoken against her ear, her voice was reverent, words she could not quite recall but whose meaning had been unmistakable.

She remembered the pain—sharp and undeniable, the first time. But she also remembered the pleasure that had followed, pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced.

It had swept through her like wildfire, consuming her shame and leaving only warmth in its wake. Pleasure that had made her forget the weight of her disgrace and the cruelty of her family, if only for a few hours,

Eiravelle pushed herself up slowly, wincing at the ache in her limbs. She was sore everywhere, her body was feeling as though she had been stretched and reshaped in some fundamental way. Yet the soreness was not unpleasant.

In fact, she felt... Lighter. Freer. As if a burden she had carried her entire life had been lifted from her shoulders.

She looked down at herself and noticed with surprise that her body had been cleansed. The dried tears and smudged kohl were gone from her face, and her skin felt fresh and clean, as though she had bathed in a mountain stream.

The alpha must have tended to her while she slept, washing away the evidence of her tears and shame with gentle hands.

The thought brought a strange warmth to her chest. Here was a stranger—a person she had never met before, whose name she did not even know—who had shown her more kindness in a single night than her own family had shown her in a lifetime.

She had taken her innocence, yes. But she had also given her comfort and did not hurt her. She had held her through the night and watched over her while she slept, she even had cleansed her body and covered her with her coat.

The alpha had even folded her gown and placed it neatly beside her, as if she understood that she would need to return to her life and did not wish to add to her burden.

Eiravelle reached for the gown, her fingers brushing against the fabric. It had been carefully folded, the wrinkles were smoothed out as much as possible. A small gesture, but one that spoke of consideration and care—qualities she had rarely encountered in her twenty two years of life.

She sat there for a long moment, the coat was still wrapped around her shoulders, and wondered who the alpha was. Her golden eyes haunted her memory, and her voice echoed in her mind.

She had called her something—a name, perhaps, though she could not remember it clearly through the haze of wine and passion. She recalled the way the Alpha had looked at her, as though she were something precious, something worth protecting. No one had ever looked at her that way before.

She knew she would likely never see her again. That was how these things worked, was it not? A chance encounter, a single night of passion, and then they would go their separate ways.

The alpha can be an unknown creature of the wild, and she was the daughter of a noble house—though a disgraced one at that. Their worlds could not be further apart.

And yet, as Eiravelle slowly pulled on her gown, her fingers fumbling with the laces, she found herself wishing that she could see the alpha again. Just once more.

Just to thank her for her kindness, to look into those golden eyes and tell her that she had given her a gift she would treasure forever—the gift of feeling wanted, even if only for a single night.

The thought was foolish, and she knew it. She pushed it aside and rose to her feet, steadying herself against the trunk of the tree as her legs protested the movement. The sun was high in the sky now, and she realised with a jolt of alarm that she had been gone for hours. Her family must be frantic with worry.

Or perhaps not, she thought bitterly. Perhaps they had not even noticed her absence. Perhaps they were simply relieved to get rid of her, even for a few hours.

Eiravelle gathered the coat and held it. She could not keep it. She had no right to it. And yet, she could not bring herself to leave it behind, either. In the end, she wrapped it as neatly as she could and placed it around herself.

She ran her fingers over the soft fur, then turned away and began the long walk back to Arthion Manor.

The journey was longer than she remembered. Perhaps it was the ache in her body that made every step feel like a trial. Perhaps it was the weight of what awaited her at home—the accusations, the recriminations, the cold eyes of her family looking down upon her with contempt.

Each step brought her closer to a world she had never truly belonged to, and with each step, her heart grew heavier.

Eiravelle tried to prepare herself for what was to come. She knew her father would be angry. He was always angry with her, no matter what she did. He had never once looked at her with pride or affection.

And Arisia would be furious—her sister had never missed an opportunity to remind Eiravelle of her place in the household, and the events of the previous night would have given her ample ammunition.

Arielle, at least, would be kind. Eiravelle’s eldest sister had always been her champion, the only one who saw her as something more than a burden. But Arielle could not protect her from everything. She could not be everywhere at once.

And Ariphale... Eiravelle did not know what to expect from her other older sister. Ariphale was quiet, withdrawn, and she rarely took sides in the family’s disputes.

It would be another day of enduring her family’s displeasure, Eiravelle thought as she walked. Another day of being reminded that she did not belong.

But that was nothing new. She had endured such days her entire life.

The manor came into view, its grand silhouette rising against the sky like a monument to everything Eiravelle was not. The stone walls gleamed in the afternoon light, and the windows glittered like the eyes of the noble families who looked down upon her. She paused at the edge of the estate, her heart was pounding in her chest, and took a deep breath to steady herself.

She could do this. She had no choice but to do this.

***

"You still have not found my sister?" It was Arielle’s voice, trembling with worry. "You still have not found Eiravelle?"

"Yes, Lordess Arielle. Lady Eiravelle was nowhere to be found," a guard repeated, and there was a note of exhaustion in his voice that suggested he had been searching all night.

Arielle had been looking for her. She cared—truly cared, despite all the trouble Eiravelle had brought upon the family.

But then came Arisia’s voice, shrill and sharp as a blade: "You are still looking for that disgrace?! After what happened last night?!"

"Arisia, enough! It is not Eiravelle’s fault that stupid prince chose to humiliate her!" Arielle yelled back, and Arielle rarely raised her voice—she was the picture of grace and composure, a true lady of noble blood. But when she did lose her temper, it was always in defence of Eiravelle.

"And it was not my fault she brought so much disgrace upon this family!" Arisia retorted. "The people are talking about us now! Again! You are being summoned to the palace later because of what you did to Prince Kariv, and she ruined my celebration last night!"

There was a scuffle of feet, and Ariphale’s soft voice murmur was something, perhaps trying to calm Arisia. But Arisia would not be silenced.

"You know what I feel?" Arisia continued, her voice was cracking with emotion. "You care for Eiravelle more than you care about this family!"

A brief of silence fell, and then Arisia spoke again, her words dripped with venom: "If you love us, you have to see the truth that Eiravelle is a plague, a bad omen placed upon this family!"

The words hung in the air like a curse. Then Arielle spoke again as her gaze landed sharply against the guards, her voice was cool and commanding: "Look for my sister everywhere, and I do not care if you all are exhausted. What matters is that Eiravelle return to this manor safe and one piece, you understand?"

The guards murmured their assent,

The argument continued, and now her father’s voice joined the fray. "You made your little sister, Arisia, upset again, Arielle," Arthion said, his tone was cold and disapproving. "Are you not aware that Eiravelle has done so many bad things for this family? Her very presence has brought naught but trouble upon our house."

"And it was not Eiravelle’s fault—" Arielle began, but her father cut her off.

"Silence! I have heard enough stupidity from your words, Arielle. I do not know what kind of deceitful magic Eiravelle used to blind you like this, but I will not have you speaking of her as though she were our equal."

There was a heavy silence, and then Arielle said, her voice was soft but firm: "I entirely do not get why you detest Eiravelle so much."

Arielle had always known, though no one had ever spoken the words aloud in Eiravelle’s presence. But now, it seemed, the truth would finally be laid bare.

None of them noticed that Eiravelle had arrived at the entrance of the main house, and then Arthion uttered the words that shattered her completely: "You knew well that Eiravelle is not my daughter."

Eiravelle felt the world tilt beneath her feet. She had heard the rumour a thousand times, whispered behind her back by servants and nobles alike. She had always known, in her heart, that it was true.

The gossip had followed her since childhood—how her mother had been with another Alpha before marrying Arthion, how Eiravelle was the product of that union, how she would never truly belong to this family.

But hearing the words spoken aloud, by her father himself, was a pain like no other. It was one thing to suspect. It was another to know.

The argument continued, but Eiravelle barely heard it. The voices of her family faded to a distant roar as she stared at the wall, her vision was blurring with unshed tears.

"we both know it’s not true, <anno data-annotation-id="a6ee2071-0a29-1c14-c9db-b30d2c0d5798" data-title="Ahda">Ahda¹</anno>!" Arielle protested.

"No, Arielle. I know my blood when I see one," Arthion replied, his voice was cold and final.

Arielle was shouting now, defending her sister with all the passion she possessed: "Eiravelle may not have your features or Mother’s deer goddess features like Ariphale, but she is our blood! She was from <anno data-annotation-id="78830933-ace6-1116-e3a9-bea09294054f" data-title="Oma">Oma¹</anno>, and that makes her our sister!"

"No!" Arthion roared, and Eiravelle flinched at the ferocity in his voice. "That disgrace is not my blood! And I swear it on my very blood that no matter what happened, I will never love her nor acknowledge her. She is nothing to me, and she shall never be anything more than a burden upon this house!"

The words struck Eiravelle like a physical blow. She staggered back, she pressed her hand against her heart, and felt the tears spill down her cheeks. All these years, she had hoped. She had clung to the tiny, foolish hope that someday, somehow, she might earn her father’s approval. That he might see her as more than a burden, more than a reminder of her mother’s past indiscretions.

But she had been wrong. She had always been wrong.

"Both of you, enough!" Elaria’s voice cut through the argument, and Eiravelle heard her mother’s footsteps as she moved between her husband and daughter. "We will speak of this later, in private. There is no need to air our family’s affairs in the middle of the day."

Eiravelle turned away, unable to bear any more. She stumbled down the corridor, her tears blurring her vision, and nearly collided with Arisia and Ariphale as they made their way back inside from the gardens.

Arisia’s eyes widened when she saw her. For a moment, she looked startled—perhaps she had not expected to see Eiravelle so soon. Then her lips curled into a sneer, and her face twisted with contempt.

"Eiravelle," she muttered, spitting the name like a curse.

And then she struck.

The slap echoed through the corridor, the sound was sharp and ugly. Eiravelle’s head snapped to the side, and she felt the sting of the impact spread across her cheek like wildfire.

Her ears rang, and for a moment, she could not think, could not breathe. The taste of blood bloomed on her tongue, and she realised she had bitten the inside of her cheek.

"You still have the nerve to come back here!" Arisia snarled, her hand was still raised as though she meant to strike again. "After what you did last night? After the shame you brought upon us all? How dare you show your face in this house!"

Eiravelle raised a trembling hand to her cheek, but she could not bring herself to speak. What was there to say?

Arisia was right. She had no place here, she never had a place here. Every word her father had spoken was true—she was not their blood, not their family, not their equal. She was an interloper, a stranger living among them by the grace of her mother’s charity.

"Eiravelle." It was Arielle’s voice, soft and filled with pain.

Eiravelle looked up and met her sister’s eyes. Arielle was standing in the doorway of the hall, her face was ashen. She must have heard everything—heard Arisia’s vicious accusations, heard their father’s damning words.

Her hands were clasped in front of her, trembling slightly, and her eyes were wet and puffy with unshed tears.

Arisia followed her gaze, and a smug smile spread across her face. "There," she said triumphantly. "Now you see her for what she really is, sister Arielle. A disgrace and a liar. She does not belong in this family, and she never will. You heard Father—she is not our blood. She is nothing to us."

Arielle stared at Eiravelle, and for a long moment, Eiravelle could not read her sister’s expression. There was pain in her eyes, yes, and anger too. But there was something else as well—something that looked almost like guilt.

"Eiravelle," Arielle said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eiravelle did not answer. She could not. The words were lodged in her throat, trapped behind the lump of grief and shame that had taken root in her chest. Her hand trembled against her face, and she could feel the heat of the mark left by Arisia’s palm.

"Father said—" Arielle began, but Arisia cut her off.

"I know what Father said," Arisia snarled. "And he was right. Eiravelle is not our sister. She is an outsider, a stain upon our family’s honour. She has brought nothing but misery and shame since the day she arrived, and I for one am tired of pretending otherwise. Look at her—she is nothing but a burden, a constant reminder of Mother’s shame. She does not look like us, she does not act like us, and she does not deserve to be treated as one of us!"

Arielle’s face had gone pale, the colour was draining from her cheeks as Arisia’s words grew more vicious. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and Eiravelle saw her sister’s jaw tighten.

For a moment, Eiravelle thought that Arielle would defend her again, as she always had. She thought that Arielle would stand up for her, would tell Arisia that she was wrong, would embrace Eiravelle and take her away from all this cruelty.

But Arielle did not move. She stood frozen, her eyes were on Eiravelle, and Eiravelle saw the guilt in her sister’s gaze. Guilt, and something else. Something that looked disturbingly like fear.

Eiravelle had never seen her sister look afraid before. It was a terrifying sight.

Arielle opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. She looked from Arisia to Eiravelle, and a silent battle raged behind her eyes—love for the sister she had always protected, and duty to the family she had sworn to uphold.

The weight of that choice seemed to crush her, and Eiravelle watched as her champion faltered.

Arisia turned back to Eiravelle, her eyes glittering with malice. "Well? What have you to say for yourself, little sister?" She taunted, the word "sister" was dripping with sarcasm.

"Do you have any excuse for your behaviour? Any explanation for why you brought this disgrace upon us?" Arisia added.

Eiravelle swallowed hard. Her throat was raw, and her voice came out as barely a whisper. "I... I did not mean to bring shame upon this house. I only wished to escape the prince’s cruelty. I was hurt, and I—"

"You were hurt?" Arisia laughed, a cold, bitter sound. "You were hurt? And what about our family’s reputation? What of the years we have spent building our name in this kingdom? You have undone all of that in a single night, and you stand there weeping like a child, expecting sympathy?"

"I do not expect sympathy," Eiravelle said, her voice was trembling. "I expect nothing at all. I know what I am to this family. I have always known."

Arisia stepped closer, her face was inches away from Eiravelle’s. "Then perhaps you should have stayed away," she hissed. "Perhaps you should have had the decency to spare us the sight of your pathetic face."

Eiravelle closed her eyes and turned away. She could not bear to look at her sister any longer. She could not bear to see the hatred in those familiar eyes.

"Enough, Arisia." It was Ariphale’s voice, soft but carrying an unexpected weight. Eiravelle opened her eyes and saw her other sister stepping forward, her face was pale but determined. "You have said enough."

"Enough?" Arisia whirled on Ariphale. "You would defend her too? After everything she has done?"

Ariphale became silent all of a sudden, then she avoided her parent’s gaze.

Arisia stared at Ariphale, her eyes were wide with disbelief. For a moment, Eiravelle thought she saw a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps, or shame. But it passed quickly.

"Fine," Arisia said, her voice was low. "Defend her if you wish. But do not expect me to pretend she is one of us any longer." She turned and strode away, her footsteps are echoing down the corridor.

Arielle let out a long breath and turned to Eiravelle. "Are you all right?" She asked softly.

Eiravelle shook her head, unable to speak. She was not all right. She had never been all right.

Arielle reached out and gently touched her arm, but Eiravelle flinched away. The gesture was kind, but it felt hollow after everything she had heard. Her entire family had just confirmed what she had always feared—that she was not truly one of them.

Arielle withdrew her hand, her expression was sad but understanding. "I am sorry," she murmured. "I am sorry you had to hear all of that."

Eiravelle opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t.

"Eiravelle." It was soft, almost pleading, and filled with such sorrow that Eiravelle’s heart clenched.

She looked up and met her sister’s gaze. Arielle’s face a mask of anguish. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and tears were beginning to spill down her cheeks.

"Eiravelle," Arielle said again, the name was a whisper on her lips.

And in that single word, Eiravelle heard everything—love and guilt, regret and desperation, a plea for forgiveness that her sister could not bring herself to speak aloud. But the words were not enough. They never had been.

Eiravelle looked at Arielle, at the sister who had always been her protector, and saw the same fear she had seen moments before. Fear of their father, fear of the family’s reputation, fear of everything that Eiravelle had come to represent.

She knew then that nothing would ever be the same.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, as the afternoon light streamed through the windows and painted golden patterns on the cold stone floor. Eiravelle’s cheek throbbed where Arisia had struck her, and her heart ached with a pain far deeper than any physical wound.

"Leave for now, Eiravelle. Your presence is giving me enough reason to get angry." Arthion’s voice cut through the silence.

Eiravelle opened her mouth to speak, to say something that might bridge the chasm that had opened between her and the only family she had ever known.

But the words would not come.

And so she stood there, frozen, and she watched as Arielle’s tears stream down from her eyes.

"Forgive me." Arielle whispered, but Eiravelle remain silent.

<annotations style="display: none;">This is the term they used to address a Male Alpha parent.A term they used to describe a female omega parent.</annotations>