Lily's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Lily stood under the manor's tall windows and counted the people who had already turned away from her. Four, in under an hour. Amity had told her to use the night well. Five bloodlines under one roof, a peace no one had managed before, and a beta who wanted, somewhere under the title and the white hair and the cold face, to find a mate and a life that felt like her own. Amity had picked her knowing every fault. Lily was beginning to think the faults would pick the night. A man from the river clans approached first. He had kind eyes and a clean smile. He asked her name, and she gave it without warmth. He asked what she thought of the gathering, and she said it was loud. He waited. She did not fill the wait. He nodded once and went to find someone easier. She moved outside, hoping the grounds would thin the pressure. A stone bench sat near a statue of a goddess, her carved hands open at her sides. Lily sat. Two women from the mountain line drifted over, drawn by the quiet. One complimented her hair. Lily said thank you in a voice that closed the door. They lingered a polite moment, then drifted on. She watched them go and felt the old answer rise in her chest: it was easier when no one stayed. She tried once more, because Amity had asked. The rose garden held a small iron bench, and a man stood near it alone, half angel by the look of him. Her pulse moved. She walked over. He turned, and she saw him decide something in the half second before she spoke. He had heard who she was. He gave her a short bow, the kind betas got, and excused himself before she found a sentence. The roses kept their color. She did not. By the far edge of the lawn she found a wooden bench gone soft with moss, the slats split, the legs furred green. People had sat here once. No one sat here now. She understood the bench. She sat on it long enough to know the night was over for her, then stood and walked past the lit windows toward the tree line, where a small cedar cabin showed a thin line of smoke at its chimney. She let herself in. The fire was low. No one followed. She sat on the floor by the hearth and pressed her palms flat to the boards. The gathering went on without her, exactly as it had begun. She had come to find a mate. She had left the room alone. Tomorrow Amity would ask how it went, and Lily would have to decide whether the thing that pushed people away was something she could put down, or something she was.