Chapter 70 The Truth
Aelira’s POV
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I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Pressed against the wall next to the dressing room door with Daelor beside me, I strain to absorb every word of the exchange between Cyrinne and Roderic.
“Alarion has never touched me at all…”
Cyrinne’s words strike me like a physical blow. My hand flies to cover my
mouth to muffle my gasp.
“What do you mean?” Roderic’s tone is one of disbelief. “You’re pregnant
with his child!”
Cyrinne’s laughter rings out, high and brittle. “I never claimed it was his. Everyone just assumes that.”
“Then whose is it?” Roderic demands to know.
“Who do you think?” Cyrinne’s voice is coy. “Alarion was so intoxicated that
zaraz
night at the Territorial Gathering, he doesn’t remember a thing. I just let him
believe we had been together.”
My thoughts spiral as the truth starts coming to light. Alarion had been incredibly drunk at the Territorial Gathering, the same night I had indulged
in wolf–whiskey blended with moonberry extract.
“You’ve been deceiving him? Deceiving everyone?” Roderic’s tone turns to
one of anger.
“Don’t pretend to be morally superior,” Cyrinne retorts sharply. “You’ve been
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deceiving Esther for ages. Besides, Alarion will never find out. Once we
bond, this child will belong to him in every significant way.”
A wave of nausea washes over me. All along, Cyrinne has been
manipulating everyone – including Alarion.
“We need to go,” I murmur urgently to Daelor. “I can’t bear to hear any more
of this.”
Daelor agrees, gently taking hold of my elbow and leading me away from the dressing room. Once we’re at a safe distance, I lean against the wall, attempting to comprehend what I’ve just uncovered.
“She’s been dishonest about everything,” I state, my voice trembling. “The
child isn’t Alarion’s. She’s never even been with him.”
Daelor’s face tightens. “It appears that Cyrinne Wynthor is even more
cunning than we realized.”
“I feel like I’ve been eavesdropping on a terrible werewolf soap opera,” I
lament, massaging my temples.
A small smile flickers across Daelor’s lips. “You have indeed been eavesdropping on a terrible werewolf soap opera.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, a laugh escapes me. The ridiculousness of it all is almost overwhelming.
“What about my mother–in–law?” I inquire, quickly becoming serious again. “If Cyrinne’s child isn’t Alarion’s, why would she poison Esther?”
“We can’t be sure she did,” Daelor reminds me. “The tests revealed nothing
in her medicines.”
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I exhale heavily. “But if it wasn’t poison, then what’s happening to her?”
“Let Alarion address it,” Daelor suggests. “I’ll inform him about our concerns regarding Cyrinne’s connection with his father. He deserves to
hear the truth.”
“You’re right,” I concede begrudgingly. “I just want to go home. This is all
too overwhelming.”
Daelor’s hand rests on the small of my back, a comforting warmth that
helps steady me.
“Let’s go,” he says softly.
We head towards the exit, my mind still in a whirl from Cyrinne’s
revelations. As we approach the main hallway, a familiar voice calls out.
“Leaving so quickly?”
I turn to see Alarion and Cyrinne approaching us. Cyrinne’s arms are
possessively wrapped around Alarion’s, her green eyes shining with malice
as they fix on me.
“I’m surprised to see you, Aelira,” Cyrinne remarks, her tone laced with
feigned sweetness. “I didn’t think herbal remedies were eligible for healing
awards.”
Before I can respond, Daelor interjects. “Perhaps if you focused less on
appearances and more on genuine healing, you would appreciate the
worth of traditional remedies.”
Cyrinne’s smile falters, her wolf restless beneath her skin at the open challenge.
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Alarion’s amber gaze sharpens as he looks between Daelor and me. “Briarhallow, I need a word with you privately.”
I feel a rush of tension. Has Alarion somehow uncovered Daelor’s
suspicions about Cyrinne and Roderic? Or, even worse, has he learned
about my pregnancy?
“It’s urgent,” Alarion presses, lowering his voice. “About my mother.”
My heart races. Esther’s condition has been a constant worry.
“Go on,” I encourage Daelor, lightly touching his arm. “I’ll wait by the car.”
Daelor’s silver–gray gaze locks onto mine, an unspoken understanding
passing silently between us. He places his hand over mine.
“No,” he asserts with conviction. “Whatever Alarion wants to say, he can do
so in your presence.”
Alarion’s jaw clenches tightly. I detect his wolf’s turmoil, a scent that is
both sharp and aggressive.
“Very well,” he growls. “You both need to come with me.”
We head towards a hidden spot in the garden of the venue. The cool night
air brushes against my skin, filled with the fragrance of moonflowers and
silver pine.
Alarion turns to us, his amber eyes blazing with barely restrained fury.
“What kind of game are you playing, Briarhallow?”
Daelor arches an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
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“Don’t act clueless,” Alarion snaps. “You know precisely what I mean. Aelira
remains my mate.”
I open my lips to argue, but Alarion continues without pause.
“She may have requested the severance of our mate bond, yet that does not alter our connection.” His gaze locks onto mine, an urgent intensity shining through. “Ten years, Aelira. A decade filled with history between us, three of those years as mates. Whatever it is Briarhallow has offered you, it
pales in comparison to what we share.”
The bravado of his statement, given all that had happened, leaves me
momentarily speechless.
“Had,” Daelor corrects, his tone deceptively calm as he steps closer to me, holding my hand. “What you had. Which you discarded for a she–wolf who
has deceived you.”
Alarion swiftly turns his focus back to Daelor. “You have no idea what
you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” Daelor’s thumb glides in small circles on my hand, sending unexpected tingles up my arm. “Aelira and I will be together once her mate bond severance is finalized. You must come to terms with that fact.”
“The mate bond isn’t easily severed,” Alarion maintains, his wolf’s agitated scent rising with possessiveness. “Our wolves acknowledged each other. That connection doesn’t simply vanish because of a piece of paper.”
I wince at that reminder. It is true–our wolves recognized each other long
ago. But circumstances have shifted.
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“And yet, you seem quite eager to move on with Cyrinne,” Daelor argues.
“Isn’t it curious how the significance of the mate bond is only a priority when it suits you?”
Alarion’s face reddens with anger. “That’s not the same. Cyrinne is carrying
my pup.”
The irony in his words, after what we just overheard, nearly makes me laugh out loud. Instead, I decide to stay silent, pressing my lips together.
Daelor’s smile is as sharp as a blade. “Is she? Are you completely sure of
that?”
Alarion tenses, his wolf on high alert. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing at all,” Daelor replies, his tone casual and calculated. “Just taking
a shot at a wolf while he’s down.”
Something in Daelor’s expression or words must have struck a chord.
Alarion lunges forward with a snarl, his claws extending partially, crossing
an unwritten boundary.
In a flash, Daelor blocks Alarion’s wrist before his claws can reach me.
With one smooth motion, he twists Alarion’s arm behind his back,
successfully subduing him without inflicting harm.
“Don’t further embarrass yourself,” Daelor warns, his voice low enough for
only Alarion and me to hear.
Then, leaning in closer to whisper something in Alarion’s ear, Daelor’s
words go unheard by me, but the effect is immediate. Alarion becomes
rigid, his complexion visibly draining of color.
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Daelor releases him and steps back, returning to my side as if nothing
unusual has transpired. “Let’s go, Aelira,” he says.
Still reeling from the encounter, I let Daelor guide me away. As we make
our way back to the main entrance, my curiosity overwhelms me.
“What did you tell him?” I inquire, looking up at Daelor’s expressionless
face.
