017

– Maureen Laurent

The fireflies danced like fallen stars, their golden light weaving through the frozen air, casting a soft glow over the thorned arches and snow-dusted benches. Vuk’s magic hummed around us — warm, alive, impossible.

And the crown… gods, the crown on my head felt like a dream made real: delicate flames shaped into roses and thorns, weightless but burning with gentle heat.

I touched it again, fingers trembling, gasping as the lights shimmered under my touch.

Vuk watched me, golden eyes soft in the aurora’s light, like he was seeing something holy.

“You are already my queen,” he whispered, voice thick with reverence. “In every way that matters. The crown is yours whenever you choose it — not because the moon demands, but because my heart kneels to you alone. You are the light that ends my darkness, Maureen. The breath in my immortal lungs. The only eternity I crave.”

Chills raced down my spine. My heart kicked — hard, erratic.

“I would burn the stars themselves to see you smile like this,” he continued, stepping closer, large hands framing my face so gently it ached. “I curse the centuries without you, and bless every second with you in it. You are my salvation, my moon, my everything — bond or no bond, I am yours until the gods fall and the world ends.”

The words wrapped around me like his arms — warm, overwhelming, too much.

Tears pricked hot and sudden.

What had I done to deserve this?

Me — the broken girl from the auction block, collared and whipped, betrayed by the one man I’d trusted before. What had I ever done but survive? And now this… this devil on his knees, offering eternity like it was nothing.

I didn’t deserve it.

The crown felt heavy suddenly — a beautiful lie.

“Vuk…” I whispered, voice cracking.

His thumbs brushed my cheeks, catching the first tear.

“Little moon?”

I pulled back slightly, the fireflies blurring through my lashes.

“What have I done to deserve this?” The words spilled out, soft and shattered. “This love… it’s too much. Too good. I’m not… I haven’t earned it. I’m just me — weak, scared, barely holding on. You give and give, and what do I bring? Doubt? Rejection?”

Sobs built, choking me.

I turned away, hugging myself in the cold, tears freezing on my cheeks.

The fireflies dimmed slightly, as if sensing my pain.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind — gentle, not trapping.

“You deserve the universe because you exist,” he murmured against my hair, voice low and fervent. “You survived hell and still shine like the moon. You make a devil kneel and dream of light. That’s what you’ve done, Maureen — you’ve made me feel. After centuries of ash, you are my fire.”

I leaned back into him, sobs shaking my frame.

He turned me slowly, cupping my face again.

“You hold my heart in these small hands,” he whispered, pressing my palm to his chest — his heartbeat thundering under my fingers. “And if it takes eternity, I’ll prove you deserve every beat.”

The dam broke.

I rose on tiptoes, hands fisting in his shirt, and pulled him down.

Our lips met — soft at first, tentative, my tears salting the kiss.

Then deeper.

I poured everything into it: the doubt, the fear, the overwhelming love I did feel, bond or no.

He groaned low, arms banding around me — careful, reverent — kissing me back like I was his air.

The fireflies swirled brighter, the crown glowing warmer on my head.

In that moment, under the stars, I held him.

The kiss slowed, turned endless — breaths mingling, hands exploring gently over clothes. He pulled me down with him, laying back on the soft snow that his magic warmed beneath us.

We lay there tangled — my head on his chest, his fingers stroking my hair, the fireflies drifting lazy patterns above like our own private aurora.

“I could stay here forever,” I whispered.

“Then we will,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple.

Sleep came soft and unexpected — wrapped in his coat, his arms, the crown still glowing faintly.

I woke to warm sunlight filtering through the thorns — scorching on my skin compared to the eternal night.

Vuk was already awake, smiling down at me — rare, real, devastating.

“Good morning, my moon.”

I smiled back, cheeks heating.

“Let’s go in,” he said softly, scooping me up effortlessly.

We bathed together — the massive obsidian tub filled with steaming water scented pine and hellfire. He washed my hair, fingers gentle on my scalp. I returned the favor, tracing scars and glowing veins, kissing his shoulder bite.

Whispers and laughter echoed — soft touches, lingering kisses, no rush.

After, breakfast in bed — him feeding me bites, stealing kisses between.

Then duty called. He left with one last lingering kiss.

“I’ll return soon.”

The chambers felt empty without him.

I asked Livia for yarn and hooks — something to do with my hands.

She brought soft black wool, needles, patterns.

I started crocheting — secret, shy — a sweater for him. Oversized, warm, with subtle lunar patterns in silver thread. My first gift. Something made by my hands, for the male who deserved everything.

Hours passed in quiet stitches.

A knock.

“Lady Maureen,” Livia said. “Lady Nyxara requests to see you.”

I set the half-finished sweater aside, heart fluttering.

Nyxara waited in the lounge — tail curled, violet eyes curious.

“How are you, pearl?” she asked, voice low. “Heard you had a… eventful night.”

I blushed. “Better. Thank you.”

She smiled — sharp but not unkind.

“I’m here to keep you company. Boredom is a sin in this fortress.”

“What do you want to do, pearl?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

Her grin widened.

“Come. Let me show you the real dominion.”

She led me through hidden corridors — courtrooms with obsidian thrones and whispering elders, training halls echoing with clashes, libraries stacked with ancient tomes glowing runes.

“These are the places power breathes,” she said. “And schemes.”

In a narrow hall, a maid hurried past — tray of infernal wine unbalanced — and bumped me hard.

Wine splashed across my gown — deep red staining sheer silk.

The maid gasped, dropping to knees. “Lady! Forgive—”

I steadied her gently. “It’s alright. Accidents happen.”

Nyxara watched, eyes wide.

The maid scurried away, relieved.

“So gentle…” Nyxara murmured, almost to herself.

I looked down at the stain, shrugging.

She stepped closer, voice low.

“Gentleness can’t survive under the wickedness of men, pearl. Not in this world.”