Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 289

289 Silk, Scorn, and the Hand That Rose 4

Arya’s POVO

When we finally drove back toward the estate, the sun had shifted low enough to make the long road

home glow at the edges. Tamara leaned back into the seat with all the boneless drama of a woman

pleased with herself.

“This was healing,” she announced.

“That sounds suspicious.”

“It was feminine restoration.”

“That sounds worse.”

“It was.”

I laughed softly and looked out the window. The Blackbirth estate rose into view through the trees, all

old stone, breadth, and quiet threat. Home was too simple a word for what it felt like. Safe was not

right either. Not fully. But I had stopped arriving at its gates with my body braced for impact every

single time, and that was its ow

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Milo helped with some of the bags when we got out, though Tamara refused to hand over all of hers

on principle. We made our way inside through the main entrance, still half laughing about something

ridiculous she had said regarding Diana’s imagined funeral attire if Mary failed to become anything

important.

The hallway swallowed the last of that laughter. Diana was there. Of course she was.

She stood near the central corridor in one of those fitted pale dresses she favoured, posture perfect,

expression cool in the way women used when they wanted to look above emotion while standing

knee-deep in it. Her eyes went first to the bags. Every one of them. The boxes. The ribbons. The labels.

Then she looked at me. There was no greeting. No pretence. Her gaze moved once more over the

things in my hands before her mouth curved faintly.

“Are you not afraid of spending Lev’s money so freely?”

The insult sat right beneath the words. Smooth and sharp. Not money. Place. Right. Permission. Who did I think I was, walking in with expensive things bought on Lev’s card like I already belonged at his

side?

Before I could answer, Tamara did.

“Mind your business.”

< 289 Silk Scorn, and the Hand That Rose 4

Diana’s eyes flicked to her.

“I was speaking to Arya.”

“And I’m answering you,” Tamara said. “You don’t get to speak to her that way in this house.”

Diana gave a soft little laugh that held no humour.

“In this house?”

Tamara stepped forward slightly. Not enough to make a scene yet. Enough to make a point.

“Yes. In this house.”

Diana’s gaze sharpened.

“You’re becoming very bold lately.”

Tamara smiled with all her teeth.

“Maybe because I’m tired of listening to guests forget they are guests.”

That landed. I saw it hit Diana in the tightening of her mouth. Tamara kept going because once she

started, she did not believe in mercy.

“You are not Blackbirth bloodline,” she said. “You are here because your father clings to a seat that

was never meant to become his forever. That alone should teach you humility.”

Diana’s face cooled further, which was dangerous because it meant she was trying to keep her temper

and not liking how hard it was. Tamara tilted her chin.

“So yes, since Arya is going to be the Luna of Blackbirth, maybe you should remember who your

betters are before you open your mouth again.”

The silence that followed turned hard. Diana’s eyes snapped to me then, then back to Tamara, fury

rising too fast to stay pretty.

“Your betters?” she repeated. “Is that what you tell yourself now?”

Tamara gave a little shrug.

“No. It’s what the truth tells me.”

Diana took one step forward.

“My father has ruled this house for so long nobody cares about bloodline anymore.”

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Tamara actually laughed. Not politely. Not lightly. Openly. With total scorn. The sound cut through the

hallway like a slap before the slap ever came.

“Then tell him to take the seat by force,” she said. “I’d love to watch how quickly that fantasy dies. The two of you would be sent straight back to Greenwich before sunset.”

Diana’s whole face changed. All the careful cold poise vanished. What stood in its place was uglier.

Rawer. The kind of fury that came from having a truth named too directly.

“You insolent little,”

Her hand moved before the sentence finished. The sound of the slap cracked across the hallway.

Tamara’s head snapped to the side. For one single beat everything stopped. Then I moved.

I did not think. I did not weigh it. I did not check the corridor or count witnesses or remember politics. My body was already in motion by the time Diana’s hand had fully dropped. I stepped in and struck her across the face hard enough to turn her head.

The sound echoed. Diana staggered half a step, stunned. Good. My hand stung. I barely felt it. Tamara went very still behind me. Milo froze with the bags. One of the maids farther down the corridor stopped breathing loud enough to hear. Diana turned back toward me slowly, one hand rising to her cheek,

eyes wide not just with anger now but disbelief.

“You have no right.”

I stepped closer. Not fast. Not wild. Slowly. Deliberately. Enough that by the time she realised I was not done, she had already started giving ground with her body even while her pride tried to keep her upright. The difference between us became very clear very quickly. She was angry. I was calm. That

was always worse.

“I have allowed you to say all kinds of nonsense,” I said.

My voice came out low and even.

“Out of respect for Lev.”

Diana’s throat moved. I kept walking until she had to stop or step backward again. The wall behind her

stole one of her options for her.

“But if you ever lay a hand on Tamara again,” I said, “I will not be this civil next time.”

I did not raise my voice. I did not need to. The fear showed anyway. Just for a second. A flicker in her eyes. A hesitation in the breath. A tiny betrayal of the body when it understood before the mind that the danger in front of it was real. She tried to gather herself around it.

“You think because he’s entertaining you,”

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“I think,” I cut in, “that you’ve mistaken my silence for weakness.”

Diana swallowed. Behind me, I could feel Tamara’s fury and satisfaction tangled together in the air like sparks. I held Diana’s gaze and let her see absolutely nothing uncertain in mine.

“You don’t get to touch her,” I said. “You don’t get to insult me and then act surprised when answer. And you definitely do not get to forget where you are standing.”

Her nostrils flared.

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