Rebirth Of The Rejected Luna Chapter 223: Layla And Elara

Tiana's POV

"I heard you used to work at the royal palace," I said softly. The old wooden floor creaked beneath me as I shifted my weight. "You were there during the Luna's wedding ceremony, the one that was poisoned."

Maris tensed up. Her fingers stopped fidgeting with the hem of her shawl. She took in a deep breath, avoiding my eyes as she spoke. "That was a long time ago," she said curtly. "I don't talk about it."

"I'm not looking for rumors," I said, pulling back my hood. The lantern by her door cast a dim orange glow on my face and it made me squint my eyes a little bit. "I want to know what really happened."

Maris's eyes narrowed as she looked at me. The silence between us was tense. Then she took a small step forward, and the lamplight highlighted the sharp lines of her face. Age had etched fine wrinkles around her mouth, but her gaze was sharp and searching.

"Are you a noble?" she asked.

"No," I replied evenly.

"A soldier?"

"I'm a commander," I said. There was no pride in it—just fact.

Maris’s lips pressed together into a tight, paper-thin line. “Then you should know better than to bring up stories the crown has buried under lock and silence.”

"I'm not here on the crown's orders," I said.

Maris tilted her head slightly like a cat sniffing the air. "Why are you here?" she asked.

I hesitated, then told her the truth. "I think the wrong person was blamed for what happened. And someone like you, who was there, might remember something important that others ignored."

There was a long silence. The only sound was the wind gently tugging at the roof tiles. Then, slowly, Maris opened the door wider.

As I entered her home, I was greeted by the warm scent of dried herbs, wood smoke, and a faint floral smell, like old lavender. The floor creaked beneath our feet, and every surface was cluttered with mismatched objects. There were old knitting needles, a cracked bowl filled with buttons, and a stack of books tied with twine. The warmth in her home came from years of living there, not from wealth.

We sat at her small kitchen table, the wood scarred and stained from years of use. Maris poured weak tea into chipped mugs, her hands shaking slightly. The steam rose between us, and she finally spoke when I declined sugar.

“You knew her, didn’t you?” she asked suddenly, not looking at me. Her voice was soft, but the question struck like flint against stone.

My heart stuttered. “Who?”

“Luna Tiana.”

I kept my face still and didn't show any emotions. "Why do you say that?" I asked Maris.

She looked at me with sharp eyes that seemed to know a lot. "Because nobody else comes here asking about her with that look in their eyes," she said.

I didn't say anything. Maris gave a small, tired smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I was there that night," she said. "I remember more than I'm supposed to. But the people in charge didn't want us to talk. The guards came the next morning and asked us questions, but they already knew who they wanted to blame. What we said didn't matter."

Maris looked sad and tired. I felt bad for her. "Please tell me what you know," I said. My voice was shaking a little.

Maris hesitated. She looked out the window, where the wind was tapping gently on the glass. It sounded like someone was trying to get in. Then she nodded. "Layla and Elara came to the kitchens that evening," she said. "They weren't supposed to be there. Royals don't check the food, they have staff for that. But they came anyway. They were very bold."

I leaned forward, eager to hear more. "What did they do?" I asked.

"They asked where the king's food was," Maris said.

"King Roman's?" I asked.

Maris shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "Yes, Theo's father."

When I heard Theo's name, I felt a pain that I thought had gone away. It was like pressing on a bruise that was still sore, even after a long time. The pain was still there, but it was not as sharp as it used to be. Time had dulled it, but it was still there.

“What happened next?” I asked.

"Elara took Petra, the head maid, aside and whispered something in her ear," Maris said. "Petra nodded, but her hands were shaking. A few minutes later, she took a tray and left. When she came back, she looked... wrong. She was pale and sweaty, and she wouldn't talk."

My fists clenched under the table, and my nails dug into my palms. Maris kept talking.

"Petra disappeared two days later," she said. "She vanished without warning, without saying goodbye. I always thought she was silenced because of what she did or saw."

I swallowed hard, feeling sick to my stomach. "What about Layla?" I asked.

"Layla stayed behind," Maris said slowly. "She told me to throw away one of the wine decanters. She said it smelled funny. But I had just checked it, and it was fine. It was still full and untouched. I didn't understand it then, but..."

Maris shook her head and paused, thinking carefully.

"Layla seemed... dazed when she did it," Maris said. "Unnatural. My mother was a witch, so I could tell when something felt off. It was like Layla was under someone's control. But again..."

Maris shrugged, looking tired.

"I'm not sure," she said. "But now it makes sense. They set up the scene, planted a false trail, and blamed someone else. They did it perfectly."

I was shaking with anger, trying to stay calm. "Why didn't you tell anyone this?" I asked.

Maris's voice was bitter. "I tried," she said. "But they didn't want the truth. They wanted someone to blame. And when Petra disappeared, I decided my life was more important than justice.”