RAVENNA

part 28

Sebastian, who hadn't left his sight on Nieve during the entire dance, noticed her white blouse sticking due to sweat, quickly pulled off his coat to cover her. He took a step forward, about to offer it, when Marcus gently draped his own coat over Nieve's shoulders.

Sebastian halted, registering the scene. He sighed, folding his coat and placing it on a side chair.

Nieve glanced at Marcus, slightly confused. "Your blouse is sticking," he muttered, averting his eyes. "Oh." She adjusted the coat, her cheeks warming.

At that moment, a small commotion rippled through the crowd. Rob glanced over. "It looks like Lady Minerva and..." He turned to Nieve. "Your grandparents."

Nieve's ears perked at the name. She rose slowly, cautiously stepping closer until she was near enough to hear.

"We don't want any problems on Michael's wedding day, Minerva," Bowen said politely but firmly. "Don't call my name with your filthy mouth, warp," Minerva hissed.

Gasps fluttered through the onlookers, their whispers sharp as knives.

"Did she just—?"
"Impossible—so brazen..."

"Careful what you say about my husband," Debolina warned in a low voice.

Minerva scoffed. "What? Wouldn't you call a man who couldn't sire a child, a warp?" The crowd stiffened. Some pressed gloved hands to their lips. Others leaned in, hungry for scandal.
"In this modern world, you know what word they use? Barren!" she sneered.

Nieve's blood boiled. Her fists clenched at her sides before she even realized she was moving. "I could say the same about you!" Nieve snapped, her patience fraying. She marched forward, voice sharp. "You've been married just as long as my parents, yet have no children. Perhaps your womanizer of a husband doesn't want to sire with you."

Minerva's jaw locked, but her eyes glittered with malice. clenched. "You've trained her well, Debolina. Just like yourself."
"Of course I'm like her. I am her child," Nieve retorted, stepping in before her grandmother could respond.

Minerva smirked. "Oh no. I kept my bloodline pure. Unlike her—who adopted someone else." "Keep your mouth shut, Minerva!" Debolina shouted.

"What are you talking about?" Nieve's voice shook as she looked between them.

Gabriel pushed through the ring of spectators as Bowen tried to shield Nieve with his words. "Don't listen to her, sweetheart," Bowen said softly.

"You didn't tell her?" Minerva sighed dramatically. "Your grandmother was cursed—cursed for eloping. She left the chair for him-" she pointed to bowen, "so the coven cursed her. She could never bear a child!"

A wave of shock and confusion rippled through the crowd.

Nieve stood frozen, Minerva's words echoing in her mind. Curse?

Her knees threatened to buckle, but Gabriel's hand steadied her—firm, reassuring, pulling her from the abyss. She inhaled shakily, eyes finding Minerva's smirk of victory.

Nieve straightened, the coat heavy on her shoulders. Her turmoil raged within, but her face... her face was calm. A mask.

Nieve inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Calm—at least on the surface.
"And yet," she said evenly, eyes on Minerva, "I got the parents. They got the child. And you—" she smirked faintly, "you have nothing."

"She won. You lost." Nieve's words dropped like an executioner's blade.

For the first time that evening, Minerva's lips sealed. Her smirk faltered, and with no more venom left to spew, she turned on her heel, skirts swishing with fury as she left the hall fuming.

The silence she left behind was heavy, almost suffocating. The crowd—hungry moments ago for scandal—now shifted uneasily. Whispers died quickly, fans snapped shut, and one by one, the onlookers dispersed, leaving only a scattering of figures who lingered out of loyalty or concern.

Bowen and Debolina exchanged a glance—deep, weighted, the kind of silent conversation that spoke louder than words. Their eyes held guilt, hesitation, and the urge to finally tell Nieve the truth, though the moment was raw and fragile.

Marcus, standing close, caught the stiffness in their posture. With a subtle nudge of his elbow, he gestured toward Nikolai.

Nikolai's sharp eyes flickered with understanding. He stepped forward slowly, his presence calm, deliberate. His voice was soft when he addressed Nieve. "Come," he said gently, his hand a steady guide on her arm. "This isn't the place."

Her chest still burned with the weight of Minerva's words, her pulse hammering against her ribs. For a moment, she wanted to resist, to demand answers here and now. But the eyes of the few remaining guests still clung to her like needles. She swallowed hard and allowed Nikolai to lead her away, his steps unhurried, drawing her toward a quieter corner of the hall.

Behind them, Marcus moved toward Bowen and Debolina, lowering his voice as he steered them aside with careful authority. His tone was not commanding, but there was an insistence in his manner—a diplomat urging peace before further damage could be done.

The room thinned to near silence. The storm had passed, but its echoes clung to every soul left in its wake.

Nikolai guided Nieve into a smaller drawing room at the far end of the hall, away from the curious eyes and hushed gossip of the guests. The heavy oak doors closed behind them with a muted thud, shutting out the remnants of the commotion.

She sank into a velvet chair, her hands clutching Marcus's coat tighter around her shoulders as though it were the only thing holding her together. Her heart was still pounding, her mind replaying Minerva's venomous words. Adopted. Not theirs.

Bowen and Debolina entered a moment later, Marcus close behind, his quiet presence a wall between them and the chaos outside. Nikolai remained near the door, his posture watchful, prepared to step in if voices rose again.

The silence stretched—Bowen and Debolina exchanging another look, the same unspoken communication as before. Finally, Bowen exhaled and stepped forward.

"Nieve..." His voice was soft, lined with sorrow. "You must know... Minerva spoke cruelly, but not without pieces of truth." She didn't replied. Debolina lowered herself to Nieve's side, reaching for her hand. "Sweetheart, listen to me. You are ours. No one could tell us otherwise. You have been the light of our lives since the moment we held you."

Bowen's eyes glistened, his composure threatening to crack. "You are family. You are ours in every way that matters. Blood does not change love."

The silence returned, thick and suffocating. Debolina's lips trembled as though she wanted to speak but couldn't bring herself to form the words.

But Nieve's heart wavered. Despite the cruel word and the truth, because deep within the heart there was reality. Reality of being raised by them. Being fed, bedded, clothed, sheltered. She can't and won't replace that.

They fed me when I couldn't lift a spoon. They bathed me when I was small and helpless. They held me when I cried, and they fought for me when the world turned cruel. Every scar, every smile, every lesson—they gave them all to me.

Her breath shook as she battled herself. Betrayal and gratitude warred in her chest, tearing her in two.

Nieve closed her eyes, inhaling raggedly. Memories flickered—her grandmother's lullabies, Bowen's steady hands teaching her to ride, their smiles on her smallest victories. None of that could be erased. Not by blood. Not by Minerva.

When she opened her eyes again, they glistened with tears, she wrapped the hand on theirs, "You made me who I am. No curse, no cruel words can change that. I am your child and no one in the world can change that." She smiled while her eyes glistened with tears. Bowen and Debolina sighed in relief and wrapped their arms around her protectively.

In the end the bond beyond the blood won.