Chapter 193
Celeste’s POV
“Atasha?” she repeated, forcing the slight crack in her voice back into something polished and controlled. She straightened her spine and tilted her chin upward, determined not to look startled, even though her pulse stumbled in her chest.
Atasha stepped forward slowly, and the sight of her made Celeste’s irritation twist into something sharper. Her sister’s hair, once dull and practically begging for a proper brush, now shimmered under the greenhouse lamps. Each strand of blonde looked glossy, soft, and impossibly healthy, like she had been bathing in warm oils and expensive treatments at every hour of the day. Celeste stared, unable to stop herself.
How was that possible?
Blonde hair should not look that alive in a place that reeked of warfare. It should have been tangled, frozen, or at the least flattened by the cold wind. Instead, it fell over Atasha’s shoulders in gentle waves, catching the light as if this greenhouse existed just to frame her like some treasured display.
Celeste’s eyes narrowed as she took in the rest of her.
very
Atasha wore a gown. Not a simple housecloth, not a robe hastily thrown on after chaos, but an actual gown that was fitted at the waist, soft fabric cascading down in layers, the kind of attire one would expect at a court dinner or a celebration, not after stepping through a battlefield drenched in blood. The collar was embroidered, too elegant for northern taste, and she moved in it as if she had been wearing gowns since birth.
A gown. In the middle of this mess.
Was she insane? Did she not see the carnage outside? Did she not smell it? Was she walking around dressed like that while her husband’s soldiers died on the ground not even an hour ago? Celeste felt her jaw stiffen as her mind raced.
So, they were not mistreating Atasha after all.
They were pampering her, spoiling her. Treating her like royalty while the North bled around her.
Atasha’s steps were unhurried, almost graceful, and her expression held a gentle smile, calm and soft, like she was greeting a welcome guest instead of a sister who had traveled through cold, danger, and humiliation just to see her.
Celeste’s stomach twisted.
Why was she smiling like that? Why did she look so… composed? Atasha was supposed to be trembling. She was supposed to be frightened, exhausted, or half-frozen. She was supposed to cling to her for comfort, not glide across the greenhouse looking like someone who slept on silk sheets and woke to servants brushing her hair.
Celeste’s thoughts spiraled as she watched Atasha approach.
If Atasha was living comfortably, then why had she ignored her letters? Why had she turned silent for months? How dare she smile like that after Celeste had been the one worrying, the one struggling, the one losing everything? Atasha owed her explanations. She owed her loyalty. She owed her obedience after everything Celeste had done for her growing up.
And yet there she was, wearing a gown, walking through flower-scented warmth while the rest of the world outside these glass panes looked like a mass grave.
Celeste tore her eyes away from the dress long enough to take in Atasha’s face. Her skin looked clear. Her posture was steady. There were no signs of sleepless nights or grief. Worse, there was not a single bruise on her. Not even one. If Cassian was as monstrous as the rumors claimed, he certainly wasn’t taking it out on Atasha.
Celeste’s envy rose like bile.
How could Atasha, of all people, be living like this? How could this foolish, fragile girl be the one receiving gowns and warmth and luxury while Celeste herself endured cold carriages, tightened budgets, and a pack collapsing under Demon Fang attacks?
Atasha loved her, yes, but did she love her enough? Celeste wouldn’t know until she tested her.
She steadied herself, preparing to play the role she needed.
“Sister…?” Atasha’s voice reached her at last, gentle in a way that made Celeste grit her teeth.
Celeste forced herself to smile back, matching her sister’s expression with one of her own, one that hid everything she
intended to take.
Celeste smoothed her expression into something warm and soft, a practiced mask she had used countless times before, then stepped forward and opened her arms. “Atasha,” she murmured, coating her tone with gentle affection, “I missed you.”
Atasha moved toward her without hesitation, wrapping her arms around Celeste in a tight hug that made Celeste stiffen for half a heartbeat before she leaned in and returned it.
Celeste kept her face buried just enough to hide the annoyance simmering beneath her skin, but not enough to ruin the illusion of sisterly affection. Atasha smelled clean, like flowers and warm linen, nothing like the iron scent still lingering on the others. Of course. She was protected, sheltered and coddled.
“How have you been?” Atasha asked softly as she pulled back just slightly, her hands still lightly resting on Celeste’s arms. “I didn’t receive any letters telling me you were coming. If I had, the North would have prepared something proper for your arrival.”
Celeste rolled her eyes inwardly so hard she felt her temples throb. Of course, Atasha would say something like that. So naive, so trusting! As if the entire North would drop everything to welcome her sister just because she asked. Celeste forced a strained little laugh as she withdrew just enough to meet Atasha’s gaze.
“I had been in a rush,” she said smoothly, covering her irritation with a smile. “I should have sent a letter, but things at home were… difficult. I had no time to arrange anything in advance. I hope you can forgive me.”
Atasha’s brows pulled together with genuine concern, of course they did. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to write to you too, but the North has been in chaos. There were attacks recently, and to keep me safe, Lord Cassian asked me to stay inside the mansion. He did not even let me near the gates, not until things settled.”
Celeste blinked, then smiled again, though her teeth pressed together behind her closed lips.
There it was.
The stupidity she expected.
Atasha truly believed that being locked up inside a mansion like a fragile ornament was a sign of affection. She probably convinced herself Cassian was protecting her because he loved her. The thought would have been pathetic if it were not so predictable.
Celeste almost pitied her. Almost. The poor thing had no idea how this kind of power worked, no idea how to use it, no idea how dangerous it could be, and she clung to her misguided assumptions like they were truths carved in stone.
Celeste gently let go of the embrace and allowed Atasha to guide her toward one of the small seating arrangements at the center of the greenhouse. They sat down on cushioned benches’ that faced each other over a low table scattered with delicate blossoms in small vases. The fragrant air felt misplaced after everything she had just walked through.
“You must be hungry,” Atasha said, her voice carrying that soft sincerity Celeste had always found irritating. “Unfortunately, the North is currently occupied with very important matters, so please forgive us if we are not as prepared as we should be for visitors. I will make sure they bring food soon.”
Celeste smiled outwardly but sneered inwardly at the way Atasha apologized on behalf of the entire territory, as if she personally failed Celeste by not having a feast waiting.
Atasha sounded like someone desperate to be polite, desperate to avoid offending anyone, desperate to please. That was always Atasha’s flaw. The woman was just too eager to make excuses for everyone else.
And that softness… was something Celeste could twist. It was a weakness she could shape into something useful, something that could benefit her. Atasha might be living comfortably now, but she was still the same girl who looked at Celeste with trust instead of suspicion. She would still listen to Celeste. She would still choose her side. She would still believe every carefully crafted word Celeste planned to feed her.
Celeste folded her hands neatly on her lap, keeping her expression warm, her eyes soft, everything polished to perfection.
Inside, her mind turned like a blade.
Atasha felt guilty already.
Good, she thought inwardly.
Atasha wanted to make up for the lack of preparation.
Even better!
Atasha was grateful to see her.
Perfect!
Celeste let her posture soften as she leaned forward, crafting the expression she knew would pull at Atasha’s heart, the fragile, wounded look of a younger sister carrying burdens she should never have faced alone.
She watched Atasha’s face respond exactly as she expected, the concern settling there with no resistance, the kind of open loyalty Celeste had always been able to draw from her with nothing more than a tremble in her voice or a slight downturn of her lips.
Atasha had changed in appearance, in status, in the world she now lived in, but Celeste saw it clearly. The core was still the same. Soft and trusting and always eager to help. And entirely unprepared for someone who knew how to bend those traits into something useful.
Atasha might have gained power in the North, but Celeste fully intended to be the one holding the strings.
She reached out and took Atasha’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that looked affectionate. Her voice lowered, threaded with just enough emotion to sound sincere, just enough to fool Atasha.
“Sister,” she said, tilting her head as if the greenhouse was suddenly too exposed for the conversation she had in mind. There are things I need to tell you. Important things.” She let her gaze flick subtly toward Rio and Grace, then back to Atasha, allowing a faint tremble into her fingers. “Don’t you think… we should talk somewhere private?”
