POV: Luna

  Elven estates always smelled like lies—polished, perfumed, and pressed into shape.

  This one, House William's ancestral home, reeked of legacy. Ancient stones hummed with enchantments. Magic clung to every arch and corner like ivy that had learned to speak in riddles. The halls whispered stories of bloodlines, victories, and rituals etched in silver and silence.

  And they watched him. My mage.

  Cain, for all his sarcasm and rough edges, walked those marble floors like a deer who had learned to bite back. Servants passed him, their gazes lingering too long. Polished maids and statuesque butlers whispered behind perfect posture. I heard them—of course I did.

  "That’s the bastard?”

  “Half-human. Smells like moss.”

  “I heard he’s the child of that woman. The one the elder never named.”

  “Wild thing, that one. Speaks like he’s mocking everyone.”

  “He doesn’t even have the look of a proper elf.”

  My ears twitched at each passing sliver of disdain. I could tear their throats out in less than a breath. But Cain… he just smiled. That damned zy, sharp-edged smirk he wore like a bde. He didn’t care what they said. Or perhaps he had grown too used to caring, and this was what came after caring too much: apathy carved into wit.

  He ate his food in the servant hall despite being granted a room suitable for a noble heir. He never corrected anyone when they assumed he didn’t belong. He just sat—shoveling down hot bread, soft meat, warm soup—as if it were the first real meal in years.

  It was.

  He didn’t notice the way they looked at him like a blemish.

  But I did.

  In the high chamber, behind veiled doors and woven wards, the conversation turned to the subject no one wanted to say aloud.

  Cain.

  I y across the rafters, unseen. Spirits like me did not trigger arms. My fur blended with the carved beams above as I listened, unseen and uninvited.

  Elyndor stood at the center, hands folded behind his back, fnked by lesser nobles—branch lords of House William. Their robes shimmered, threaded with moonlight and pride, yet their eyes spoke of calcution.

  “He’s rough,” said Lord Thalien Vos’vyr, whose daughter once set fire to a tutor for calling her ‘impolite.’ “No training. No etiquette. He can’t possibly represent our house properly.”

  “He doesn’t need to,” Elyndor replied smoothly. “He only needs to exist. A name on a scroll. A presence at the academy. The humans will see we’ve extended an heir, as asked.”

  “And if he embarrasses us?” Lady Sire Wen’hael, eldest of the house stewards, sneered like her lips had never known softness. “If he sullies the image we’ve cultivated for generations?”

  “Then we correct it,” Elyndor said simply.

  I did not like the way he said that. Like Cain was an ink blot on a page he was prepared to tear out.

  “We’ll assign someone to go with him,” Elyndor continued. “A servant. Or a companion. Someone trained in observation and discretion. They’ll report back directly to me.”

  A murmur of agreement. Paper rustled. A servant girl’s name was offered. A quiet boy with a photographic memory. Nobles weighed them like meat.

  One lord, Varehn Ilyevar, leaned forward. “Are you sure about registering him in the blood ledger? Once done, it cannot be undone. The Queen herself will see the name. The archives will record it as truth.”

  Elyndor hesitated. Only for a breath. “It must be done. Appearances matter more than truth.”

  There it was. The core of elven nobility.

  Appearances over blood. Performance over reality. Power over truth.

  They would give Cain a name… not because they believed in him.

  But because they needed a pawn. And pawns were disposable.

  I growled softly above them, unheard. My cws scratched against the stone beam. One noble flinched—good. Perhaps their bones remembered what it was like to be hunted.

  Meanwhile, he slept.

  Cain y curled sideways on a bed too rge for someone used to the forest floor. His arm dangled off the edge like he didn’t quite believe it was his to enjoy. His breathing was steady, slow. Dreamless, likely—he never let himself dream.

  On the table: half-eaten fruit. A warm towel. A set of fresh robes folded with mechanical care.

  He was happy.

  No, not happy.

  Content.

  He had eaten three full meals. Spoken to no one. Bathed without freezing. And id his head on a clean pillow.

  To him, this was luxury. He didn’t see the hooks buried beneath the soft bnkets.

  Not yet.

  I stepped forward from the shadows as moonlight danced along the room’s windowsill.

  He stirred. Opened one eye. “How long have you been lurking?”

  “Long enough.”

  He stretched, muttering, “Well, I haven’t been assassinated yet, so that’s something.”

  I sat by the bedside. “They are watching you. Whispering about you. Judging your existence.”

  He turned onto his back, arms crossed behind his head. “So… normal.”

  “They pn to send a servant with you. Someone loyal to Elyndor. You’ll be monitored.”

  His mouth twisted into something between amusement and annoyance. “Figures. If I screw up, they pretend I never existed. If I succeed, they take credit. Cssic nobility.”

  “They’ve registered you into the family blood ledger. To the humans, you will be ‘Cain William,’ son of House William. Noble by name, if not by heart.”

  He ughed—quiet, bitter. “Cain William. Sounds important. Sounds like someone who knows which spoon to use at fancy dinners.”

  “You do not need their approval,” I said.

  He looked at me for a long moment. “But I do need to survive. You said I had magic. How the hell am I supposed to not get turned into fried half-elf on day one?”

  “I will teach you.”

  He blinked. “Wait, seriously? Like… personal magic lessons?”

  “You are wind-bound. My element. My domain. Your soul is tethered to mine.”

  He frowned. “Is this going to be like some spiritual anime training montage, or…”

  “We begin tomorrow.”

  “...Okay then. Teacher Wolf is in session.”

  I stood, the wind brushing past the window as I looked toward the distant mountains—where the human kingdom glittered under stars and danger.

  “They may use you,” I said, “but they cannot define you.”

  He closed his eyes again.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Well. Let’s hope they don’t kill me either.”