Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 39

39 The Sentence in Silver: James Breaks the Bond

Arya’s POV

For a moment, James looked like he might explode.

Then his face crumpled for half a second, pain flickering through the cracks of his anger.

“Arya,” he said, voice rough, almost pleading.

But I didn’t move toward him.

I didn’t soften.

I didn’t offer him comfort he didn’t deserve.

“Don’t,” I warned.

James swallowed, eyes shining.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” he said, voice strained.

“You keep saying that,” I replied. “And yet, it keeps happening.”

James’s hands lifted, then dropped.

“Do

you think I enjoy this?” he snapped suddenly. “Do you think I enjoy watching you,”

“Then stop,” I cut in instantly. “Stop. Let me go.”

James shook his head once, a sharp motion like he was trying to shake off something

inside him.

“It’s not that simple,” he said.

“It is,” I replied. “You just don’t want to.”

James’s eyes flared.

He stepped back from the bars, breathing hard, like he needed space before he did

something reckless.

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Then the corridor behind him shifted.

Boots.

Movement.

Voices murmuring low.

James’s posture stiffened.

He turned his head slightly, as if he already knew who was coming.

And then they appeared.

Rebecca and Marcel.

Rebecca walked in first, her eyes swollen and red from crying. Her cheeks were streaked,

her mouth tight. But beneath the grief, there was something else, something sharp,

something hungry.

Marcel followed behind her, face calm, posture controlled, eyes cold like a man who had

already decided the outcome.

Two Rainhorn guards flanked him.

The cell suddenly felt smaller.

Not because the walls moved.

Because power had stepped into the corridor and pushed the air out.

Rebecca looked at me through the bars.

Her lips trembled.

Then she hissed, “Murderer.”

I didn’t look away.

Marcel didn’t waste time.

His gaze locked on me like I was an object under inspection.

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“You will get your wish,” Marcel said, volce of my grandchild.”

The phrase hit the corridor like a gavel.

Rebecca’s breath hitched as if hearing it made it more real.

I stared at Marcel for one sharp moment.

Then I laughed.

Not loud.

Just enough to show him I wasn’t intimidated by words anymore.

Marcel’s eyes narrowed.

Rebecca’s face twisted.

“How dare you,” Rebecca spat.

I tilted my head, still looking at Marcel, not Rebecca, because Marcel was the one with the

knife in his hand.

“That baby wasn’t even James’s,” I said clearly.

James stiffened.

Rebecca gasped like she’d been slapped.

Marcel’s expression didn’t change.

I continued anyway, voice rising.

“He never fucked your daughter,” I said, the words ugly but true. “Did you ask her where she

got the baby from?”

Rebecca let out a broken sound.

“What are you saying?” she cried. “What are you,”

Marcel cut her off with a small glance.

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Rebecca stopped speaking instantly, like she remembered who she belonged to.

Marcel stepped closer to the bars, eyes ice-cold.

“It was still my grandchild,” he said. “My blood.”

He leaned in slightly, voice turning sharper.

“Worth more than the rogue bastard growing in your womb.”

The words hit me like poison.

My hand flew to my stomach instinctively, protective.

My throat tightened.

But I didn’t crumble.

I stared at Marcel.

And in that moment, it was clear, clearer than anything that had happened so far.

He knew.

He knew James wasn’t the father.

He knew and didn’t care, because Leah’s pregnancy had been currency, leverage, a tool.

And I was still the obstacle.

I slowly turned my head toward James.

I looked at him, not pleading for myself this time.

For our baby.

For the child he had already dismissed, already told me to get rid of once, already used as a

bargaining chip when it suited him.

I waited for him to speak.

To deny Marcel.

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<39 The Sentence in Silver: James Breaks the Bond

To defend the life I was carrying.

To say enough.

James stood there, face tight, eyes wet, jaw clenched.

And he said nothing.

Not one word.

Rebecca’s eyes snapped to James, horrified.

“James?” she whispered. “What is she saying? Tell him she’s lying, tell him!”

James didn’t answer.

Marcel’s mouth curled slightly, satisfied.

“You see?” Marcel said quietly, like he was speaking to a child. “Truth does not care for your feelings.”

I felt my chest tighten with a rage so hot it almost made my vision blur.

I looked back at Marcel.

“You’re not asking for justice,” I said. “You’re asking for sacrifice.”

Marcel’s eyes hardened.

“Watch your mouth,” Rebecca hissed.

I ignored Rebecca.

Marcel spoke calmly, like he was ordering dinner.

“One hundred silver lashes,” he said.

My breath hitched.

Even James flinched, just slightly, like the number punched him.

Marcel continued, voice steady, merciless.

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“And banishment.”

Rebecca’s lips parted.

The corridor fell into a heavy silence.

My mind didn’t race into long thoughts.

It simply landed on one fact:

Wolves barely survived silver lashes.

Let alone pregnant ones.

My hand pressed tighter over my stomach.

Rebecca’s voice shook, raw with grief and rage.

“Do it,” she whispered. “Do it. Make her suffer.”

Marcel turned his head slightly toward James, as if granting him the honour of watching

the decision.

“I am only letting you keep your miserable life,” Marcel said to me, “because you are

James’s mate.”

He leaned closer.

“But you will pay,” he said. “For what you did.”

I swallowed hard.

My throat felt like it was closing.

I turned to James again, eyes blazing now, not pleading.

Daring him.

Say something.

James stared at the floor for half a second, then lifted his eyes.

Tears clung to his lashes.

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His voice came out broken.

“Fair enough,” James agreed.

The words knocked the air out of my chest.

Rebecca’s face twisted into something like triumph through grief.

Marcel’s eyes glinted.

Then James added, voice cracking, “But no banishment.”

And I froze.

Shock hit so hard it made my knees feel weak.

No banishment.

He’d agreed to silver lashes, agreed to a punishment that could kill me and the baby,

But he drew the line at banishment.

I stared at him as if I didn’t recognise him anymore.

As if I was looking at a stranger wearing James’s face.

My mouth opened.

No sound came out.

Marcel stared at James for a long moment, measuring.

Rebecca’s eyes snapped to him, furious.

“What?” she cried. “No banishment? After what she did, after my grandchild, ”

Marcel lifted a hand slightly.

Rebecca went silent again, trembling.

Marcel’s gaze stayed on James.

His voice came out calm, but the threat was sharp.

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“You will not bargain with me,” Marcel said.

James’s jaw clenched. His shoulders rose and fell with one heavy breath.

“I’m not bargaining,” James said, voice tight. “I’m agreeing.”

Marcel’s eyes narrowed.

James swallowed hard.

“One hundred silver lashes,” James repeated, like he was forcing himself to say it. “But she

stays under Nightwind jurisdiction.”

I stared at James, heart pounding.

Stays.

Not freed.

Not protected.

Not believed.

Just… kept.

Marcel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Rebecca’s voice cracked as she whispered, “She should be thrown to the wolves.”

Marcel ignored her.

He watched James with cold interest.

Then he finally spoke, voice like stone.

“Fine,” Marcel said.

The word hit like a seal.

My breath trembled.

Marcel stepped back slightly, satisfied, eyes still on me.

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39 The Sen

“One hundred silver lashes,” he repeated, slow. “And she remains.”

Rebecca’s face contorted with anger and grief, but she didn’t argue openly, not with

Marcel’s eyes on her.

Marcel’s gaze cut back to me, cold and final.

“Pay your debt,” he said.

I looked at James one last time, searching his face for anything, any sign that he would stop this, any sign that he knew what he was agreeing to.

James stood there with tears on his face and a hardness in his eyes that made me feel like

the cell wasn’t the coldest thing in this place.

And the corridor held its breath around the sentence that had just been pronounced.

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