He wanted a child conceived with passion, not permission. Born out of love, not obligation.
Seliora, however, was not naive.
She sensed the hesitation in the way he shifted his weight, the way his jaw clenched just a little too tightly. "Shall I expect you tomorrow night then?" she asked.
Damien nodded slowly. "Of course."
She bowed, then turned and left the room.
Damien stood still for a mont, the silence pressing in.
On one hand, there was tradition. Bloodline. Expectations. A rapidly closing window of ti, with less than a year left to sire an heir before death ca knocking, as Morvakar had predicted. On the other hand, there was Luna—the woman who had turned his carefully calculated world into a ss of desire, loyalty, and sleepless nights.
And worse... the unspoken reality that the people didn’t want a hybrid. Luna’s child might not even be accepted, even if it was born of love. So what then? Could he really let Seliora bear his heir for the sake of a crown he might not even wear long enough to warm?
He sighed deeply, as if trying to breathe out the guilt.
Grabbing the tray of breakfast, he made his way into his bedroom.
Luna was still asleep, curled up under the blankets with her hair fanned out on the pillow. Her face was relaxed, peaceful, lips slightly parted.
He placed the tray gently on the side stool, careful not to wake her yet. But his hand reached out, of its own accord, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek. His fingers lingered there, drinking in the mont.
He slid into bed beside her, trying to quiet his storm of thoughts, and leaned close.
"Luna," he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Ti to wake up."
She groaned softly, shifting beneath the sheets. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and golden, still caught between sleep and wakefulness.
"Good morning, my Moonlight," Damien whispered.
Her eyes blinked up at him, dazed for a mont before recognition sank in. Her fingers brushed his jawline. "You’re okay," she whispered, relief laced thick in her sleep-heavy voice.
"Yes..." he smiled, though it ca with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. "I am."
And then—she kissed him.
Luna moved on instinct. A rush of overwhelming relief. She had ant to kiss him, yes. But this? This was her traitorous body going off-script.
The kiss deepened, surprising them both. Her fingers found the nape of his neck, curling there. He pulled her closer by the waist, as if he could imprint her against his skin. Her legs tangled with his, bare thighs brushing warm against his own. His hand skimd over her hip, fingers dragging across her soft skin.
But then, Damien pulled away, his forehead pressed against hers.
"Don’t start this if you won’t finish it, Luna," he warned. His eyes were serious now, searching hers.
"I’m sorry... I got carried away." She bit her bottom lip, cheeks flushed, and looked down.
Damien exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I made breakfast," he said suddenly, as if reminding himself that he was a man with self-control and not a hormonal teenager on fire. He stood, giving her space.
"Oh!" Her eyes darted to the tray beside the bed, her own flustered state montarily forgotten. "Thank you...But... I actually needed to talk to you."
"Yes, you said so last night." He was trying to read her now, trying to gauge whether this would be another emotional landmine, or one of those ordinary conversations couples were supposed to have.
She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her and smoothing her hair with one hand. "Your father offered a job... as the Royal Envoy."
"That’s... that’s a big deal."
She nodded. "It is. And I said yes."
"Oh! That’s amazing. Why didn’t I think about that?" Damien bead.
Luna couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. "Oh! I thought you would be against it," she said, teasing him lightly, though there was a touch of nervousness in her voice. She still wasn’t entirely sure of how much she was allowed to ask for.
"Why would I be?" Damien’s face fell for a split second, his brows furrowing slightly. "Oh, crap..." he trailed off, looking as though a realization had just hit him.
Luna raised an eyebrow, concern creeping into her voice. "What? What’s wrong?"
"You..." He hesitated, his fingers brushing over his lips. "You need to be integrated into Blood City before you can have a job in the Blood Castles or Royal Empire." He let out a frustrated sigh. "Didn’t my father tell you?"
"He ntioned it but didn’t say I needed to....Well, then let be integrated." She said it with a determined edge, as though the idea of waiting was just not an option anymore. She was so close to starting sothing that could make her feel independent and in control.
Damien looked at her, his face softening as if weighing the very thing he was about to ask her. "It’s not so simple, Luna," he said gently. "It’s... it ans you’re swearing your allegiance to the throne... our throne." His gaze flickered to the side as though he could already hear the way this decision might sound. "Are you ready for that? You still seem like you want nothing to do with , sotis." The last part ca out almost like a whisper, as if he had been holding it in for a while.
Luna felt her heart twist. She had never ant to hurt him. She reached out, grasping his hands. "I... I will always miss ho. I will always miss my people," she began. She blinked back a few tears she hadn’t ant to let fall. "But what am I supposed to do? I have to move forward. I have to create my own place here—whether I like it or not."
Damien stared at her for a long mont. His hand gently squeezed hers. "Fine. I will arrange it," he said softly. He didn’t want to let her go, but he knew, deep down, this was sothing she had to do on her own terms.
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