Claiming His Luna

Cercei’s POV

“Surprisingly, the vixen has made her return,” Maria sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation. A servant had just informed me that Vienna was summoning me to the barn.

Since the Alpha took my father’s life that fateful night, Vienna had hidden herself in her room. I presumed she was overcome with fear after witnessing such a gruesome event. Although she possessed a mischievous streak and could be quite the bully, she had never truly engaged in such severe violence before.

“One of these days, Vienna will definitely have your tongue,” I mused, reminding her of the possible punishment she might receive.

“Which tongue? This one?” she jeered, sticking out her tongue and attempting to lick my face.

“Disgusting, Maria! Ew!” I chuckled, swiftly avoiding her advances and playfully nudging her before making my way back to the barn. She responded by defiantly extending her middle finger at me before resuming her garden duties with a broom in hand.

Inhaling deeply, I gingerly opened the doors to the barn, expecting Vienna to have resumed her mission of making my life a living hell. To my surprise, there was no one in sight at this moment, even the horses that were kept here.

“Miss?” I called her name. I took a step forward, an ill-fated move, as I, unfortunately, stepped into a taut rope.

“Miss Vie…” I barely managed to utter before a deluge of muddy water came crashing down on me, completely drenching my entire being.

Vienna’s laughter echoed in the barn as I stood there, stunned by her prank. She clapped her hands with delight, finding great amusement in my sorry condition, covered in mud.NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

I clenched my fists tightly as I looked at her, struggling to control my anger.

“Gotcha,” she exclaimed with a mischievous wink.

“Bravo, Miss,” I forced a smile through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Cercei, the enchanting wolf maid, forgive me, for I have misbehaved against you,” she mockingly implored with an exaggerated tone, puppy dog eyes appearing on her face.

Nevertheless, I maintained my composure and responded with a serene smile after I calmed down. I was well aware that it annoyed her when she couldn’t provoke the reaction she wanted from me. After going through a challenging week filled with difficulties, I just didn’t have the energy to indulge in her immature and crazy behavior.

“May I be excused now, Miss Vienna? I still have the kitchen to attend to,” I politely inquired, an action that seemed to ignite her fury. Her devious smile vanished, replaced by a seething glare directed squarely at me.

“But our little game isn’t over yet,” she sneered, seizing the barrel of grass meant for the horses’ nourishment and throwing them in my direction. Due to the water’s wet and muddy consistency from her previous dousing, the grass clung to me like leeches.

Summoning every ounce of patience, I closed my eyes and gingerly removed the blades of grass thrusting from my mouth.

“And now we’re done. You’re making my day joyous. You can go back to your duty,” she dismissively waved her hand, attempting to shoo me away.

My jaw clenched in irritation as I stormed out of the barn. How could she be so heartless after everything I had endured? I didn’t expect her to display kindness, but a shred of sympathy wouldn’t be too burdensome if she had. After all, she was there when her father mercilessly tore my father’s heart from his chest.

“What happened, dear?” Mamà inquired, her voice wrapped with concern.

“Vienna,” I replied simply, the weight of the situation evident in my tone.

“I’m sorry to hear that, honey,” she expressed, gazing at me with a pitying look. I merely glanced at her before retreating to the modest bathroom in our cabin, where I diligently set about cleansing myself. It required a lot of work to remove the stubborn stickiness of the mud from me, but I felt much more refreshed after finishing the task.

“Allow me,” she tenderly said, reaching for the brush in my hand and proceeding to gently comb through my hair herself. I gazed at our reflections in the mirror.

Mamà had grown visibly thinner, the bags beneath her eyes more visible, and her countenance betrayed the turmoil she carried deep inside her heart. My heart ached at the sight of her, and she paused her brushing, gripping my shoulders and meeting my eyes through our shared reflection.

“Why are you crying?” Noticing my tears, she asked, her voice filled with gentleness. I shook my head and mustered a feeble smile.

“It’s nothing, I simply miss Papà.” In the aftermath of the tragedy, I had done my best to avoid discussing my father, fully aware of the intense impact it had on my mother. This was the first time I had brought up the topic of my father, believing that silence would alleviate the pain. However, as time passed, the pain seemed to grow stronger, and I couldn’t continue to hold it back any longer.

“I understand, my dear, I understand,” she whispered, attempting to soothe me, but my cries only grew louder. Pain, anger, frustration, and annoyance flooded my being as if the universe itself were conspiring to torture me.

“Why does everything have to be so cruel, Mamà? Why are we treated this way?” I choked out between hysterical sobs, finally letting go of the act that had burdened me for an entire week.

She didn’t offer a verbal response; instead, she held me tighter, her embrace providing comfort while her gentle strokes caressed my messy hair.

“What have I ever done to Vienna? I dutifully obey her every command, I endure her dreadful pranks with a smile, and I clean up after her messes. How can she be so heartless?” I spoke incoherently, my frustration pouring out through my words.

“You know Vienna, my love, she was spoiled and misguided while growing up,” she tried to comfort me.

“She derives pleasure from making my life a living hell,” I lamented.

“She can be quite unbearable, I admit, but you must hang on there, for I know you possess strength,” she whispered, tucking a few strands of my hair behind my ear.

“I can’t bear it any longer,” I confessed, my voice trembling with despair.

“You can, my darling, you must. It is just the two of us now,” a tear cascaded down her cheek as she attempted to perk up my spirits. I understood that the loss of my father shattered my mother herself, yet witnessing my anguish, she yearned to be strong for both of us.

That night, we found comfort in each other’s arms, tears streaming down our faces as we questioned the universe for its cruelty, gazing up at the stars, yearning for them to reflect the sparkling essence that once stayed in my father’s eyes.

“What really happened on that night, Mamà?” I abruptly interjected, our gazes fixed on the vast expanse of the night sky through the window. I could feel the tension coursing through her body the moment I posed that question. Her once-tight embrace now loosened, and I turned to face her, seeking answers.

“What happened? I deserve to know,” I begged her, searching her eyes for a glimpse of truth. She turned away from me, her back now turned in my direction.

“Is it my fault?” I choked on the words, the weight of self-blame evident in my trembling voice. Her widened eyes met mine in disbelief.

“No, no, how could you ever think that?” she forcefully shook her head, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and reassurance.

“Then why won’t you tell me?” I demanded, frustration seeping into my tone.

“There are certain things that you don’t need to know, my dear, for your own good,” she declared with an air of finality before lying down on her bed. I watched her back intently as she feigned sleep, the unanswered questions lingering heavily in the air.

What actually occurred on that fateful night that caused my father’s life?