Surrendered To The Lord Of Sin-Chapter 51: Who is and not

Vaeloria’s voice threaded easily through the low murmur of the table in a calm, unhurried, and inviting tone which somehow made it worse.

Lucrezia felt the hitch in her breath, the instinctive tightening in her chest a second too late. The weight of the name pressed against her ribs, not because it was false, but because it had never belonged to her. Anastasia would have answered with cool indifference, as though being summoned by a lesser god was an interruption rather than an honor.

So she caught herself before it reached her face, lowering her knife with care and wiping her fingers against the linen before she lifted her head.

"Yes," she said.

The words came out in a cool, measured tone, but the effort it took sent a faint tremor through her heart. Gods, she needed to breathe.

She’d hoped to tell all the gods that cared to listen, that her luck hadn’t run out. Seconds birthed minutes, and it began to prove her presence was more invincible than a barrier in the table. Lucrezia might never have noticed, might have remained safely in the margins, had she kept herself quieter, smaller, and wrapped in shadow. She tried, but luck, it seemed, was finally tired of her.

Vaeloria watched her with open curiosity. "I do hope we’re not boring you."

Lucrezia resisted the urge to shake her head too quickly. Anastasia never rushed to reassure. If nothing else, she hoped her answer would restore things to the way they once were; where she was that invincible piece at the table.

It took her far too long to realize the truth that she was no longer on its edge but squarely at its center.

"No," She replied after a heartbeat. "Not at all," Her voice came out steady enough, almost convincing.

"I’m relieved," Vaeloria said lightly. "You’ve been quiet. It made me wonder whether we’d lost your interest,"

Lucrezia fought the urge to say it was for the best, and instead said, "I simply find it easier to listen,"

It seemed to have caught the silver-haired’s attention as she glanced up at that. Not just her, but a few other people present at the table.

Vaeloria’s lips curved. "That sounds like you," she commented. "I’ve heard a little too much about Veximoor lately. My sister and I were once discussing its... reputation,"

Lucrezia felt the word settle unpleasantly in her stomach.

"Tell us more about Veximoor. What it’s like to be raised among werewolves," she continued. "We hear stories. I’d rather hear it from someone who lived it," She spoke as if it were a bore, yet entertaining to listen to her as she cowered.

Lucrezia felt her shoulders tense before she could stop it. She eased them back, schooling her posture into something composed and dignified. This, at least, was familiar ground. Royals were always asked to speak of their lands, of strength, of tradition, and of things worth envying.

Although she’d never been granted most privileges as other nobles since childhood, Lucrezia had watched Madelyn transform into age. She’d watched her body and mind grow in tandem with the rhythms of their kind.

The careful way Madelyn moved, the subtle ways she learned to read others by scent, posture, and glance. Lucrezia had shared enough time with her to understand the rules of pack, of instinct, and of loyalty. She had witnessed her mother’s strength, even in captivity under their father’s rigid rule.

Lucrezia had also learned, quietly, from all of them and the books she was provided with, how the instincts shaped a household, a family, and a territory. She’d watched from a distance how they moved and shifted, how they commanded from her father’s rule, and how they endured. Times at the capital didn’t mean just slavery and endurance, but understanding. She was forced to understand the kind that cast her body and mind away, and denied her of her rights as their own.

Lucrezia inhaled softly, forcing herself to gather the scattered pieces of her composure. Every heartbeat reminded her that she was walking a line between truth and pretense, and that even the smallest slip could betray her secret, yet she forced her lips into a serene curve and lifted her gaze, meeting theirs with the poise of the sister she was pretending to be.

"Veximoor is... alive," She started. "The land is vast, dense with forest, and the people... they grow up knowing what it means to belong to a pack. You’re taught from childhood to be aware of it. Of each other, to be precise,"

"Because of the bonds?"

Lucrezia’s eyes met the genuine eyes of the woman who spoke for her once at the table, tilting her head in curiosity.

"Yes," She replied. "Pack ties aren’t merely social there but instinctual. Even those born to rule are raised with an understanding that strength doesn’t exist in isolation," That much was true. But just not for her, she thought. Clearing the thought, "Loyalty is expected, but so is courage. Every child learns how to read the world not only through words, but through movement, through instinct, through... understanding one another without speaking."

A small silence followed when she concluded as Vaeloria’s sharp and curious gaze still lingered on her. "And does that shape the young?"

Lucrezia felt the judgmental tone in her voice, however, forced herself to remain neutral as much as she could. "Entirely," She said. "Strength and subtlety are taught together because you learn which parts of yourself can lead and which must be restrained. It is... exacting."

Exhausting too, she thought, as the image of her mother came into her mind.

The woman with genuine eyes leaned in after. "And the family? Is it... exactly nurturing?" Her voice was quieter, but precise.

Lucrezia felt her throat tighten. She thought of her mother, of Madelyn, of the way love existed quietly, measured, and often hidden. But it was there, nonetheless, and that was what mattered the most.

She softened her expression, careful to sound regal and distant. "Family is... tradition made flesh and bone. It teaches discipline as much as affection. Every action has a consequence, and every choice has meaning. You grow under scrutiny, but you grow all the same,"

"It must have its gentler moments," she said. "Even harsh places do. Seasons, festivals, things like that,"

The question was innocent. Too innocent that Lucrezia felt the old reflex to deflect, to diminish, and to make herself small.

She crushed it and lifted her chin instead. "Of course," she said, remembering the folks from her window where she always sat seasons after seasons and after seasons. "Spring is... brief, but vivid. People wait for it and when it comes, they celebrate as if it might not return,"

That wasn’t entirely a lie. She had watched it from behind stone walls to know the little details she’d oddly found... grounding, reminding herself she existed in a world where her presence would never mean anything.

Spring was rare, but winter never came for House Veximoor.

"And winter?" The silver-haired asked, repeating her thought.

Lucrezia hesitated, just a fraction too long and she masked it by reaching for her cup. "Veximoor never knows winter," she replied. "It is a land of other things but that season,"

She’d only witnessed winter on their journey to Blackvale, and it was beautiful.

Vaeloria smiled faintly. "You speak of it with restraint,"

Lucrezia swallowed. "It’s not a place that encourages indulgence," Lucrezia replied. "As a werewolf, you learn early which parts of yourself are useful, and which are better kept contained,"

Across the table, one of the Sins chuckled softly. "That explains much,"

The silver-haired studied her face. "You don’t sound nostalgic," She observed with keen gaze.

Lucrezia’s fingers tightened around the cup, "Nostalgia implies comfort," she said. "Veximoor isn’t... comforting," She muttered the last sentence, thankful it lingered unheard.

But when those storms of green flecked with gold met hers, Lucrezia froze in her seat. There’s no way...

"Did you enjoy growing up there?"

The question struck deeper than the others that Lucrezia felt it sharp and sudden in her ribs. Enjoy? She thought. That was quite the exact opposite.

And she answered too quickly nonetheless without weighing her words, "Enjoyment wasn’t the point,"

The silver-haired brows lifted slightly. "What was, then?"

It was too late when she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud, and she exhaled slowly, buying time. She wished she could take back her words, but it was far more impossible. Lucrezia could feel eyes on her now. It was not hostile, but attentive, and she found it unsettling rather than... condolence.

"Preparation," She said, remembering the day she had been summoned to the capital to hear of her sudden... betrothal. "And expectation," She nodded her head at once. "You’re raised knowing what will be demanded of you,"

"Pray tell me, were those demands fair?" Vaeloria asked.

Lucrezia almost laughed but she stopped herself. "Fairness isn’t something Veximoor concerns itself with," She replied sincerely. "It values results. It’s known to be that way,"

The silver-haired tilted her head saying, "And did it value you?"

The room felt warmer suddenly, such that she felt... dangerously close. Warm was the least of what was offered in the midst of these creatures. If it was something she’d learnt in barely twenty-four hours, was that everything was motive, and she squared her shoulders. "I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t."

It was a clean answer. A safe one, she hoped. And gods, she felt her stomach twist by that lie.

Value was something she had never been privileged to have or receive. But it was something she yearned for, even if it was once throughout her existence.

The answer seemed to have struck everyone at the table, especially the silver-haired woman who held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, and then leaned back.

"It seems you have adapted well to your new home then,"

Lucrezia allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible exhale. Home? She thought. Accepting Dreadwyn as her home was something she didn’t think she would ever abide. "I have," She lied. "New lands teach new lessons and one learns as one must,"

"Do you not miss it?" The woman with genuine eyes asked. "Veximoor,"

She did... and that was because of her mama. She wondered every second of her life how she was faring, and every breath she took, how much she was keeping up. But she could never reveal that outside, but to herself.

Lucrezia paused briefly, letting her gaze drift across the table. They were all listening, worn down by every subtle movement, as her words registered, but not prying too deeply.

The silver-haired, however, stayed focused, examining her as if trying to discern the truth behind every carefully measured phrase.

Lucrezia’s pulse stuttered and she steadied herself, keeping the lie as smooth as a polished mask. "Missing implies longing. I remember and respect it, but longing..." She inhaled softly. "I leave to those still bound to it. It’s my duty to honor my new home, and if anything, House Dreadwyn is what a Lady as myself should stand for," She said.

The pretense felt heavier than the food in her stomach. It was for the best, especially in her position. Because Lucrezia knew without any doubt that she would do whatever it takes to save her mother. Even if it meant pretending to be the person she wasn’t.