"I have been patient with silence, but silence never learned to love me back."—Noor Shirazie
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The wind howled against the stone walls, dragging sheets of rain across the courtyard like a furious spirit wailing for entry. Within the main hall, all was still save for the quiet crackle of fire and the soft, rhythmic clink of chains swaying from the iron chandelier above the hearth. The flames cast long shadows across the room, flickering over aged wood, iron sconces, and the slender figure seated in quiet patience.
Selene sat in her usual chair near the hearth, wrapped in a gown of deep plum, her long hair pinned back in a loose braid. She had not worn it for comfort. It was not comfort she sought tonight. She had prepared for him, just as she had done for the past few years, hoping that this would be the evening he returned not just to the keep, but to her. The meal on the table had long gone untouched, its warmth fading as the night dragged on. Her eyes drifted toward the door again.
He was late. Not unusual. Lately, he always returned after nightfall. Two years, and not once had he come to her bed. They shared meals rarely, words even less. Yet tonight, she had waited. Not for affection, but for duty. A Luna bore heirs. And no matter the silence between them, the pack's future would not wait forever.
At last, the doors creaked open. Water pooled on the stone as Ronan stepped inside, rain clinging to him like a second skin. His cloak dripped steadily, boots muddied, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked tired, but not surprised to see her.
Without speaking, Selene rose and moved toward him. She untied the cloak at his shoulders and eased it off. He let her. The silence between them stretched, fragile but familiar.
"You could have waited for the storm to pass," she said softly.
"I had business at the southern fields.
Delay was not an option."
"Still the DownGuard? I thought the matter was laid to rest."
"They continue to dispute my departure from their bloodline. They speak of sacred bonds broken and call for restitution."
"And you still ride to speak with them, despite your council's warnings."
"I will not have whispers in the borderlands fester into rebellion.
She said nothing for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the rain that still dripped from the hem of his tunic. She noticed the tightness in his jaw, the sharpness in his voice. He had not returned to her. He had returned only to the walls. She turned toward the table. "The food is warm. Sit. Eat."
He passed her without stopping. "I am not hungry."
"I waited for you," she said, her tone still measured. "We haven't shared a meal in days."
"That was your choice, Selene. Don't lay it at my feet." The words weren't cruel, but the distance in them was sharper than any blade. She watched him peel off his tunic, the wet fabric clinging to his skin. He picked up a clean shirt folded over the bench. She stepped forward.
"Let me," she said.
He neither refused nor welcomed her. Her fingers brushed over his skin, steady, precise, as she began fastening the shirt. Her eyes never left the buttons, though she felt the heat of him, the ache in her chest. Her hands slowed as she reached the middle. She looked up at him, searching for anything. A flicker of warmth. A memory of who he once was. But there was nothing. She moved to press her palm to his chest. His hand caught hers.
"Selene." Her name was a warning. "I am your wife," she said quietly. "Not a stranger."
"You should sleep."
"I have been patient."
"I have a long day ahead."
"You always do."
He released her wrist. She did not move. "I know this marriage was born of duty," she said. "I did not expect love. But I expected honesty. I expected respect."
"You have both."
"I have silence Ronan. And the pack is starting to whisper, she said. "They expect a child. They expect a future. And if there is none by spring, they will go to the elders."
He moved to pull the shirt closed, but her hands caught his again. This time not to dress him, but to undress. Her fingers found the buttons once more, slower now. She leaned forward, her voice softer, closer.
"You are still my husband. And I am still your wife." His hand closed around her wrist, firm but not cruel."You should sleep."
"How can I, when I lie beside a ghost?"
"I have duties. A pack to lead. Lands to defend.
"And a Luna you will not touch.
"Two years, she said softly, eyes fixed on the fabric beneath her hands. That is how long it has been."
He said nothing.
"You have not touched me since the first night."
"I have done my part."
"Once," she whispered.
He took in a breath, exhaled through his nose. "You speak as though I have wronged you."
"You have made me a stranger in my own home."
"You are not a stranger."
"You no longer look at me. You no longer speak unless I force it of you. And when night falls, you do not return to our chambers."
"I have duties beyond your comfort,
Selene."
"And do those duties absolve you of your vow?"
His eyes flicked to hers, distant, unreadable.
"If you are unwell," he said, "you should see the physician."
"For what ailment?"
"You say you cannot conceive.
She let the silence rest between them before answering. "How shall I conceive when my husband seldom lies beside me? Shall I carry a child in dreams alone?"
His expression did not change. "Perhaps the physician can offer clarity."
"So I am to believe the fault lies with me?"
"You asked for answers.
She stepped back. "You offered deflection."
"Enough," he said quietly. "This is not the hour for quarrels."
"No," she said, voice calm but sharp.
"This is the hour when a wife should lie beside her husband, not speak into an empty room. This is the hour when a Luna should be more than a title. You do not speak, you do not touch, and yet you expect silence in return."
He fastened the last of the buttons himself and reached for his belt. "You speak of matters that will not change tonight."
"Because you will not allow them to change."
"I am tired, Selene."
"So am I. Tired of waiting. Tired of pretending this marriage is more than cold stone and locked doors."
He brushed past her, cold water still trailing from his hair. She stood unmoving, staring into the fire. The scent of rain and iron lingered in the air.
"Ronan, we need—
"Good night, Selene," he said, cutting her off.
The door to his chamber opened and shut behind him, its quiet finality striking harder than a slammed gate. The rain had ceased outside. But within these walls, silence thundered louder than any storm.
Ps— silence isn't harmless. It wounds quietly. So please don't wound me with yours, leave a comment and a vote 🌓