Chapter 192
Celeste’s POV
There had always been stories about the North. Rumors that this was the land of rogues and bloodthirsty wolves, a territory where men turned into monsters and snow drank more blood than rain.
Celeste had never been the type to believe such things. Tales like that were meant to scare pups and impress fools. Packs exaggerated what they did not understand.
But standing here now, surrounded by the faint red stains buried under fresh snow, those rumors felt a little less far-fetched.
The stench of dried blood clung to the air as Lieutenant Rio led the way, his boots crunching over snow that had been disturbed too many times. The squeak of her own shoes against the ground sounded too sharp in her ears. Every breath she took carried a metallic taste that no amount of perfumed cloth could cover.
From afar, when she first lifted the carriage curtain, she had assumed they were simply covering something ugly, that the North was trying to hide some routine cruelty. It would not have surprised her if Cassian’s people had dragged bodies and buried the evidence to keep their precious reputation intact.
Now that she walked through it, she understood this was not that simple.
away
The bodies were gone, but the aftermath was everywhere. There were smudged trails where something heavy had been dragged, thick lines where blood had melted the snow and refrozen in uneven patches.
Some areas were covered by a newer layer of white, but the tint beneath still showed through if she looked long enough. The ground bore marks of impact, cuts into the packed earth where blades had struck and missed, bootprints overlapping in chaotic directions, as if the entire courtyard had been swallowed by panic.
This was not a cover-up of cruelty. This was the aftermath of a fight.
A bad one.
Her steps slowed as she followed Rio toward the side of the mansion. Her gaze kept slipping to the ground and the scuffed stone walls, searching for something that might explain it. Did someone attack them? Had the North been ambushed? Had Cassian angered someone important enough to send an army to his doorstep?
For the first time since the journey started, her thoughts were not about her own discomfort or how Atasha would greet her. Questions crowded her head in rapid succession. She did not like the feeling. She preferred answers, preferably ones that made sense and kept her in control. Right now, all she had was a battlefield and a guide who clearly had other things on his mind.
She lifted her chin and forced her voice to stay steady. “Are we still far from the mansion?” she asked, as if the blood did not bother her, as if this was just another inconvenient delay in a long list of them.
“Not far, my lady,” Rio answered without looking back. His tone carried no extra courtesy, just a flat response that brushed quickly past her question.
Her eye twitched at the lack of proper respect, but she swallowed the urge to snap at him. The man reeked of blood and exhaustion so strongly that even she could acknowledge he had likely been standing on this ground while it was still soaked and fresh. Picking a fight with him here would not change the fact that she needed him to reach Atasha.
They moved away from the worst of the stains and toward a structure that made her slow again, not because of horror this time, but because of pure confusion.
A greenhouse.
It was not enormous, nothing like the sprawling gardens some southern noble packs boasted, but it was a true greenhouse all
the same. The glass panes were fogged at the edges from the contrast between the cold outside and the warm air within. Through the hazy glass she could see shapes of green and scattered colors that did not belong in a place like this, not buried under snow and blood.
“In here, my lady,” Rio said, pushing the door open and stepping aside.
The warmth hit her first, a soft, damp heat that crawled over her skin and made her muscles loosen before she could stop them.
The scent of soil and flowers rose immediately, cutting through the lingering smell of dried blood, though not enough to erase it completely. Neat rows of plants lined the interior, some blooming even in this season, some bearing delicate buds that looked almost fragile compared to everything she had just walked past outside.
Celeste’s gaze swept the space quickly, searching instinctively for a familiar face. Atasha should be here. Her sister should be standing in the middle of this little oasis, ready to embrace her, apologize for the lack of proper reception, and usher her into somewhere more fitting.
Instead, another woman stood waiting.
She wore the uniform of the North’s forces, though the way she carried herself was different than Rio. Her dark was pulled back, and there was a firmness to her posture that suggested rank. When Celeste stepped inside, the woman straightened.
“Welcome to the North, my lady,” she said. “I am Lieutenant Grace. Her Highness will arrive shortly. Please, take a seat.”
Celeste’s expression soured immediately.
She was Atasha’s sister, not some distant envoy waiting in line for an audience. Atasha should have been the one waiting for her, not sending subordinates to receive her like a passing guest.
“She is aware that I am here?” Celeste asked, not bothering to hide the edge in her voice. “My sister knows I have arrived?”
Grace met her gaze without flinching. “Yes, my lady. Her Highness has been informed.”
The way she said it, made it clear she was not going to apologize for the arrangement. Celeste’s lips parted, ready to launch into a reminder of exactly who she was and what she deserved, but the words stalled at the back of her throat.
Rio had stepped in behind her and now stood to one side of the door. Grace remained near the center of the greenhouse, close enough to intercept anyone who tried to get past without permission. Both of them held themselves with the controlled stiffness of soldiers who had not rested properly. Their clothes were clean, their hands washed, and there were no obvious stains on their uniforms, but nothing could hide the smell clinging to them.
Death.
It hung on their skin and in their hair, buried under soap and the faint sweetness of the flowers but still there, stubborn and sharp. Their eyes carried a tired focus that did not belong to people who had simply finished a long patrol. These were the eyes of people who had walked through the carnage she had only seen traces of, people who had counted bodies, carried wounded, and watched others breathe their last.
Celeste closed her mouth slowly. Celeste stood there, stiff-backed and silent, pretending she was simply observing the greenhouse while her thoughts curled into something ugly and sharp.
The way Rio and Grace behaved told her everything she needed to know.
They didn’t respect Atasha. They didn’t acknowledge her.
If they had, they would have treated Celeste with proper reverence the moment she arrived. They would have bowed deeper, spoken softer, and rushed to serve her because she was the sister of their so-called consort. Instead, they offered her nothing but flat answers and cold expressions, as if she were just another traveler seeking shelter.
The longer she stood there, the clearer the conclusion became.
Atasha must hold no real authority here.
Perhaps she was a wife for show. A symbolic consort Cassian kept only for appearances because she was too weak to be f use and too insignificant to bother killing. Celeste let out a slow exhale as the realization settled like a satisfying piece of gossip in her chest.
Yes. That must be it.
Cassian’s previous wives had died because they were strong enough to challenge him. Atasha, on the other hand, had always been soft, fragile, and pathetically dependent. What threat could she ever pose to the Monster Lord? She was weak. She was powerless. She was harmless.
The North had surely seen that.
That must be why the soldiers didn’t revere her. They saw her for what she was-useless. Nothing but a decorative figure on Cassian Valemont’s arm. A placeholder. A wife in title only.
Celeste’s jaw tightened as irritation burned through her chest. So that was why Atasha survived? Because she seduced him? Because she threw herself at him like some desperate girl who didn’t know her place? The thought disgusted her. Atasha was too foolish to plan anything, too plain and inexperienced to charm a man like Cassian, yet somehow she had managed to cling to him long enough to remain alive.
Celeste rolled her eyes inwardly.
Even useless, Atasha still had value, because Celeste could use her. Atasha could be the key to the palace doors and the King’s attention. With Atasha at her side, Celeste could secure the help she needed, push her requests forward, and restore everything she had lost.
That was right.
Atasha loved her.
Her sweet, foolish sister would never ignore her. Atasha had practically raised her. Atasha looked up to her. Atasha adored her. There was no way she would simply discard her family. No. The only explanation was Cassian. Cassian must have kept Atasha away from the letters. He must have denied her messages, hidden them, or intimidated her into silence. Yes. That made sense.
Atasha would never abandon her.
Celeste took a breath, already envisioning how she would confront her sister, how she would explain everything and gently remind her of the duty she owed her birth family. Atasha would listen. She always did.
Just as she started to imagine Atasha crying in relief at seeing her again, a voice interrupted her spiral.
“Sister?”
Celeste blinked, pulled sharply from her thoughts.
At the far end of the greenhouse, framed by the fogged glass and blooming flowers, stood Atasha, looking very much alive, completely unlike the helpless girl Celeste remembered, and staring directly at her.
