Chapter 15

Elora’s POV

Yes, he just said it. Well, everyone already knows me as Luna, but something about him saying this felt off. 

The festival’s noise just wouldn’t leave my head; it felt like it was stowed away in my ears, hanging around long after the lanterns sputtered out. The hall reeked of wine that’d gone everywhere except the goblets, roast meat, roses that were pretty hours ago but now just sagged off the pillars looking tragic. My feet? Screaming murder after standing, smiling, and doing the “good evening, Your Grace” routine to a ton of nobles and warriors who looked at me like I was actually important. Weird feeling. My throat felt like sandpaper from all that polite nonsense, but deep down? I kept replaying Dominic’s words.

The sound still echoed between my ears. “This is Elora. My Luna.”

Four words, and my whole world tilted sideways. I had braced for him to brush me aside, shove me into the shadows like usual, especially when Mira was around. But he pulled me into the daylight, right in front of everybody. The crowd lost it. Cheering, clapping. I almost cried too, which would have been so embarrassing.

I was introduced as a normal person, not an inconvenient package deal. For a moment, I was real.

But you know how these things go. That feeling didn’t last long. The minute the music died down and servants started scraping up the plates, Dominic just migrated straight toward Mira, all casual, like I wasn’t even there.

Told myself not to look. Didn’t work. Saw the way his eyes got all soft when she got close, his whole body relaxed. Then she whispered something, and he laughed, that crooked smile was saved just for her. 

And then Mira looked at me. Not a friendly look, either more like she wanted me to drop dead on the spot. Steel-cold, sharp enough it pinned me in place. She flashed this little smile, as if asking what I was going to do about it?” I did nothing. Just dropped my eyes, and whatever pride I had left shriveled like an overcooked vegetable.

I needed to get out of here, fast.

I pasted on a fake smile for Dominic, I could barely force out, “I’ll leave you to your guests. I… wanted to spend some time with Dante.”

He didn’t even look at me. Just waved, the laziest little flick of his hand, dismissed me like I was some random staff member.

Honestly, that wave stung worse than Mira’s mean glare.

I didn’t risk saying another word. If my voice cracked, they would both see me cry. I booked it out of there, the tail of my dress hissing on the stone floor as those glittering chandeliers faded behind me and the nobles’ laughter turned fake again.

I stepped outside. Instantly felt the night chill, cooler than I expected, smelled like pine sap and old campfires. Most of the torches were dying out, leaving this silvery moonlit glow in the gardens. I walked the paths, hoping for some zen, but my brain just gnawed on itself.

Pride wrestled humiliation inside me, and resentment spiked everywhere. 

Dominic had been all show-and-tell out there, but in private? Shrug. Was I just his trophy Luna? A prop when he needed to look loyal, but never someone he’d pick when no one was watching?

Chest tight, I crept to the end of the garden. There’s this fountain water bubbling over cold marble, like it could just drown out everything if I let it. Sat on the edge, palms braced on the stone, forcing a few deep breaths.

And then, someone said my name.

“Elora.”

Dante. 

Because of course he’d find me.

He lingered half in shadow, moonlight catching streaks in his hair, face unreadable. I just stared. For a second, neither of us spoke. Awkward pause stretched on forever.

“You shouldn’t jump out at people,” I whispered, heart jackhammering even though I had seen it was him.

He grinned, kind of. “Didn’t sneak. You just looked… gone.”

Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. Probably could have set off fireworks behind me and I would miss it.

“Why aren’t you at the ball?” My voice barely shook. 

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it. I’ve had enough bad wine for one lifetime.” Then his eyes gentled. “Figured I’d find you out here.”

Something fluttered in my chest. I focused on the fountain instead, tracing circles on the stone with one finger. “You shouldn’t look for me. People talk.”

He snorted, softer than I expected. “They started talking the day I didn’t take your no for an answer.”

His words landed heavily between us, so much so that we’d never said. I wanted to tell him to stop, to leave it, but I needed him there. I needed someone real.

He stepped in, close enough I could count the specks of gravel crunching under his boots. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

My cheeks instantly turned red. You’d think I would get used to a compliment, but coming from him, it could take my breath away.

“Dante,” I warned, except it sounded about as threatening as a kitten.

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped an octave. “When Dominic got up and called you Luna? The way you straightened up, the whole room noticed. You owned it. You always have, I just wish they would finally see it like I do.”

Swallowing felt like torture. His eyes, those eyes, like he could see through every facade I’d ever thrown up.

“Don’t,” I croaked out. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

Because you make it impossible, I almost yelled. Instead, I muttered, “It makes everything harder. Hard to think straight. It's hard to remember where the lines are.”

He didn’t say a word, didn’t even breathe, just looked at me. Then suddenly, he closed the gap, moving in until there was barely space for air between us. His scent hit me. Smoky, leathery, and devastatingly him.

He spoke, just above a whisper. “Maybe the right thing isn’t what you think. Maybe you should just trust what you feel for once.”

My heart was pounding like it wanted out. I wanted to push him away. Should have. Instead my body just… leaned in. Because apparently, I’m weak for trouble.

Flashes ran through my mind. Dominic, bored and dismissive. Mira, glaring daggers. Every night, I felt more alone, even surrounded by people, even married.

Especially married.

And then, Dante. The only one whom I had ever truly loved...or still love

“Dante…” My voice was a mess.

He raised his hand slowly, almost shakily, letting his thumb graze my cheek. A single touch, my entire spine lit up like someone threw a match on dry grass.

Common sense? Out the window. Regret? Not yet.

I met his gaze, got lost for a beat, and just stood there, caught in all that longing.

The air thickened, pulled tight like strings about to snap.

Then he kissed me.