Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 32

32 The Trial Without Proof

Arya’s POV

The hall didn’t calm after Leah was carried out.

It didn’t settle.

It boiled.

People stood in clusters, voices rising, accusations flying without names. Guards lined the doors like a wall. Union officials stayed near the front table, stiff and watchful, their eyes cold as they scanned the room like they were counting threats.

And then Marcel Rainhorn stepped forward.

He didn’t walk like a guest.

He walked like a verdict.

His guards shifted with him, boots striking the floor in unison. His presence dragged

silence behind it, not because the pack respected him, but because everyone feared what he represented.

Marcel’s gaze swept the room once.

Then landed on James.

Then on the table where Leah’s cup had been.

Then, slowly, on me.

His voice came out calm, but it wasn’t calm the way peace was calm.

It was calm the way a blade was calm before it cut.

“Explain,” Marcel said.

No greeting.

No preface.

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Just a demand.

The murmurs died.

Even the boldest pack members swallowed their tongues.

Marcel’s eyes burned.

“My daughter is bleeding in a healer’s hut,” he said, voice rising. “Her unborn child is dead,

or dying. Which one of you poisoned her?”

A ripple of fear moved across the hall.

Heads lowered.

Bodies shifted.

People glanced at one another as if hoping someone else would be blamed first.

And then the attention turned.

Like a pack instinct.

Like prey being offered.

Eyes swung toward me.

Not one or two.

Dozens.

Then hundreds.

I felt it, cold, sharp, accusing.

A woman at the nearest table whispered, too loud, “It had to be her.”

Someone answered, “Who else would hate Leah that much?”

Another voice muttered, “Rogue.”

The word moved like spit.

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Marcel watched the change in the room and smiled faintly.

He didn’t even need to point.

They were already pointing for him.

I stayed seated for half a heartbeat, watching their faces.

People I had fought beside.

People I had fed.

People I had sheltered when they came in starving and broken.

They stared at me like I was a monster.

My chair scraped back as I stood.

Silence tightened.

Marcel’s eyes narrowed.

I lifted my chin.

“Are you all insane?” I said clearly.

A few gasps.

Someone hissed, “How dare you,”

I didn’t stop.

“How could I have done it?” I demanded, voice sharp, loud enough to cut through the fear.

“When I had no hand in the food preparation. No hand in the drinks. No hand in anything

that had to do with this banquet.”

Marcel’s expression didn’t change.

I kept going.

“I was a guest here,” I said, gesturing toward the elite table. “Invited. Placed. Watched. I didn’t step into the kitchens. I didn’t pour a cup. I didn’t serve Leah anything.”

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A few people shifted uncomfortably.

But others scoffed.

“She could have ordered someone,

“She could have threatened them,”

I turned my head toward the crowd.

”

“Name one person I can command,” I snapped. “One.”

A man near the middle table spat on the ground. “You used to be Luna.”

“Used to,” I echoed, coldly. “And you all made sure I knew it.”

Marcel’s voice cut in, colder.

“You speak boldly for someone suspected of murdering my grandchild.”

A murmur rose, grandchild, as if the word itself made them more convinced.

I glared at Marcel.

“Suspected by who?” I demanded. “By you? By your wife? By your daughter? By the same

people who have been humiliating me and trying to break me since they arrived?”

Rebecca’s laugh rose from the elite table, sharp, satisfied.

Marcel ignored her.

He stepped closer.

“I don’t care about your grievances,” Marcel said. “I care about justice.”

“Justice?” I snapped. “Or control?”

A loud gasp went through the hall.

Someone muttered, “She’s signing her death,”

Marcel’s eyes narrowed.

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Before he could answer, the hall doors opened.

James walked in.

His shirt sleeves were rolled, his hands smeared faintly with blood, Leah’s blood. His face

was tight, jaw clenched, eyes hard, like he’d had to shove down panic and rage and force

himself to come back here instead of ripping the world apart.

He looked at Marcel.

Then the Union officials.

Then the crowd.

Then,

Me.

His gaze landed on me for half a second.

No warmth.

No softness.

Only tension.

James stepped forward.

“Everything is under control,” he said, voice firm.

The room didn’t believe him.

Marcel certainly didn’t.

Marcel’s mouth curled.

“Under control?” Marcel repeated. “My daughter is bleeding. Your hall is sealed. Your

guests are leaving. You call that control?”

James’s jaw flexed.

“We are investigating,” James said. “No one is leaving until we find out what happened.”

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