Part 2The Clan Lord’s Forgotten Fiancée

Raven told me they were only discussing urgent matters. He said I was making too much of nothing. Vera was someone he had brought in from the border. He could not let her feel isolated or unsupported after making the journey.

Then, under the pretense of helping her learn the clan's operations, he gave her unrestricted access to the council chamber. He added that I should help her settle in and make sure she did not feel excluded. He genuinely believed he was being reasonable.

After that, the boundaries kept shifting. He brought Vera to private dinners that were traditionally for the lord and his betrothed only. He let her study the ancestral records that had always been restricted to blood relatives, explaining that a border clan would not have access to such histories and she needed to learn.

When we argued, he would summon his trusted advisors to smooth things over. They would tell me Vera was a capable asset, that the lord's attention to her was practical, and that as his betrothed, I should be more understanding. For a while, I almost believed them. I almost convinced myself that I was the one being too sensitive.

Then, one month ago, I fell ill. Fever had me barely able to see straight. He came to my room once, apologized for having to leave for the border hot springs on urgent business. I asked if Vera was going. He said she knew the situation better than anyone else.

The messages. The council chamber. The private dinners. The ancestral records. The hot springs trip. Every step had a justification. Every single one was defensible on its own. But stacked together, the shape of it was unmistakable.

When they returned from the border, they resumed their usual routine. Shared meals. Late nights on the lord's terrace. I saw them twice from a distance. Vera leaned against the railing, Raven speaking in low tones, and she laughed softly at something he said.

Something had changed between them. I could feel it, and I finally made my decision.

That day, I was the last one in the hall that evening. I finished transcribing the survey records, stacked the scrolls, set down my pen. On impulse, I checked Vera's feed.

A photo from the south. Night banquet. Raven held his cup over hers, letting a single drop of his blood fall into her glass. A gesture of the highest recognition a clan lord could offer, a gift of his own essence.

Her caption read: Blood offered by the lord himself, better than any aged wine.

The comments filled with praise and curiosity. Someone asked when the blood union ceremony would be. Vera responded with a playful emoji. Raven did not correct her. Perhaps he thought clarification was unnecessary. Perhaps he thought denial would only make it seem more significant.

A year ago, I would have knocked on his door at midnight. Now I just turned off the screen and sent him a message: Records transcribed. Left in your study. Lamp oil refilled.

Before I went home, my phone buzzed. Raven's name.

I answered, but it was Vera's voice on the other end.

"Seren, it's me. Thanks for your work today. I brought back some aged wine from the border. You should try it sometime."

Her tone was warm, as if we were old friends.

Before I could respond, Raven's voice came from beside her. "She's always been fast with transcription work. No need to thank her."

Vera ignored him, continuing her bright chatter. She asked if I wanted her to bring back anything from the border. I gave short replies, ready to end the call. Raven took the phone back, paused for a few seconds, and said, "I'll be late. Don't wait up."

In the past, those words meant I would stay awake all night watching the door. Now I dropped the phone on the table and realized I did not even care where he was.

I walked to my room and looked at the calendar on the desk.