Talia’s POV
The steam from the bath wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket as the warm water cascaded down my bare skin.
Two maidservants worked in synchronized silence, their movements efficient yet distant, as if they were handling a delicate piece of pottery that might shatter at any moment.
I held myself perfectly still, focusing on the rhythm of their gentle scrubbing rather than the weight of their stares.
But no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I could feel their eyes lingering on my shoulder, where the crescent moon mark branded my skin like a scarlet letter.
The mark was impossible to hide here, exposed under the bright bathroom light.
Dark against my pale flesh, it announced my shame to anyone who looked—cursed, wolfless, broken.
I had spent years concealing it beneath carefully chosen clothing, but now, vulnerable and naked, there was nowhere to run from their judgment.
Their glances burned worse than the mark itself.
Quick, furtive looks followed by hastily averted gazes.
Pity mixed with curiosity, fear laced with disgust.
I recognized the expression from countless faces in Moonstone—the same look that reminded me daily of what I was not.
The water did nothing to wash away the humiliation that clung to me like second skin.
If anything, their careful ministrations only made me more aware of every flaw, every imperfection that marked me as different.
When they finally wrapped me in a plush towel and began the process of dressing me, I breathed a small sigh of relief.
But my momentary comfort evaporated when I saw the gown they had selected.
The lavender dress with its flowing skirt and intricate embroidery was one of my better pieces—meant for special occasions, not for lounging around indoors.
I frowned at their choice.
“This dress is meant for going out, not for—”
“Not for what, my lady?” Madame Hildegard’s crisp voice sliced through my protest.
She materialized beside the vanity like an avenging angel, her arms crossed in perfect disapproval.
“For staying inside,” I finished weakly.
“I have simpler dresses that would be more appropriate.”
Her eyebrow arched with practiced disdain.
“The other garments you brought are entirely unsuitable for an Alpha’s wife.
Even for private wear.”
Heat flooded my cheeks at her blunt assessment.
My wardrobe was a collection of hand-me-downs and worn castoffs, but they were mine.
They carried memories of better times, before my father stopped caring about my appearance entirely.
“Those clothes will be disposed of,” Madame Hildegard continued with ruthless efficiency.
My stomach dropped.
“But I don’t have many—”
“New attire is being prepared as we speak.
The tailors will deliver everything by this evening.”
The dismissal stung more than it should have.
Those faded dresses were all I had left of my old life, modest as it was.
Without an allowance or any means of my own, I had learned to make do with Bianca and Sasha’s discarded clothing.
It wasn’t much, but it was something that belonged to me.
I swallowed my pride like bitter medicine.
“Fine.”
Madame Hildegard nodded as if she had expected nothing less from me.
Then, with the same detached professionalism, she delivered her next blow.
“Your belongings will be packed tonight.
We depart for Rainwood at dawn.”
The words hit me like a physical force.
“What?”
“Alpha Caspian’s orders,” she replied, as if that explained everything.
Of course.
Another decision made without consulting me, another change thrust upon me without warning.
I was beginning to understand that in Caspian’s world, I was just another asset to be moved around at his convenience.
The name Rainwood sent a shiver through me.
I had heard stories of the gleaming metropolis with its towering skyscrapers and cutting-edge technology, but I had never seen it with my own eyes.
I had never even left Frosthaven’s borders.
The thought of being transplanted to such an alien environment filled me with equal parts dread and fascination.
Would I be just another prisoner in a different cage, or might this change offer some unexpected opportunities?
Before I could process the implications fully, gentle hands guided me to the vanity.
One of the maidservants began working fragrant oil through my long silver hair, her touch surprisingly tender as she braided it into an elegant style.
Purple hairpins were added to complement my violet eyes.
I stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the polished woman looking back at me, when a sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.
The doctor entered with brisk confidence, an older man with penetrating eyes that immediately zeroed in on the scar marking my throat.
He set his medical bag down and studied me with clinical interest.
“How did you acquire this injury?” he asked without preamble.
The room fell into expectant silence.
I met his gaze steadily but offered no response.
Some wounds ran too deep for casual conversation, and I had no intention of sharing my darkest memories with a stranger.
The silence stretched until the doctor glanced at Madame Hildegard for guidance.
She simply nodded for him to continue his examination.
Realizing I would not be forthcoming, he sighed and retrieved a magnifying loupe from his bag.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin as he examined the scar with professional detachment.
His touch sent an uncomfortable ripple down my spine—not pain exactly, but a sharp reminder of vulnerability.
“How long have you had this wound?”
“A year,” I replied evenly.
From my peripheral vision, I caught Bree’s expression softening with sympathy.
Her pity made my skin crawl more than the doctor’s clinical examination.
The doctor frowned and straightened.
“Without a wolf to aid healing, recovery is naturally slower.
But even accounting for that, this should have healed completely by now.”
I remained silent, knowing exactly why the scar persisted but having no intention of sharing that knowledge.
He studied the mark more intently.
“The center is quite deep, affecting multiple tissue layers.
Have you used any treatments?”
“Yes.
Shea butter balm, aloe vera, coconut oil, various herbal applications.”
His frown deepened.
“With that level of care, especially given your pack’s reputation for healing knowledge, complete recovery should have occurred months ago.”
He reached into his bag and produced a small white container.
“This specialized balm should help.
It contains petroleum jelly, aloe vera, tea tree oil, honey, and vitamin E.”
I accepted the container and opened it, inhaling deeply.
The scent revealed more than he had listed.
“I detect lavender,” I said flatly.
“You should not have added fragrance.”
The doctor blinked in surprise.
“Excuse me?”
“Perfumed oils can impede proper healing,” I explained with cool authority.
“If your goal was therapeutic treatment, scented additives were inappropriate.”
My knowledge of herbs and healing came from years of living in Moonstone, where such understanding was as natural as breathing.
I watched the maidservants exchange startled glances, probably shocked that someone they considered cursed would dare correct a learned physician.
The doctor’s face flushed slightly.
“I…
that was indeed an oversight.
I will prepare an unscented version and have it delivered this evening.”
I nodded curtly, though we both knew I would not use it.
I had corrected him for one reason only—to remind everyone present that despite my cursed status, I remained a daughter of Moonstone, with knowledge they could not dismiss so easily.