From the very beginning, Marcus had never seen a difference between the two girls. He loved them both fiercely and treated them as siblings in every sense of the word.
Though only ten years older, he took his role as big brother seriously. Whether it was protecting them from tumbling off the porch steps, rescuing dolls from the well, or sneaking them extra honey cakes from the kitchen, Marcus was always there—patient, kind, and fiercely loyal. To him, Zara and Cressida were simply his girls, his little sisters. No blood needed.
He was their shield against the world, and, in their little universe, Marcus was a hero. He gifted them matching toys on their birthdays—never letting one feel left out—shared his favorite wooden sword when they played warriors in the garden, and even sat still while they braided his hair into a wild mess of uneven plaits, grumbling the entire time but never once telling them to stop.
When Aurora passed by and saw them laughing under the willow tree, her heart would swell with something soft and aching. In those moments, Marcus reminded her of his father, always steady and kind despite the abrupt changes around him.
To Marcus, love wasn't conditional. He didn't care that Cressida wasn't born of Valen blood. She was family. She was his sister. He was the only one who dared challenge the whispers in the hall, the cold glances from distant relatives who questioned her place in the household.
When Zara fell ill with fever, it was Marcus who sat beside her bed all night, cooling her forehead with a damp cloth. And when Cressida cried after a nightmare, it was Marcus who carried her to his room and let her sleep curled beside him like a pup beside its alpha.
As the girls grew older, and the attention of older boys began to shift in their direction, Marcus became their silent sentry. His gaze alone could send a smirking suitor stumbling backward. He made it his duty to protect them from wandering eyes and whispered intentions. It wasn't about control—it was about love. He had seen the way the world could chew up innocence, and he would not let that happen to his girls.
"You're not ready," he'd say when Zara pouted about being treated like a child. "And the right one won't mind waiting."
He was stern when needed, soft when they cried, and fiercely proud when they shined. They were his joy, his grounding force in a world that often asked too much of him.
And though the winds of fate would later blow their lives apart, in those early years—before politics, before betrayal, before heartbreak—Marcus was more than a brother.
He was home.
The entire household reflected that sentiment. Aurora ensured both girls had dresses stitched from the finest fabrics, little boots with crescent moons embroidered at the sides, and enchanted lockets to protect them. Christopher read them bedtime stories, holding both girls in his lap as they giggled and begged for one more chapter. Even the pack servants began to refer to them as "the twins"—not by blood, but by heart.
By the time the girls turned five, their bond was unshakable. They slept in the same bed most nights, arms and legs tangled together, sharing dreams and nightmares. When one cried, the other comforted. When one got hurt, the other went into a full tantrum. They had developed their own secret language of whispers, looks, and inside jokes, speaking as if they'd known each other for lifetimes.
But even as Cressida thrived, there was a quiet, aching absence that Aurora and Christopher could no longer ignore.
Her father had not come.
Not once.
Darius Black had not so much as sent a letter or asked after the daughter he named.
Aurora tried to be understanding. God knows she tried. But as the years passed and Cressida began to ask innocent questions like "Why don't I look like you, Mama?" or "Do I have another daddy?" It became harder and harder to shield her from the truth, and she couldn't bring herself to lie, as it would complicate things, so she did what any reasonable adult would do: she distracted her, but she knew she could not lie forever; eventually she had to tell the truth.
Christopher, too, had grown weary. Not of the child—never—but of his friend's absence. So finally, on the eve of Cressida's fifth birthday, they made a decision.
They would invite Darius to dinner.
No expectations. No lectures. Just a meal. A moment. A chance to reconnect with his daughter...
They sent a hand-written note, sealed with Christopher's personal crest—a message only he would recognize.
Darius,
The girls are five now. They've grown beautifully.
Come to dinner. No politics. No lectures. Just a table, a chair, and your daughter.
Christopher & Aurora
They didn't know if he would come.
But they hoped.
They hoped that somewhere, buried beneath the rage and grief, the man who had once fought beside Christopher, laughed under the stars, and held Mariam like she was the moon itself—that man still lived.
That he would come.
For Cressida.
And, just maybe, for himself.
Aurora and Christopher had waited as long as they could but he never turned up.
They decided to tell Cressida the truth, they had rehearsed the words a hundred times, choosing the gentlest ones, softening the harsh truth as best they could. One quiet afternoon, while Zara napped curled against a sunlit cushion, they sat Cressida down. She was five now, sharp-eyed and intuitive, too perceptive to keep in the dark much longer.
"Sweetheart," Aurora began, gently brushing a dark curl from the girl's cheek, "we need to tell you something about where you came from."
Cressida tilted her head, her small brows furrowing. "Am I not from here?" she asked, her voice innocent but already edged with suspicion.
Christopher knelt before her, placing a warm, calloused hand on hers. "You were born here, little one. But you didn't come from Mama's belly like Zara did."
Cressida blinked. Her silence was eerie, mature beyond her years. Aurora swallowed the lump in her throat and continued.
"Your real mama... her name was Mariam. She was a beautiful woman with a strong heart. She died when you were born. And your father—" Aurora paused, choosing her words carefully. "Your father is Darius Black."
Silence.
It wasn't the kind of silence that came from confusion. It was the kind that came from dawning horror. Cressida had heard that name whispered among warriors and servants. The Beast. The Executioner. The Hollowed Beta.
Her mouth moved, barely a whisper. "The man with the red eyes?"
Christopher nodded slowly. "Yes. That's him."
Cressida's small fists were balled at her sides, her face flushed red with betrayal. "You're not my real mama and papa?" Her voice cracked as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Aurora knelt down, reaching out. "Sweetheart, we are your mama and papa in every way that matters—"
"No!" she shrieked, stomping her foot. "You lied! You lied to me!"
She bolted before they could stop her—slipping through the back door and into the woods, barefoot and furious, heart pounding like a little drum. She didn't know where she was going. She just didn't want to be found.
But when Christopher delivered the news, Darius just shrugged, cold and uninterested.
"She's not dead, is she?" he asked flatly. "Then why are you bothering me?"
Aurora's heart shattered. She didn't cry in front of him. She saved her tears for the moment she turned away.
The search lasted hours. Torches lit up the woods. Shouts echoed through the trees. And finally—just past dawn—they found her curled under a tree near the river, her arms wrapped tightly around her stuffed bunny, her tiny feet scraped and cold.
She was shivering but silent, her eyes red and swollen.
Marcus scooped her up into his arms, holding her tightly. "Cressie, baby, you scared us. You can't run away like that."
She didn't look at him.
Christopher scooped her from Marcus arms into his arms, murmuring softly, "You scared us, baby."
"I don't want him to find me," she whispered, sniffling into his shirt. "That scary man... Darius. He's mean. He doesn't smile. He talks like he's mad all the time. He can't be my daddy... he just can't."
Aurora brushed the mud from her cheek, tears in her own eyes now. "Oh, Cressida..."
"Promise me." Her voice was tiny, trembling. "Promise me you won't let him take me. I don't want to go. I want to stay here. With you. Mama. Papa. Marcus and Zara."
Christopher's throat tightened. He kissed her forehead. "We promise, baby. You're our girl. No one is taking you anywhere."
"You'll hide me, right? If he comes looking?"
Aurora wrapped her arms around her and nodded. "We'll protect you. Always. You're safe with us."
Cressida clung tighter, the sobs finally slowing as sleep crept into her bones. "Okay... but if he comes, tell him I ran away... and you couldn't find me. Tell him I'm gone forever."
Aurora smiled sadly, stroking her tangled curls. "You're not gone, little star. You're right where you belong."