Chapter 167: A Name She Couldn’t Say Out Loud
On December 5, Emma was in the study chamber waiting for Elara. They will be traveling to Milan in two days for bridal shopping and a few days of vacation. Elara called her two hours ago and informed her that she was on her way to the estate. She kept staring occasionally at the wall clock that was before her as she updated her story, wondering what took her so long.
She had been feeling lonely since Brooklyn traveled with her mate. It was as if a part of her was removed. However, when Elara told her that she was coming, her joy knew no bounds. Elara and Brooklyn are her real female siblings and she owes them her life.
At 11:40 am, the door opened and she walked into the study, drying her hair with a hand dryer. She had just come out of the shower and her hair was still wet. She fixed her gaze on her with her eyes wide open. She didn’t know the princess she was waiting for had arrived.
"Elara!" She screamed when she found her voice. They hugged each other happily. "When did you come in?"
"Thirty minutes ago, she responded, sitting beside her.
Emma wrinkled her nose. "So you didn’t shower before coming?"
"I did," she said, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "Just feel like doing it again. I’m in my heat."
She took the hair dryer from her and began to dry her hair. Her loose golden hair was like strands of lustrous glass. It was her first time sitting quite close to her. She noticed she has gentle and overwhelming features like her sibling. Just that her face is well-modeled and feminine.
She flipped through her book, towel draped over her shoulders as Emma dried her hair.
Her fingers slowed every time she ran her hand through it, leaning into it without thinking.
"How is the High Luna?" she asked.
"She’s fine."
Her gaze stayed on the hair. She nodded once.
"I hope she’s happy."
"She’s never been happier."
Her mouth curved. "I’m glad."
"And the king?"
"He’s happy too."
She turned a page, eyes still on the lines. "I like reading your story," she said with a small grin.
She paused mid-turn. "Have you read it before?"
"I have."
Her eyes lifted. "When?"
"When you relocated to Finland," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.
They both let out small laughs.
Elara pushed back her chair and stood, smoothing her gown. The v-neck sat a little loose over her bralette as she adjusted it.
A grin tugged at Emma’s mouth, like she’d remembered something funny.
"Why are you smiling?" Elara asked.
"Brandon once told me you used to wear your mother’s bustiers when you were younger."
Her grin widened. She glanced down at herself briefly, then shook her head like she didn’t believe it.
"I’m hungry," she said, already turning. "I need to fix something."
Emma opened her mouth like she’d say something, closed it again, then gave a short nod. "Alright."
The door clicked shut behind her.
She lingered for a moment, fingers hovering over the page. A question rose, pressed against her tongue. She swallowed it down, turned back to her notebook, and kept writing.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
A familiar scent filled the chamber.
Emma didn’t turn.
Footsteps crossed the floor.
He stopped behind her.
Warmth settled over her head as his jaw rested lightly against her hair.
He skimmed the page in silence.
After a moment, he bent and pressed a kiss to her hair, then moved around to the chair beside her.
Emma let her pen fall. She leaned into his shoulder without looking up.
He picked the pen up, scanning the lines, making small edits.
Then, without looking at him,
"Elara’s here."
His eyes stayed on the notebook.
"She informed me about her intended visit," he said, flipping a page.
"She was here a few minutes ago and I wanted to ask her a question, but I didn’t know how she would feel."
"What is it?"
"Does she have a moonmate?"
"No," he responded casually.
"Are you sure she doesn’t have a moonmate?" He grinned and dropped the pen he was holding.
"Moonheart, she doesn’t," he said and kept quiet for a while, as if he had just recalled something. "Why do you ask?"
"She hasn’t said anything about her moonmate and you haven’t either."
"She said she would remain single for the rest of her life."
"Why? What provoked her to say it?"
"Nothing"
"She just came to you and told you that she would remain single forever?"
Brandon kept his gaze on the table, fingers tapping once before stilling.
"We were in a private discussion with the High Luna," he said. "She brought up introducing our moonmates to her... then Elara dropped the bomb."
Emma’s brows drew together. "Something’s wrong with her."
"Nothing’s wrong with her," Brandon said flatly.
Emma tilted her head. "Did you talk to her?"
"I did." He shifted slightly. "She’s just... not ready for commitment."
"Not ready?" Emma let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "So she plans to stay alone forever?"
"I don’t know."
The air between them tightened.
"Something happened?" she asked again, softer this time.
"Nothing happened, moonheart."
Emma exhaled, shoulders easing a little.
"Have you ever seen her with a he-wolf?"
"Yes."
Her breath caught—then released.
"Who was he?"
"Her guards."
Emma froze. "Oh, my moon goodness... please be serious?"
Brandon didn’t blink. "I’m serious."
"Is she a lesbian?" she asked.
His face went serious at once. He shook his head slowly.
"I... I’ve never thought of that. No." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s not. She tells me everything."
"Alright. One last question."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "It won’t be the last. Trust me." He exhaled. "What is it?"
"Is she a virgin?"
He blinked once, then nodded. "Yes. Last time we spoke with the high Luna... a few moons ago."
Emma leaned back, lips parting like she was about to laugh but didn’t.
"So you agree with me that something’s wrong with her?"
"No." His answer came quickly. "Nothing’s wrong with her."
"A virgin at twenty-one?" She scoffed lightly, shaking her head. "Come on, starlit."
His eyes narrowed a little. "Really? How old were you when you lost yours?"
She froze for half a second, then lifted her chin.
"Twenty-three." She tipped her head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. "And because I wasn’t about to lose it to a wolf I didn’t feel anything for."
"Well, her reason might be the same as yours," he said, giving a small shrug. His fingers slid back around the pen, tapping once before writing again.
"I waited for you for eight winters," she said. "When I finally moved on... one winter wasn’t enough for me."
He let out a quiet breath, not looking up.
"Sex doesn’t interest Elara. Full stop. Can we get back to the story?"
She pushed her chair back. The legs scraped lightly against the floor.
"No." She shook her head once, already turning away. "Something’s off. And the sooner I figure it out, the better for her."
She reached the door.
"Good luck, my moonblessed one," he called after her. "Just don’t leave me out."
Her hand rested on the handle. She looked back over her shoulder.
"Depends on what I find."
He smiled faintly. "Fair enough. Where is she?"
"In the cookhouse," she said. "Fixing lunch. I’m going to help her."
"And Bernard?"
"Went to the store. Personal things."
"I need you here. What about the domestic worker’s cook? Can’t they make something nice for her?"
She gave a small lift of her shoulder and moved toward the door again. "Maybe she just feels like doing it herself."
"Alright." His pen touched paper again, already back in her notes.
"Be back on time." He lifted his eyes briefly, a half-smile tugging in. "I want you in my arms."
He gave a quick wink and went back to writing.
She let out a laugh and slipped out of the study, footsteps fading down the hallway toward the cookhouse.
Elara looked up the moment she walked in. Apron tied around her waist, sleeves pushed up, flour dust on her hands. She laughed under her breath.
Emma smiled and leaned on the doorway while Elara rinsed the pan in the oversized sink.
Steam and spice hung in the air. Emma’s stomach tightened a little just from the smell.
"You learn how to cook, from who?" she asked.
Elara didn’t look up. "Zara."
Emma tilted her head. "Who’s that?"
Elara rinsed her hands, water running over her fingers. "Mr. Richard’s late mate."
Emma’s brows lifted slightly.
"She cooked too?"
Elara gave a small nod, reaching for another pot. "She taught her mate... and Bernard."
A faint smile tugged at her mouth. "Cooking was her thing."
They both turned when Bernard walked into the cookhouse.
Elara looked away first, back to the dishes in her hands. Emma didn’t. Her eyes stayed on him a moment longer.
He didn’t usually look like this in the cookhouse. It was always rolled sleeves, loose hair, flour dusting his fingers or a smear of oil on his wrist.
Now, everything sat too neat on him.
Emma blinked once, studying him.
"Going somewhere?" she asked.
Bernard shook his head and moved to the apron hooks by the wall. "Just got back."
He pulled an apron down and slipped it on, fingers moving quickly as he tied the strings behind his back.
"Let me," he said, stepping in.
Before Elara could finish rinsing the plate, he took it from her hands.
Her fingers stayed suspended for a moment under the running water.
Emma’s eyes didn’t leave him. He set the plate down, wiping his hands with a cloth like he’d done it a thousand times, too familiar, too practiced.
Then—
A faint vibration broke the quiet.
Once.
Bernard didn’t react.
It came again.
This time, Elara stilled at the sink.
Water kept running over her fingers, forgotten.
Emma’s attention sharpened.
Slowly, Bernard reached into his pocket.
