Aside from that brief moment when Connor saw my ring and let his sorrow slip through, he never showed grief again.
Life went on as usual. He worked, he led, he ruled–unshaken, as if nothing had changed.
But old habits betrayed him when he returned to the castle we’d once shared. He would instinctively reach back to hand off his
coat, calling my name–only to be met with silence.
Then, realizing I wasn’t there, a flicker of confusion would cross his face before he recovered, as if the moment never happened.
When the Blackclaw Pack’s festival approached, his warriors brought him reports on the supplies and preparations.
Frustrated, he waved them off. “Just let Luna handle it. Don’t bother me with this.”
Then, seeing their hesitant silence, that same confusion flickered again.
I understood his reaction all too well. When my father died in battle, I reacted the same way. There was only numbness, a strange sense of detachment whenever his name was mentioned. It wasn’t until it happened over and over that the numbness gave way to
grief.
His warrior once told me that I had struggled to accept my father’s death because I had loved him too much, and that was why I couldn’t bear to face reality.
So why was Connor reacting the same way?
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