Chapter 198
ATASHA’S POV
“Sister!”
Celeste had barely stepped past the doorway when the word left my mouth. I pushed the bowl a little toward the center of the table and turned to face her as if I had been waiting for her and nothing else.
Cassian had already left, he said something about patrol reports and walked out with that controlled anger he carried whenever the topic involved witches, Matron Yara, or the King. Grace was outside now, somewhere past the door with the guards, close enough to intervene if Celeste decided to scream the roof down, far enough not to hear every word unless she tried.
In front of me, the table was still crowded. Trays of roasted meat, baskets of bread, a bowl of thick stew, small plates of cheese and berries, a pitcher of milk. I had made a dent in most of it, but it still looked excessive for one person.
Celeste stopped just inside the threshold and stared.
Her gaze flicked from my face to the food, then back again. Her brows drew together, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked exactly like she used to when she caught me sneaking extra bread from the kitchen, the same mix of disbelief and offended entitlement, only now she added a hint of outrage, as if me eating in my own room was an insult to her suffering.
“Come in,” I said, keeping my tone warm. I gestured toward the chair opposite mine. “Sit, please. You must be hungry.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing slightly, then walked toward the table and sat down with a stiff spine. “Hungry?” she repeated, the word edged. “I have been requesting to see you since yesterday. Did you not hear that I refused every plate they brought me? Every bit of food your servants tried to give?”
I reached for the pitcher and poured milk into the empty cup at her side, letting my face crease with concern. “You asked to see me?” I asked, as if the idea surprised me. “I was told you were resting after the journey. I thought you were exhausted and needed time to recover. I did not know you were starving yourself on purpose.”
Starving yourself to make a point, I thought. That sounded more accurate.
Celeste huffed, the sound sharp. “Resting?” she snapped. “Is that what they called it? Did no one tell you that Lord Cassian imprisoned me in that room? That he placed guards outside my door and refused to let me step into the corridor?”
I blinked slowly and set the pitcher down. “Imprisoned you?” I repeated, letting the word hang in the air for a moment. “What do you mean exactly?”
“As if you do not know,” she muttered. She leaned forward, eyes bright with anger. “Your Lord ordered his men to block my way. When I tried to leave, they told me I was not permitted to walk around. They said you wanted me to rest, that you would see me when you had time. I could not even step into the hallway without a guard moving to stop me. Is that how you treat your own sister now?”
Inside, something in me almost laughed.
Did you think this fortress was your backyard, Celeste? Did you think you could walk out, stir trouble, and wander into any room you liked?
Outwardly, I let my brows draw together, the picture of confusion and mild distress. “I asked them to make sure you had privacy,” I said. “The corridors are not safe yet after the attack. There are still patrols and repairs, and stray rebels being dragged in. I did not want you walking into that chaos. If they misunderstood and made you feel trapped, then that was not my intention.” I tilted my head. “As for Lord Cassian… he prioritizes safety above comfort. Sometimes that can feel harsh.”
Her mouth twisted. She clearly did not like hearing me make excuses for him.
“So you knew I was not allowed to leave,” she pushed. “You knew and you did nothing?”
“I knew you were being kept inside the guest wing,” I replied. “I did not know you were refusing every meal. I heard you were not eating, but I assumed it was because you were tired or did not like the food they brought. I was in the infirmary the entire night, Sister. I was healing soldiers, wounded and dying soldiers. I could not walk away from them to check whether you were sulking over soup.”
Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut again.
Good, I thought. Let that sting.
“You heard I was not eating and you stayed in the infirmary?” she asked. “Just like that? You did not think to come see me first? To check if I was well? I am your sister, Atasha.”
“I am aware,” I said softly. I picked up my spoon and stirred the stew once, watching the surface ripple. “Which is why I arranged for you to have one of the best rooms, extra blankets, and a private guard detail. You were safe and warm. The men in that hall were not. Some of them were halfway to dying. I had to choose where to stand.”
Celeste stared at me like she didn’t recognize the person speaking.
“Choose,” she repeated, almost choking on the word. “And you chose them? Over me?”
I lifted my eyes to hers and let my shoulders sag a little, as if her accusation actually hit something. “You are hurting my heart, Sister,” I said. “Of course I care about you. I always have. But I am no longer just your older sister who can follow you around and fix your tantrums.” I placed the spoon down gently. “I am the consort of the North. I serve the Lord and his people. When they call, I cannot turn my back to run after one person, even if that person is you.”
Inwardly, I watched her reaction with a care I did not show on my face.
You wanted to see if I would still drop everything when you snapped your fingers, I thought. You wanted to prove to yourself that I was still the Atasha who followed behind you like a shadow. I am not.
Celeste shook her head slowly, eyes wide. “This is unbelievable,” she whispered. “You sound like them. You talk like one of them. What did he do to you? What did that man put in your head?”
I blinked, letting confusion touch my features again. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Lord Cassian did not ‘put’ anything anywhere. He simply showed me that my life belongs here now. When I arrived, everyone
reminded me that the North is a battlefield more often than a home. They taught me that if I want to live, if I want the people under this roof to live, I have to think as they do. I have to put the territory first. That is what it means to be a consort here.”
Her fingers curled on the edge of the table. She looked at me with a mix of horror and something that almost looked like pity, as if I were the one who needed saving.
He has brainwashed you, her eyes seemed to say, even before her mouth caught up.
“This is not you,” she said at last, voice shaking. “You would never talk like this. You would never say you chose strangers over me. He twisted you. He must have. He made you believe you owe him everything. He made you forget what family is.”
I let my gaze drop for a second, as if her words cut deeper than I wanted them to. Then I looked back gave her a small, fragile smile.
up
and
“Maybe I changed,” I said quietly. “The North has that effect. When you watch people die because you were not fast enough, when you see soldiers fall without lifting a blade, it does something to you. Lord Cassian only keeps reminding me where my place is. He says a consort who forgets her duty puts everyone in danger.” I paused, then added, “I suppose that sounds strange to you.”
I made sure to leave that sentence hanging in a way that could be taken as a complaint. Celeste latched onto it immediately.
“So he tells you your duty is to him,” she said, almost spitting the last word out. “He tells you that you belong to him and this frozen place. He tells you that you must put him and his people above your own blood. Atasha, can you not hear yourself? That is not duty, that is control. He has convinced you that you owe him your life.”
“Does it matter what I call it?” I asked, keeping my tone mild. “The truth is the same. I am a northerner now. I bear their mark. I heal their wounded. When they look at me, they do not see the southern girl you remember. They see someone they rely on. If I turn away from them to run to you each time you skip a meal, what would that make me here?”
Someone who still puts you first, I thought. Someone you can still use.
Celeste leaned back slowly, as if she needed distance to process everything she was hearing. Her eyes traced my face, my hair, the clothes, the food on the table, then drifted toward the door, as if she could see Cassian through solid wood.
“He has done something to you,” she said again, firmer this time. “I do not care how you dress it up. This is not the sister I knew. You are talking like a soldier, like a servant, like some… trained consort who can only say what he wants to hear.”
Then she continued. “This is not the Atasha that I loved!”
