The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 12
News of Hunter’s mate traveled through the Silver Moon manor faster than any official announcement. By the time Elara finished treating Wren, servants had gathered along the corridors under the pretense of polishing lamps and carrying linens.
No outsider had ever been welcomed into the Alpha’s private residence, much less a rogue banished by a rival pack. Wren felt every stare as Hunter escorted her upstairs. The black crescent beneath her collarbone seemed to burn beneath her borrowed coat.
“That is the woman he claimed,” someone whispered near the stairwell. “She cannot even speak.” Another voice answered, “How can a cursed girl become our Luna?”
Wren kept her gaze on the floor. Hunter had silenced the courtyard, but a command could not erase doubt from an entire pack. No matter where she went, people saw the missing wolf and broken voice before they saw her.
The bond carried a flicker of Hunter’s concern. He removed the heavy coat from her shoulders only to settle a dry wool cloak around them. Then he turned toward the listening servants.
“Curiosity is not permission for cruelty,” he said. “If you have questions about my mate, bring them to me. You will not make her answer for a curse inflicted against her.”
Several faces reddened. The corridor emptied beneath hurried bows, leaving behind the scent of soap and embarrassment. Wren looked at Hunter, surprised that he recognized the difference between protecting her and pretending the whispers did not exist.
“You will get used to this place,” he said more softly. “That does not mean you must get used to being looked down on.” His fingers brushed the edge of the cloak, then withdrew before the gesture became too intimate.
An elderly woman approached from the west wing carrying a ring of keys. Her silver hair was pinned in a tidy knot, and warmth softened her shrewd eyes. “I have prepared a room for Lady Wren,” she announced.
The title stopped Wren in the corridor. Lady. At Wolfhart Castle, even servants younger than she was had addressed her without courtesy. She glanced behind herself, half expecting the housekeeper to mean someone else.
The woman smiled. “I am Mara, keeper of this impossible household. Come, my lady. You have had quite enough cold and mud for one morning.”
Hunter nodded his approval. “From today onward, Wren is to receive the same respect you give me.” The remaining servants exchanged uneasy looks but bowed when Mara fixed them with a warning stare.
“Yes, Alpha,” they answered, though several voices sounded uncertain. Mara opened a room overlooking the valley, where sunlight streamed across a wide bed covered in clean linen. Fresh clothes lay folded on a cedar chest, warm food waited on a small table, and a vase of blue wildflowers stood beside the window.
Wren froze on the threshold. The room was not lavish by Wolfhart standards, yet every detail had been chosen for comfort. Someone had heated water, found garments in her size, and remembered that a frightened stranger might need food before questions.
For years she had slept in a storage room beside the kitchens, where winter wind slipped through cracks in the wall. She ate whatever remained after the family and servants were satisfied. Even then, Gertrude called shelter an act of mercy.
A tear rolled down Wren’s cheek. She wiped it away quickly, ashamed of being moved by things other people accepted as ordinary. Mara pretended to adjust the flowers, offering privacy without leaving her alone.
Hunter remained at the doorway. “You deserve better than the life they forced on you,” he said. There was no pity in his expression, only anger at the injustice and a tenderness that made the mate bond pulse.
Wren touched the embroidered blanket. Mine? she signed, then pointed to the room.
Hunter followed the gesture. “Yours. No one enters without your permission, including me.” He placed the iron key in her palm and closed her fingers around it.
The small weight felt more valuable than jewelry. A locked door had always been something Gertrude used to confine her, often leaving her in darkness until she agreed to accept blame for an invented offense. This key meant Wren could choose when to open one, when to close it, and whom she trusted enough to invite inside.
