The soft rustling of tree branches brushing against the stone walls was the only sound in the small, dimly lit room. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs and the faintest trace of lavender—soothing, meant to calm. But Arin was beyond calm.
She lay on the low cot, one arm draped protectively over her abdomen, eyes fixed on the wooden beams above her head. Her body still ached, her ribs bruised from the flight, her soul even more fractured than before.
A gentle knock came at the door, followed by a soft creak as it opened. Arin tensed instinctively, then relaxed only slightly when the figure who entered wasn't a threat.
"Good evening," came a lilting voice, warm and soft like sun filtering through tree branches.
A young woman stepped into the room, balancing a clay bowl in one hand and a pouch slung over her shoulder. She was petite, with golden-brown curls pulled into a loose braid, a cluster of dried flowers pinned behind her ear. Her presence was gentle, her smile kind in a way that made Arin feel both safer and smaller.
"You must be Arin," the girl said as she set the bowl on the bedside table. "I'm Isolde. Zayan's sister."
Arin said nothing. She merely shifted, pushing herself upright with effort. The bruises flared under her skin, but she didn't wince. Pain was expected now.
"I'm the healer for the Western Pack," Isolde continued cheerfully, as though she hadn't noticed Arin's cold silence. "Zayan told me you had woken up."
Arin blinked slowly, her eyes flicking over the girl's delicate features. "So he sent his sister to patch me up?"
Isolde laughed softly. "He sent the best, actually. Which just happens to be his sister."
She sat on a stool beside the cot and unrolled a length of soft cloth on the small table, revealing tiny vials of tinctures and sprigs of drying roots. Her movements were gentle and practiced, each one filled with the quiet confidence of someone who had healed many and never lost her kindness along the way.
"I need to check your pulse and your abdomen," Isolde said, tone shifting into that of a professional. "Zayan mentioned… well. That you'd suffered some trauma."
Arin laid back, pulling her tunic up enough to reveal her belly. The bruises there were yellowing, deep-set. A reminder of rough hands and the long fall from grace.
Isolde's fingers were featherlight. She pressed gently, eyes focused, then reached into her pouch and pulled out a polished stone disc. She pressed it to Arin's skin and closed her eyes, lips moving in a silent chant. A warm hum filled the room—ancient healing magic woven into the stone.
After a moment, Isolde opened her eyes, smiling softly. "Your baby is strong. The heartbeat is steady."
Arin blinked. "It's… alive?"
Isolde nodded. "Very much alive. A little fighter, just like their mother."
Arin swallowed. Her throat burned with a sudden lump of emotion she hadn't expected. "Despite everything?"
"The body is extraordinary," Isolde said, her voice growing even gentler. "And yours is… resilient. Whatever they did to you, it wasn't enough to break this little one."
Arin looked away, eyes burning. "Yet."
Isolde began packing up her supplies, but Arin's voice stopped her.
"You're very calm around me," she said bitterly. "You might be far from the Royal citadel and the northern pack but you must have heard about the Queen of Shame."
Isolde paused, her hand resting over her pouch. "I know who you are."
"Oh?" Arin turned her head, her tone sharp. "And what exactly do you know?"
Isolde met her gaze, her expression still soft. "That the entire kingdom thinks you cheated on the king and tried to pass off a bastard child as his heir."
Arin flinched, not because the words were untrue, but because they were so calmly delivered.
Isolde continued, quieter now. "They say the king cast you out. That he took you back to your father's estate and left you there in disgrace. Some said… your father killed you."
Arin laughed dryly, the sound hollow. "He might as well have."
Silence fell again.
"I don't believe everything people say," Isolde added gently. "I've heard enough lies in my lifetime to recognize when something feels wrong."
Arin turned her head, her voice flat. "You don't know me."
"No," Isolde agreed. "But I know pain. I know what it looks like when someone's been torn apart by the people who were supposed to protect them."
She paused, then reached out and gently placed a small bundle wrapped in cloth at the edge of the bed. "This is for you. Some pain salve, and calming herbs for sleep."
"Why?" Arin asked suddenly. "Why be kind to me?"
Isolde's eyes filled with a sadness Arin didn't understand. "Because someone needs to be."
That broke something in her.
Arin turned away quickly, her breath hitching. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, determined not to let herself cry in front of someone who felt like sunlight.
"I was mated to him," she whispered. "They say I tricked him, but I didn't even want someone who looked at me as less because of my lack of a wolf."
Isolde sat back down. "Then what happened?"
Arin clenched her fists. "I am a whore" Her voice cracked, rage and heartbreak crashing together. "I am a pitiful whore who had nothing but shame to offer him."
Isolde reached out but didn't touch her. She waited.
Arin looked down at her belly. "And now I don't know why this baby's still fighting when all I want to do is give up."
The silence that followed was thick and aching.
But then Isolde said, softly, "Because sometimes… the smallest parts of us are the strongest. And maybe that baby already knows you're the only thing standing between them and the world."
Arin's throat tightened.
"I don't know what happened in the palace," Isolde said gently. "I don't know what kind of king Roan is. But I do know what kind of mother you can be. That matters more to me than any rumor."
Arin said nothing.
"I'll come back in the morning," Isolde said as she stood, brushing dust from her skirt. "Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."
She paused at the door, her expression unreadable. "And Arin… if anyone tries to shame you here, I'll break their nose."
Arin blinked, startled. "You… what?"
Isolde smiled. "You've earned a defender, even if you don't believe you deserve one yet."
Then she slipped out, leaving Arin staring at the door long after it closed.