Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 171

171 The Toast and the Trap 3

Arya’s POV

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When he spoke, his tone was respectful on the surface and razor-edged underneath.

“Radimir is not a friend in this matter,” he murmured low enough for me, then raised his voice and answered the room instead. “Marcel decided he wanted James Nightwind to mate with his daughter with a promise of a seat in the Union.”

Radimir’s brows drew together. “A promise of a seat?”

Marcel turned quickly, smile strained. “James got my daughter pregnant. I was not going to let him off the hook.”

Maxwell did not even look at him when he replied.

“But later we found out James was not the father of that baby.”

The words landed like a stone thrown into still water.

Nearby conversations stopped altogether.

Rebecca’s face drained.

Marcel’s jaw hardened.

Diana looked openly interested now, no longer pretending to be above the scene.

Maxwell continued, voice carrying with calm precision. “The truth came out in your own gathering. Several alphas can testify. Leah poisoned herself to get rid of the baby and

then blamed Arya. That false accusation is what got her cast out.’

Silence.

True silence this time.

I stood very still, but inside me something tore open all over again.

Because hearing it spoken here, before Radimir, before Blackbirth, before all these

wolves in silk and power, made the truth feel bigger and colder than it had in Silverfang.

Leah poisoned herself.

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I had lost my child for nothing.

Not strategy.

Not duty.

Not some brutal necessity of pack politics.

A lie.

A selfish, calculated lie.

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My fingers curled into my palms so hard my nails bit skin. I wished, with a savage,

burning clarity, that James were standing there to hear every word. To watch Marcel’s

face. To watch Radimir’s reaction. To see with his own eyes that what I had screamed

and cried and bled trying to tell him had been true.

But of course he was not there.

Of course.

He was somewhere inside the mess Marcel built around him, still trying to claw his way

free.

That thought did not soften me.

It only hollowed me further.

Radimir looked from Maxwell to Marcel, and for the first time that evening his expression

lost some of its public smoothness.

“I will look into this matter,” he said.

His gaze hardened on Marcel. “No one can promise anyone a seat in the Union.”

Marcel bowed his head too quickly. “Of course. There has been misunderstanding, ”

Radimir cut him off with a look.

Marcel shut his mouth.

I realised then, with a cold jolt, that Marcel had not merely lied to James.

He had played him.

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Played me.

Played all of Nightwind.

Played the Union’s name.

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Played the authority of men who did not even know they were being used.

My baby had died inside the machinery of his greed.

I tasted metal at the back of my throat.

Radimir’s gaze returned to me, assessing, unreadable. Then, with the same ease of a

man moving pieces on a board, he said, “Whatever the circumstances that brought you

here, if Maxwell has named you daughter, you are under Union recognition through his

house.”

A murmur ran through those close enough to hear.

I dipped my head because etiquette demanded it. “Thank you.”

The words scraped my throat.

Recognition.

Protection.

Belonging.

Things my child would never know.

Radimir nodded once, as if granting audience to my existence was matter concluded.

“Stand well, then.”

Maxwell’s hand hovered briefly at my back, an anchor. “Come.”

I stepped away with him, my head high because I refused to give Marcel or Rebecca the

satisfaction of seeing me crack in public.

But my chest was a battlefield.

I returned to Maxwell’s side near the table and stared at the room without seeing it for

several seconds. Music continued. Servants moved. People whispered under their breath,

already spreading versions of what they had just heard.

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Lev was still near Radimir, watching.

He did not come to me.

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He could not, not in that moment, not with the room’s eyes sharpened and Radimir still

managing the centre.

But I felt him looking.

And I hated that some desperate part of me wanted him to cross the room anyway.

Radimir lifted his glass again.

The room quieted a second time.

He looked pleased now, too pleased, as if whatever tension had flared earlier with Lev

no longer mattered because he was about to reassert control where it counted.

“I have one more announcement.”

The words rippled through the hall.

Anticipation rose instantly. Diana straightened. Mary’s smile brightened with something

that looked like preparation rather than surprise. Several older women leaned toward

one another, already predicting.

Lev’s posture changed.

Only slightly.

Enough that I noticed.

Radimir’s eyes moved around the room, then settled in that performative, public way

people used when they wanted all witnesses attentive.

“I am happy,” he said, “to announce that I have chosen a date for the engagement party

of Lev and Mary.”

For a heartbeat, the room erupted exactly as expected.

Applause.

Pleasant gasps.

Congratulatory smiles.

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A few delighted murmurs from women who adored arrangements made by power.

Mary lowered her gaze and smiled, cheeks warming as if she had been waiting for this.

Diana looked satisfied in a colder way.

Rebecca’s eyes flicked instantly toward me with vindictive triumph.

Marcel looked relieved, relieved, as if this announcement neatly shifted the room away

from his disgrace.

My body went cold.

I did not move.

I did not breathe.

Something sharp and humiliating twisted under my ribs before I could stop it, and I

hated myself for it.

Of course.

Of course there was a Mary.

Of course there was an arrangement.

Of course a man like Lev, Blackbirth’s heir, Radimir’s nephew, the future head of the

Union, would be positioned for alliance, legacy, politics, not some broken woman with a

cancelled mark and blood on her past.

I had told myself this.

I had warned myself.

Ria had warned me in the garden and I had answered with sense, with realism, with

pain-earned caution.

Still the blow landed.

Because no amount of logic softens impact when the body has already begun to hope.

My eyes found Lev.

His jaw was locked so hard I saw the muscle move.

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He did not clap.

He did not look at Mary.