To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 227

Chapter 227

Celeste’s POV

“She’s awake!?” Celeste almost spat out her drink when the words reached her.

She lowered the cup slowly, as if moving too fast would make the news disappear. Then her eyes snapped to the servant standing near the doorway, and irritation spread across her face so quickly it looked like heat.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Celeste demanded. “Do you understand how long I’ve been waiting for updates?”

The servant flinched. By now, most of them are already used to Celeste’s fiery temper. Everyone understood that this was because of the tragedy that happened in the past few months.

“My lady, we only heard just now. The omegas assigned to the consort’s quarters said she asked for food. Freshly cooked, and they were specific. They said it should be closer to the southern taste.”

Celeste gave a short, humorless sound. “Southern food,” she repeated, her mouth twisting. “So she’s awake enough to make requests.”

That was useful. That meant Atasha was not drifting in and out, not confused, not too weak to hold a conversation. It meant she could talk, she could remember, and she could judge.

Celeste pushed her chair back and stood. “Go to Beta William,” she ordered. “Tell him to meet me in the hall near my sister’s room. Now.”

“Yes, my lady.” The servant bowed quickly and hurried out.

Lilian, who had been sitting nearby with far too much comfort for someone who had no right to feel safe, lifted her brows and glanced at the gifts stacked beside the table. Baskets of fruit, folded fabric, small boxes tied with ribbon, a vial of southern herbal tonic meant to look thoughtful rather than desperate.

“You’re really going to bring all of that to her?” Lilian asked, voice thick with doubt. “After what happened? After how those northerners treated us?”

Celeste’s head turned slowly. The look she gave Lilian made the younger woman stiffen.

“You will start calling her Your Highness,” Celeste said, her voice low. “She is not the Atasha you used to ignore. She is Cassian’s consort, and she has people who will tear out tongues for less than what you just said.”

Lilian scoffed. “I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying too much,” Celeste cut in. “One mistake will ruin everything I’ve built, so you will watch your mouth whether you like it or not.”

Celeste didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and left the room with her shoulders set, hearing Lilian’s irritated snort behind her and choosing to ignore it because time mattered more than pride.

The hall near Atasha’s room was already guarded more tightly than it had been earlier. Celeste reached the corridor and found William standing there as if he had been waiting for her for hours instead of minutes. His

posture was calm, his face composed, and he looked exactly like the sort of man who never panicked in public even when the pack was bleeding.

Renan stood behind him, eyes sharp enough to catch every movement around them.

Celeste smiled despite herself. She liked that. She liked men who knew how to keep a mask on.

“Good,” she said as she approached. “She’s awake.”

William’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze narrowed slightly, like he was filing the information away. “Then we do this correctly,” he replied.

Celeste nodded and lifted her chin toward the gifts being carried behind her. “Follow me,” she said. “We will go together. It looks better if you’re seen beside me.”

They walked down the corridor toward the consort’s quarters, and the closer they got, the more obvious it became that the North had turned that part of the mansion into their own territory. The guards stood in pairs, their formation too clean, their hands too near their weapons. Even the air felt different, like it belonged to someone else.

When they reached the door, a northern guard stepped forward and blocked the entrance without hesitation.

“You are not permitted inside,” the guard said, tone flat. “The consort is resting.”

Celeste kept her smile in place. She made sure it looked gentle. Concerned and definitely, sisterly.

“I heard the consort is awake,” Celeste replied, voice smooth. “We came to bring gifts for her recovery and to make sure she is comfortable. We won’t stay long.”

The guard’s eyes didn’t soften. “You will not disturb her.”

Celeste opened her mouth to press again, to make it sound like kindness instead of insistence, but the answer came from inside the room before she could.

“Let them in.” It was Atasha’s voice.

And for some reason, it sounded too lazy and unbothered. That irritated Celeste but instead of saying another word, Celeste’s smile deepened.

A moment later, the door opened.

Grace stood there, already upright, already looking like she hadn’t vomited blood at the border just days before. Her eyes swept over Celeste, then William, then Renan. There was nothing friendly in the assessment. It was a warning disguised as a glance.

After what felt like forever, Grace stepped aside.

Celeste didn’t bother herself with the lieutenant’s threatening gaze as she walked in.

The room smelled like hot food and tea, and sunlight spilled through the balcony doors like it had a right to be there. Atasha sat near the balcony, positioned in a way that let her see outside and also see anyone

entering. A table had been pulled close, and a generous spread of food covered it, meats and steamed dishes, bread and fruit, even a few items that were unmistakably southern.

Celeste’s throat tightened for a second, not with emotion, but with satisfaction.

Good. They followed her instructions. They fed Atasha what she would recognize. They made her feel familiar comfort even while the North watched her like a weapon.

Celeste didn’t pause long enough for anyone to think she was calculating. She moved fast, like a sister who had been holding her breath all night and finally got it back.

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