Caspian’s POV
The quiet hung heavy between us as I examined my mother’s features.
The years had been kind to her appearance, leaving her skin unmarked by age.
Her condition had granted her this strange gift of eternal youth, though it had robbed her of so much more in return.
She’d been fighting this battle for twenty years now, the symptoms growing worse after my brother’s birth.
The woman who raised me had never fully returned after that day.
“You don’t know who I am?” My voice came out softer than intended.
“I visited just months ago.
Has it all disappeared already?”
Her elegant eyebrows drew together at my question.
One hand drifted to her forehead, fingers moving in gentle circles.
“Forgive me,” she said, her tone uncertain.
“Sometimes my thoughts get tangled up.”
I kept my breathing even, my words calm.
“Mother, I’m Caspian.
Your son.”
She stared at me without comprehension for several heartbeats.
Then something shifted in her expression, warmth replacing confusion.
Recognition flickered in those familiar dark eyes.
Her hands reached out slowly, framing my face with gentle palms.
“You came back to me,” she breathed, her thumbs tracing along my jawline as if trying to commit every detail to memory.
Without warning, she rose and pulled me into her embrace.
I didn’t resist.
Her frame felt more delicate than before, brittle somehow.
She stretched up on her toes, placing a tender kiss on my left cheek before stepping away.
Her face lit up with genuine joy.
“Look how magnificent you’ve become.”
A soft laugh escaped my throat.
“Thank you.”
“It’s been forever since I saw you last.
Where did you go?” Her eyes searched mine with desperate hope.
There was no point in explaining.
She’d forget she’d even asked within minutes.
Instead, I led her back to her bed, settling her down before positioning a chair directly across from her.
She turned toward the doorway suddenly.
“Phoebe!” Her voice carried through the room.
“Please prepare a meal!
My boy is home—we must eat together.”
I raised my hand immediately.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mother.
I’m not hungry.”
Her bright expression dimmed.
“You won’t share a meal with me?” The hurt in her voice was unmistakable as Phoebe appeared in the doorway.
I exhaled slowly.
“I’ve been fasting today,” I said carefully, “but I’ll break it early and have some fruit with you.”
Phoebe had already informed me that my mother had eaten recently.
Since she wouldn’t retain that memory, it was safer to avoid another full meal.
Her dietary restrictions were crucial—with so little physical activity, excess food would only harm her health further.
“The fruit, please,” my mother instructed.
Phoebe caught my eye, and I gave her a subtle nod of approval.
Minutes later, she returned carrying a dish of crimson grapes and crisp apple wedges.
She positioned a small table between us and set the plate down carefully.
I selected two plump grapes, extending them toward my mother.
She smiled warmly, parting her lips to accept them while I bit into a slice of apple.
Her head tilted at an angle.
“How are your studies progressing?”
The apple fragment froze against my teeth.
I lowered my hand deliberately, holding her gaze.
“My education is complete, Mother,” I said with measured patience.
“I hold the position of Alpha now.”
She blinked once, then her face transformed with pride.
“You overcame your father?”
Her head bobbed with satisfaction.
“Excellent.
I never doubted you would succeed.”
I chose not to clarify the details.
The truth would only create more confusion for her.
Her eyes studied me with renewed interest.
“Tell me, did you wed that particular girl?”
My forehead creased slightly.
“Are you referring to Sybil?”
She confirmed with a nod, her face unreadable.
I shook my head firmly.
“No.
I married a different woman.
Talia Blackwood.
She belongs to the Moonstone Pack.”
My mother’s mouth curved upward with approval.
“Perfect.
Anyone except that girl…
or whoever your father selected.”
I released a quiet breath.
Correcting her distorted memories served no purpose.
She existed in her own reality, one that didn’t always match the facts.
After a pause, she angled her head again.
“You don’t seem to feel affection for this wife of yours.”
I went rigid.
“What gives you that impression?”
“Your eyes showed nothing when you spoke her name.”
I transferred the apple to my other hand.
“Emotional attachment isn’t necessary in marriages like mine.”
I reached for another grape, offering it to her.
But she pulled back, declining with a shake of her head.
“No more,” she murmured, one palm resting against her midsection.
“I feel satisfied now.” Confusion clouded her features.
“Though that’s odd…
I don’t recall eating lunch today.”
I kept my expression neutral.
“That’s perfectly fine.”
But uncertainty crept into her eyes, followed by the first hints of panic.
“I’m sorry for leaving you to eat alone.
I didn’t intend to be rude.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Mother.
Simply watch me finish,” I said gently, hoping to ease her distress before it escalated.
She wavered for a moment, then settled back with visible relief and a small, grateful smile.
Silence enveloped us again, punctuated only by the soft sounds of my chewing.
Then she spoke once more.
“This wife you mentioned,” she said, genuine curiosity sparking in her gaze.
“When will I have the chance to meet her?”
“During my next visit,” I replied.
Her expression darkened with disappointment.
That answer clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“Then tell me what she looks like.”
I went completely still.
Describe Talia?
Long seconds passed without a word from me.
But my mother simply waited, expectation written across her face.
With no alternative, I drew in a deep breath.
“She’s similar to you in height and build,” I began slowly.
“She has silver-colored hair and violet eyes.” I hesitated.
“She speaks her mind freely.”
My mother’s lips twitched as if fighting back laughter.
I found myself adding, “She refuses to be controlled by anyone.” A brief pause.
“And she’s the only member of her family with that silver hair and those purple eyes.”
At my description, my mother closed her eyes, that lingering smile still playing at her mouth.
When she looked at me again, her gaze was direct.
“Such features are extraordinary.
You’ve just painted a picture of a divine being.”
I stiffened.
Then my mouth almost curved upward, but I remained silent.
A divine being?
Talia?
Absolutely not.
If anything, she was the thorn I’d deliberately embedded in my own flesh.
I bit into another apple slice, shaking my head slightly.
My mother’s illness was clearly influencing her judgment again.