Novels by Vexa Moon

EsmeThe kitchens of the palace are a city of their own.Firelight licks the undersides of iron pans. Steam rolls off great copper pots, a butcher’s block gleams wet beneath a cleaver. Knives flash, not as weapons but as instruments, and the rhythm of work is so relentless I forget to breathe for a few heartbeats.“Eyes forward,” Rastin murmurs. His hand grazes my elbow as if to steer, and I force myself to be air, something that moves and goes unnoticed.A man with broad shoulders and salt at his temples stands near the main hearth, watching it all with an expression that says he knows where every ingredient in this room is and where it will end up. When he turns, the noise bends around him. The staff don’t stare, exactly, but they listen without needing to be told.“Marek,” Rastin says, voice smoothed to something respectful. “New hands. From the north route.”Marek’s gaze slides over Joren and Hannah and stops on Marla long enough for her chin to lift. He doesn’t smile, but somethi

EsmeThe carriage is quiet except for the rumble of the wheels on the packed ground outside. The curtains to the windows on each side have been drawn shut since I stepped inside almost three weeks ago. Rastin does not say much, but he does stare a lot. It was uncomfortable in the beginning, but I learned to ignore it during the ride. We set out each morning by sunrise, and I am up before that to do my shadow dances, the routine from my home still in my veins. I then find the maps of the palace father packed for me, study them for a while to find the best ways to get near the King, and then it’s repetition of poison, strikes, ways to infiltrate. The last done in the carriage as we set out. Around sunset we halt for the day at an Inn of some kind, Rastin gives me my tonic and I swallow it down without accident. I am not going to discuss this with him right now. I have a plan for this when I arrive at the palace. The Inns are not the best there is, but not the worst either. The floors

Esme The sky has the grey tint that indicates dawn is near, painting the hard training ground in dreamlike colors. We’ve already been out here for hours, and we’ll be here for hours yet to come. My training clothes itch, the raw white fabric scratching every time I move. I breathe heavily, trying to get myself together. Father stands to the side, his eyebrows raised, his dark eyes giving me his signature cold stare. I learned from early childhood that not pleasing him meant punishment for me and my mother, who he is keeping as a prisoner at this point to have emotional leverage over me. And although I’m 19 now, I do not have a choice on what I do, say or think. I have to do as he wants, or my mother is going to suffer the consequences of my actions. Besides, I’m just a lowly Omega he has trained to be the perfect secret in the palace where everyone has a secret or five. “Again” He says, crossing his arms. I raise the knives, my hands shaking from the effort. In front of me is my