Knot The One They Want

Chapter 42: Days Before Lorali Were Happier

Walter Pov

"No, you cannot make me! I’m not kissing her feet!" I exclaim, throwing my shirt at Oril with more force than necessary.

I’m seated on the floor of my closet, folding clothes one by one, though I don’t have to. I’m honestly just trying to keep busy, trying to avoid facing Lorali. My hands move mechanically, folding, stacking, refolding, anything to keep my mind distracted.

"I’m not saying kiss her feet. I’m just saying tone back on the orders," Oril sighs, rubbing his temple as if the weight of this conversation is already too much. I roll my eyes, tossing another shirt onto the pile. "Why am I expected to change when I was the one here first? Why is it always me who has to bend?"

"Walter," he says, his voice heavy with exhaustion. He slides down the cupboard until he’s seated beside me, his back pressed against the wood. His black eye has gotten better, it’s good to see the cream I gave him yesterday is doing its job.

"Help me out here, Torin is on my back about all of this," Oril continues, bringing his hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. "I’m not asking you to change, but perhaps just try to tolerate her in your space. That’s all."

I stop mid‑fold, crunching the shirt in my hands until the fabric wrinkles. My jaw tightens. "You know, I might have been willing if the stupid plan was actually going to work. Lorali will never fall for Torin’s plan."

"Yes, she will," Oril insists, his tone sharper now. "She’s not like you, Walter. You grew up in the real world. She spent her life in an academy, sheltered and trusting. That makes her gullible."

I scoff, shaking my head. "No one is gullible enough to believe Torin cares about them. He’s ice cold. He only cares about business. You think she’ll fall for that?"

Oril opens his mouth, then stops himself mid‑sentence. "Yeah, cause they are f—" He coughs, cutting himself off.

I frown, suspicion rising. "They’re what?"

"Umm... it’s nothing."

"Oril. Speak." My voice drops low. The last thing I want now is more secrets, Oracles was enough.

He hesitates, biting his lip, then blurts, "Well... you know Oracle is fated to Lorali, right?"

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. I fucking hate it. Not only because it debunks Yurena’s claims that Lorali seduced Oracle and since it’s not true, I’m painted as the villain trying to separate fated mates, but also because it strengthens Lorali’s claim to remain in the pack. With Oracle here, she has a right to stay. And it’s not like she can reject her mate. I can’t expect her to do that. I wouldn’t do it either. I could never leave Oril or Augi—they are a literal part of me.

Oril leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What does that have to do with Torin’s plan?" I ask, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

"Everything," Oril says firmly. "She’s more prone to trust us if Oracle, her fated mate, is in the pack. You know how fated mate bonds cloud judgment. You’ve felt it yourself." I clench my fists, the shirt still balled in my hands. "Yeah. Of course I know. I experience it firsthand every other day."

Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating.

"Fine," I mutter at last. "I’ll remain quiet and as hospitable as I possibly can."

"Thank you," Oril exhales, relief flooding his voice. He leans closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His hand lingers on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "This means everything to me."

"Yeah, whatever," I mumble, my voice low, turning my head away. Deep down, I wish we could return to the days before Lorali. Those days were good. I wish I had appreciated them more, because now I know those days might never return.

Oril watches me for a moment, his eyes soft, before whispering, "We’ll get through this. Somehow."

I don’t answer. I just keep folding, my hands moving automatically, my mind drifting back to the past, to the days when things were simpler, when the pack didn’t feel like it was crumbling around us.

~....~

Lorali Pov | Some Time Later freёwebnovel.com

~....~

I haven’t seen anyone today other than Torin. Are they all exiled in their rooms or something? I can tell the usual five are home, their different scents linger in the air, but none of them have shown themselves. Torin, though... the odd ball, he’s not here. I can’t smell him anywhere.

I must admit, I feel a tiny bite of disappointment about that. Just a flicker. Even though I don’t want to feel anything for him, not yet because I still don’t know whether he can be trusted.

I push the thought aside and focus on the meal I’m cooking. My shoulder aches, but I ignore the pain as I mix ingredients together, stirring the pot with steady motions before reaching into the spice cabinet, pulling out spices and herbs, stacking them on the counter. My hands move quickly as muscle memory guides me. The scent of garlic and onion fills the air, sharp and comforting. I hum under my breath, trying to drown out the ache in my body.

When I finish cooking lunch, I begin cleaning, wiping down the island with a cloth. The rhythm of scrubbing calms me, gives me something to hold onto.

Then the front door snaps open.

Honestly, this feels like a common occurrence at this point. Someone always decides to show themselves when I’m in the kitchen. I pause mid‑wipe, cloth still in my hand, and stare at the door.

An old man steps inside. He wears a simple suit and tie, carries a brown suitcase, and his spectacles glint under the light. He looks exactly like you’d expect a wise professor to look, calm and composed.

Torin appears behind him, entering with long strides. The moment his eyes land on me, they fill with fury, as if I’ve committed some heinous act.

"Why are you out of bed?" he demands, his voice sharp, his steps heavy as he takes big, angry strides toward me.

"Umm... I had my duties..." I stutter nervously, even though I know I shouldn’t feel this nervous. My fingers tighten around the cloth, my heart pounding.

"You were supposed to stay in bed... not... not—" His eyes drop to the cloth in my hands. He snatches it away, his grip firm and jaw clenched. "Not do any of this!" he growls, waving the cloth angrily.

I freeze, lost. What is happening here? Why is he angry that I’m doing the job his pack ordered me to do every day?

A sudden cough breaks the tight tension in the air, and both Torin and I remember the old man standing awkwardly in the living room. His posture is stiff, his suitcase clutched tightly in one hand and spectacles sliding down his nose.

"Should I come back another time, perhaps?" he asks, his voice just as awkward as the way he’s standing.

Torin exhales sharply, his fury dissolving into something calmer. "No... sorry about that, Doctor Quid."

Doctor Quid? That’s his name? My mind stumbles over the word. Why is a doctor here? Is someone sick?

"Please check her today. I’m sure you can see she’s in bad condition," Torin says, motioning to all of me with his hand.

Doctor? Me? Me? What would a doctor want with me? I’m perfectly fine.

"Sugar Plum, please sit on the couch. Let the doctor check you." Torin’s eyes focus back on me, steady and commanding yet filled with concern.

My gaze flickers from him to the doctor, who offers me a gentle smile, then back to Torin. "I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need a doctor," I say quickly, waving my hands, stepping back, trying to put distance between myself and and Torin.

But Torin moves faster. He grasps my wrist, firm but not cruel, stopping me from retreating any further. "I know you’re perfectly fine," he says, his voice low, almost coaxing. "This is just a formality. You can calm down. Dr. Quid is a family doctor. He can be trusted."

Before I can protest again, Torin pulls me forward, guiding me toward the couch. His hand presses against my forehead, steadying me, and then he eases me down onto the couch in front of the doctor. His palms settle on my shoulders, pressing me into place.

Pain shoots through my right shoulder, sharp and hot, radiating from the bond. I bite back a hiss, but the pressure from Torin’s weight only makes it worse. I already know the amount of blood and pus I’ll have to clean later will be devious.

Torin leans closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I promise, you’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you the entire time."