Chapter 4

Seraphina Silvermoon POV:

The next morning, I woke to the sound of mocking laughter outside our flimsy door. I had spent the night on the lumpy mattress while Dravon sat motionless in the single chair, seemingly lost in meditation. An awkward silence had filled the small space between us.

The door burst open without a knock. Elara stood there, flanked by her usual sycophants, her arms crossed over her chest. She was here to assign the daily Omega duties.

"Seraphina," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You'll be on mucking duty. The livestock pens need a good cleaning."

It was the filthiest, most back-breaking job. I bit my lip and nodded, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an argument.

Her icy gaze then fell on the tin cup on our table, where the Blood Moonflowers sat. Her face twisted in disgust.

"A cripple's treasure," she sneered. "You actually kept that garbage? Those dead weeds will bring rot and mildew into your house."

Before I could react, she strode over, snatched the flowers from the cup, and stalked toward the door. The rough movement sent a shower of water and a few loose petals onto the floor.

Dravon, who had been silent in his corner, suddenly went very still. His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, an aura of such cold, lethal fury emanated from him that the air in the cabin seemed to drop twenty degrees. It was gone as quickly as it came, so fast I thought I might have imagined it.

"Throw this in the feeding trough," Elara commanded one of her followers, tossing the bouquet carelessly. "Let the grohl beasts have a little dessert."

The others howled with laughter as they took the flowers and headed for the nearby animal pen.

"No!" I cried, rushing forward, but Elara blocked my path, a malicious smirk on her face.

"What's the matter, cousin? Is it precious to you?" she taunted. "This is where it belongs. With the other refuse."

I watched in horror as my gift, Dravon's gift, was tossed into a stone trough filled with muddy water and half-eaten slop. A few of the sheep-like grohl beasts ambled over and sniffed at the flowers curiously before losing interest.

Tears of humiliation burned my eyes. It wasn't about the flowers themselves. It was about the respect they represented. It was the only thing he had brought with him, and she had trampled it into the mud.

Elara savored my expression for a moment longer, then turned and swept away, her posse trailing behind her. The small crowd of watching Omegas dispersed, shaking their heads at the sad little drama.

Dravon said nothing. He just watched me, his face a stone mask.

I took a shaky breath, wiped my eyes, and did something that surprised even myself. I limped over to the filthy feeding trough. Ignoring the stench and the grime, I reached into the slop and began picking the flowers out, one by one.

My actions were a quiet rebellion. They were a statement.

I used the sleeve of my clean tunic to wipe the mud from the petals. Then, under Dravon's watchful gaze, I did something more. I lifted a single, mud-stained petal to my lips, and I ate it.

It was a declaration to Elara, to the whole world. *What you cast aside as worthless, I will hold as treasure.*

A powerful, shocking warmth exploded in my stomach, a hundred times stronger than the faint pulse I'd felt yesterday. It rushed through my veins, and when it reached my damaged leg, the chronic ache was replaced by a pleasant, tingling numbness.

I saw Dravon's eyes widen, his pupils dilating in the dim morning light. He hadn't expected this.

The Omegas who had lingered to watch were now staring at me as if I'd lost my mind. Their whispers turned to open, jeering laughter. The cripple was so desperate, she was eating garbage from an animal trough.

I ignored them. I ate another petal, and then another, until they were all gone.

The laughter grew louder, but it didn't matter. Dravon walked over to me. He took off his own worn outer tunic and draped it over my shoulders, which had begun to tremble not from cold, but from the force of my defiance.

He leaned in close, his voice a low, private rumble meant only for me. "Well done."