Chapter 2 Good Help is Hard to FindThree Years Later

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• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 47 Nine Years Of Planning

  *Ana*The fire cracks with a violent snap, splitting the silence like bone breaking. Wood collapses in on itself behind me, sending a constellation of sparks spiraling upward into the smoky darkness. For one searing moment, the nearest hearth blazes too bright—casting liquid gold across the marble floor, illuminating the exact spot where she stood just heartbeats ago.As if the flames themselves bear witness to injustice. As if I'm not the only one who sees it.Naska is gone without another word. No fight. No weeping. No desperate plea for mercy. Just... nothing. The absence of her cuts deeper than any scream would have.I can't tear my eyes away from her retreat—watching her tall, angular frame disappear through the towering silver-and-glass doors like smoke dissipating into winter air. Her shoulders are drawn back with the rigid precision of a soldier facing execution, thread stretched so taut across a loom that one more pull would snap it entirely. Each step she takes is measured,

• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 46 She Missed

  *Naska*Naska's pale red eyes flicked upward at any movement by the entrances, her pale fingers tightening around her glass until her knuckles went white. Each flutter of fabric, each shadow crossing the threshold, made her heart lurch with desperate hope—that it would finally be him. That, at last, her love would arrive. But each hopeful glance was dashed just as quickly as it came, leaving her chest hollow and aching. The number of false alarms had become so common that Naska could feel her own excitement waning like a dying flame. Yet, her longing for Mykhol remained as strong as ever, a constant throb beneath her ribs.Standing alone was agony. Her bare feet, clad only in simple leather slippers, shifted restlessly against the cold marble floor. The rough muslin of her tunic—new for the occasion, felt suddenly shabby against her skin as she watched the noble ladies glide past in their rich furs and velvets. The soft corduroys of their gowns whispered secrets she'd never know, whil

• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 45 The One Who Doesn't Belong

  *Bruno* The scent of wine and roasted meat turned to ash in Bruno's mouth the moment he saw him.Through the ballroom's towering glass doors, past the writhing mass of silk-draped nobles and their glittering jewelry that caught candlelight like fractured stars, a shadow had fallen across the moonlit terrace. Not just any shadow—this one had substance, weight, the kind of presence that made the very air seem to thicken and curdle.Nine years. Nine years of nightmares that left him gasping in sweat-soaked sheets, of healing bones that still ached when storms rolled in, of growing tall and lean and sharp-edged like a blade forged in fear. Nine years of learning to move like smoke through palace halls, to disappear into corners and doorways, to become invisible when survival demanded it. And still—still—Bruno's blood recognized that silhouette before his conscious mind could catch up.The way the man's shoulders cut through lamplight like the edge of an executioner's axe. The predatory s

• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 44 Behind The Fur

  *Ana*“Mykhol,” I breathe, still dazed by the sight of him. Joy bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, effervescent and overwhelming. "You came!" I laugh—the sound bright and giddy, spilling out before I can contain it—as I take a step forward on unsteady legs. "It was getting so late, I almost gave up on you."He lingers at the edge of the lantern-light like a figure stepped from shadow itself, framed by the golden spill of illumination from the palace windows. The warm glow catches the sharp angles of his face, casting him half in light, half in mystery. Beyond the glass doors, muffled conversation and music still echo—crystal chiming against crystal, the honeyed pull of a cello drawing hearts into its melody. But here in the garden, the cold air bites at my exposed arms with gentle teeth, and the dormant bushes sway with the night wind as though the very world holds its breath just for us."You act as though I would miss my little Ana's grand celebration." His voice flows like

• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 43 Take A Breather

  *Ana*"Oh…this isn't good." The words taste like copper on my tongue the moment they leave my lips as I step out. I've made the biggest mistake of all. But it's too late. I'm doomed. The click of the silver-and-glass doors shutting behind me all but confirmed my end. Because the moment they do, the world changes.The noise cuts off like a blade through velvet—sharp, final. No more crystal goblets chiming like broken bells, no strangled violin strings sawing through the air like tortured metal. No high-pitched laughter that claws at my eardrums, spilling from polished fangs of nobles drunk on bloodwine and their own importance. No overly eager lords with their grabbing hands—fingers that linger too long on my wrists, palms that press too low on my spine, breath that reeks of wine and desperation as they puff their invitations in my face.It’s immediately gone. Sealed off like a jewelry box snapping closed. The oppressive heat that radiated from braziers burning like funeral pyres, the

• Will Bear the Moon   Chapter 42 Fangless Warrior

  *Pendwick*"What could ALL of you possibly be doing with my dear assistant?"The words hung in the air like frost crystallizing on glass. Pendwick immediately saw the effect. It was astonishing. No, this was the power of a king. The nobles who had been so boldly aggressive moments before didn't just retreat; they withered.Lord Halric's face drained of color so rapidly that Pendwick could trace the path of it—first his cheeks hollowing, then his lips blanching to the pallor of a corpse. His mouth worked silently, a desperate fish gasping on dry land, the tendons in his neck straining visibly beneath paper-thin skin.Duke Serevan's jowls quivered like custard, the flaccid flesh rippling with each panicked breath. His backward step sent a discordant squeak across the polished marble, the sound sharp as a needle in the sudden silence. The heavy brocade of his coat rustled as he nearly toppled, the weight of his own fear disrupting his balance.Pendwick watched in mute fascination as a be