Chapter 9: The Misery Eiravelle Felt

Eiravelle fled the corridor, her footsteps were echoing against the cold stone as she ran. She did not know where she was going—she simply needed to escape, to put distance between herself and the cruel words that still rang in her ears.

Her father’s voice, cold and final, declaring that she was not his daughter. Arisia’s slap, the sting of it still burning on her cheek. And Arielle’s silence, the most painful of all—the silence of the one person who had always defended her, now rendered mute by fear and duty.

She burst through the manor’s side entrance and into the gardens, the afternoon sunlight assaulting her tear-blurred vision. The gardens were vast and meticulously maintained, a maze of flowering hedges and manicured lawns that had always felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. But today, they offered something Eiravelle desperately needed—solitude.

She ran until her legs gave out, collapsing beneath the massive trunk of an ancient oak tree that stood at the garden’s farthest edge. Its branches are spread wide, creating a canopy of shade that shielded her from the world. Here, hidden from the windows of the manor and the prying eyes of servants, Eiravelle finally let herself break.

She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, her body wracked with sobs that tore from her throat like a wounded animal. The tears came freely now, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric of her gown. She could not stop them, could not control the tremors that shook her entire frame. Every breath was a struggle, each inhale was catching on the knot of grief lodged in her chest.

Her <anno data-annotation-id="cf1eaa5b-f619-3dde-ccde-004d38908f9a" data-title="Ahda">Ahda¹</anno>’s words echoed in her mind, playing on an endless loop that she could not escape.

"You knew well that Eiravelle is not my daughter."

She had always known. The whispers, the sideways glances, the way Arthion looked at her as though she were a stranger in his home—all of it had pointed to the same conclusion.

But hearing him speak the words aloud, with such finality and contempt, had shattered something deep within her. It was one thing to suspect, to wonder, to nurse the secret hope that perhaps she was wrong.

It was another, entirely to have her worst fear confirmed by the man she had called father her entire life.

Eiravelle thought back to her childhood, searching for any memory of warmth from Arthion. She found none. There had been no gentle hands guiding her first steps, no proud smiles at her accomplishments, no words of encouragement when she faltered. He had always been distant, cold, and dismissive—as though she were a burden he was forced to tolerate rather than a daughter he loved.

And now she understood why.

She was not his blood. She had never been his blood.

"Three supreme beings," Eiravelle whispered, her voice was cracking with each sob that wracked her body. "What have I done to deserve this? What sin have I committed to be so cursed? Please, I beg of you, tell me what I have done wrong."

She looked up at the sky, her vision became blurred with tears, and waited for an answer that never came. The heavens remained silent, indifferent to her suffering. The gods did not answer the prayers of the unwanted.

Eiravelle bowed her head and wept anew, her fingers are digging into her arms as she tried to hold herself together. But there was nothing left to hold—she was falling apart, piece by piece, and she did not know how to stop it.

She thought of the alpha, of her golden eyes and gentle hands. She thought of the way she had held her through the night, as though she were something precious, something worth protecting. For a few brief hours, she had felt safe. She had felt wanted.

She had felt like she mattered.

But it had been a lie. A beautiful, fleeting lie. The alpha was gone, and she was alone again—more alone than she had ever been.

Eiravelle remained beneath the tree for what felt like an eternity, her tears were slowly ebbing as exhaustion replaced grief. Her body ached, and her eyes felt swollen and raw. She knew she should return inside, should face her family and whatever punishment awaited her. But she could not bring herself to move.

The sound of footsteps on the grass made her freeze.

Eiravelle looked up, her heart was lurching, and saw Ariphale approaching. Her sister walked with measured steps, her posture was rigid and her expression was unreadable. The afternoon light caught the deer goddess features she had inherited from their mother, giving her an ethereal quality that seemed almost otherworldly.

But there was nothing warm in Ariphale’s eyes as she came to a stop before Eiravelle. Her gaze was cold, distant, and filled with a weary disappointment that cut deeper than any insult.

"Why are you here crying?" Ariphale asked, her voice was flat and devoid of sympathy. She stood tall above Eiravelle, her arms are crossed over her chest, and looked down at her younger sister with an expression that bordered on contempt.

Eiravelle opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She could not meet Ariphale’s eyes, could not bear to see the disgust in them. She averted her gaze, staring at the grass beneath her as she struggled to compose herself.

"N-Nothing," she managed, her voice was trembling. "It is nothing, sister. I am simply... I needed some air."

Ariphale let out a sharp laugh, the sound was bitter and hollow. "Do not say it is nothing, Eiravelle. You are old now, you are no longer a child. Stop crying and start accepting your mistakes. We all know what you did. We all know what you have brought upon this family."

Eiravelle flinched at the words, each one was landing like a blow. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, to explain that she had not meant for any of this to happen. But what was the point? Ariphale had made up her mind, just as Arisia had, just as their Ahda had. They had all decided that Eiravelle was the source of their problems, and nothing she could say would change that.

"Forgive me," Eiravelle whispered, her voice was barely audible. "I did not mean to cause such trouble. I only wished to escape the prince’s cruelty, I—"

"I did not come here to hear your excuses," Ariphale interrupted, her tone turned sharp. "I came here to tell you that Ahda has given you one last chance."

Eiravelle’s head snapped up, her eyes turn wide with desperate hope. "One last chance? Truly? He is willing to—"

"Do not interrupt me," Ariphale said coldly. "I said one last chance, and I meant it. But make no mistake, Eiravelle—he is giving you this opportunity only because of Mother’s pleas. She begged him to show you mercy, to give you another opportunity to prove yourself. And he, in his infinite patience, agreed."

Eiravelle’s heart swelled with gratitude, but before she could speak, Ariphale continued.

"However," Ariphale said, her voice dropped to a dangerous murmur, "one more disappointing mistake, and he will surely throw you out of this manor. Do you understand what that means, Eiravelle? You will have nowhere to go. No one will take you in. You will be cast out into the world with nothing but the clothes on your back and the shame of your actions."

She turned away, her gaze fixed on the distant manor as she delivered the news with clinical detachment. "One more misstep, and you will be dead to us. No one will speak your name. No one will acknowledge your existence. You will be nothing."

Eiravelle’s hands trembled, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Wh-What? Please, no. I promise, I... I will be good from now on. I will not cause any trouble. I will stay out of everyone’s way. I will do whatever is asked of me, I swear it!"

"Shut it!"

Ariphale whirled around, her composure had finally cracked. Her face twisted with barely contained anger, and her eyes blazed with a fury that made Eiravelle shrink back.

"You have said the same thing back when you were a child, but it was always the same," Ariphale spat. "You were always causing problems, always making mistakes, always bringing shame upon this family. And yet, nothing ever changed. You never learned. You never grew. You remained the same pathetic, helpless creature you have always been."

Eiravelle flinched at each word, her body curled inward as though she could make herself smaller, less visible. Ariphale’s voice was a lash upon her already wounded spirit, and every word struck true. Her sister was right—she had always been a burden, always making promises she could not keep.

"I am so sorry," Eiravelle muttered, her voice was barely a whisper. "I am so sorry, sister. I did not mean to—"

"Don’t be," Ariphale cut her off, her voice was suddenly weary. "Sister Arielle was summoned to the imperial palace. She had hurt Prince Kariv in front of everyone last night because of you. And now my sister is receiving your punishment instead."

Eiravelle’s blood ran cold. She stared up at Ariphale, her mind struggled to process the words. Arielle had hurt Prince Kariv? Her sister, the picture of grace and composure, had attacked a prince in front of the entire court?

"Arielle struck him across the face," Ariphale continued, her voice was dripping with contempt. "Right there, in front of everyone. She defended your honour with her own hands, and now she must face the consequences of her actions. The prince’s <anno data-annotation-id="0e35f09a-aa49-42ed-2633-6be05468cdcc" data-title="Ama,">Ama,¹</anno> the sovereign, will demand satisfaction. The entire court will be watching. And all because of you."

Eiravelle shook her head, unable to comprehend. "But I did not ask her to do that. I did not want her to—"

"It doesn’t matters what you wanted," Ariphale snapped. "What matters is that once again, someone else is paying for your mistakes. Sister Arielle has always protected you, always taken your side, always sacrificed her own wellbeing for your sake. And what has it earned her? Nothing but trouble and disgrace."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and damning. Eiravelle felt her heart shatter all over again. She had never asked Arielle to defend her, had never wanted her sister to suffer on her behalf.

And yet, time and again, Arielle had chosen to stand by her—and time and again, she had paid the price.

"Aren’t you satisfied now?" Ariphale asked, her voice was sharp with accusation. "Last night, you ruined our honour. Now, you are letting my sister take the fall for you once more. Is that what you wanted? Is this your revenge for all the years you have felt slighted?"

"No!" Eiravelle cried, scrambling to her feet. "No, that is not what I wanted at all! I would never wish harm upon sister Arielle. She is the only one who has ever shown me kindness in this house. I would never—"

She reached out, her fingers grasped desperately at the sleeve of Ariphale’s robe. "Please, take me to the palace. I want to speak with them, I want to explain what happened. I will tell them that sister Arielle was defending me, that she acted out of love for her sister. I will take responsibility for my own actions. Please, sister Ariphale, I beg you—"

"Enough!"

Ariphale wrenched her sleeve from Eiravelle’s grasp and shoved her backward with such force that Eiravelle stumbled and fell hard onto the grass. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, and she lay there for a moment, stunned, staring up at her sister with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"I have had enough of this pathetic display of lies from you, Eiravelle!" Ariphale yelled, her voice echoed across the garden. "Do you think I believe a single word you say? Do you think I am so foolish as to fall for your tears and your pleading? You have been doing this your entire life—crying, apologising, promising to change—and nothing ever changes. You are still the same weak, selfish creature you have always been!"

Eiravelle opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She could only stare up at her sister, her mind was reeling from the force of the rejection.

Ariphale looked down at her, and for a moment, her expression flickered—something dark and cold passing through her eyes. Then she spoke, and her voice was flat, utterly devoid of warmth.

"I keep wishing that you never existed," she said quietly. "If you had never been born, none of these problems would have existed in the first place. Sister Arielle would still be happy. Our family’s honour would still be intact. And I would not have to stand here, looking at your pathetic face, wondering why Mother ever chose to keep you."

She turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps crunched against the grass as she strode toward the manor. She did not look back. She did not pause. She simply walked away, leaving Eiravelle alone on the ground.

Eiravelle lay there, her body was trembling, her mind was empty of all thought except the echo of Ariphale’s words.

I keep wishing that you never existed.

She pressed her hands to her face and wept.

The tears came in waves, each one was more violent than the last. Eiravelle’s body curled on itself, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as she rocked back and forth on the grass.

She could not breathe, could not think, could not do anything but feel the overwhelming weight of her own worthlessness pressing down upon her.

Ariphale was right. If she had never been born, none of this would have happened. Her family’s honour would not have been tarnished. Arielle would not have been summoned to the palace.

Arisia would not have been so angry. And their Ahda... Their Ahda would not have been forced to acknowledge the shame of raising another man’s child.

Eiravelle thought of all the years she had spent trying to earn her family’s love, desperately seeking any sign of acceptance or affection. She had worked so hard, tried so hard, and it had all been for nothing. She would never be one of them. She would never belong.

She clutched the fur coat of the alpha to her chest, the soft fabric was a small comfort against the cold emptiness spreading through her heart. It was the only thing she had left—a reminder of that single night when someone had looked at her with warmth instead of contempt.

Someone had held her close and whispered sweet words against her skin. Someone had made her feel, even for a few brief hours, like she mattered.

But that was all it was—a memory. A fleeting dream that had faded with the morning light.

"I am sorry," Eiravelle whispered, her voice was hoarse and broken. "I am so sorry, sister Arielle. This is all my fault. All of it. Please forgive me. Please..."

She pressed her face against the coat, inhaling the faint scent of pine and earth that still clung to the fur. It reminded her of the alpha, of her golden eyes and her gentle hands. She wondered where she was now, whether she thought of her at all, whether she knew how much her kindness had meant to her.

But it did not matter. None of it mattered.

Eiravelle lay on the grass, her body was broken and her spirit was crushed, and she did not know what to do. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and no hope to cling to.

The only family she had ever known had rejected her utterly, and the only person who had ever shown her kindness had vanished into the night.

If only she had somewhere else to go, she would have left this place long ago. But she could not. She had no other home, no other family, no other life waiting for her beyond the walls of Arthion Manor.

She was trapped here, bound by circumstance and the cruel weight of her own existence.

She thought of what Ariphale had said about her Ahda’s ultimatum—one more mistake, and she would be cast out. And what then? Where would she go? How would she survive?

The world outside was vast and unforgiving, and she had no skills, no connections, no means of supporting herself. The only thing that had kept her alive in the Solkanaia divine realm was the title of Arthion’s daughter, fragile and conditional as it was. Without that, she was nothing.

Eiravelle closed her eyes and let the tears fall, surrendering to the despair that threatened to consume her. She wanted to disappear, to fade into nothingness, to cease to exist.

If only she could, then her family would be happy. They would be at peace. They would finally get rid of the burden she had been since the day she was born.

"I am sorry," she whispered again, the words were broken prayer to no one. "I am sorry for everything. I am sorry I was ever born."

The sun continued its journey across the sky, indifferent to her suffering. The wind rustled through the leaves of the oak tree, carrying her sobs away into the world beyond.

Eiravelle lay there, alone and forgotten, clutching the only comfort she had left—a fur coat that smelled of pine and earth, and the fading memory of golden eyes.

<annotations style="display: none;">A term used to describe a male alpha parent.Term used to describe a female alpha parent</annotations>