Alle Kapitel von Will Bear the Moon: Kapitel 321 – Kapitel 330

*Anastasia* "Sir Pendwick," I manage, steadying my voice even as my stomach plummets like a stone dropped from the palace tower. The muscles in my face move by habit, not ease—a mask I've worn countless times sliding into place. I force the corners of my mouth to lift, polite but not too warm—just enough. My voice rings hollow in my own ears as I shape it into something graceful, something imperial."You would like a dance?""Ah, um, if you don't mind? I mean, if it's not too much trouble." Pendwick steps forward, his face flushed—not just with color, but with a slick sheen, as though the very air around him burns hotter than the rest of the ballroom. His palm brushes his jacket's hem—then halts mid-motion as if caught in a forbidden act. He stiffens with a swallow that bobs visibly in his throat, eyes flicking once, nervously, to my hands."Of course he does, Ana!" Father bellows with a slap to Pendwick's back, the sound cracking through the air like summer thunder, drowning the mus

*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

*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

*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

*Hidi*Laughter bubbled up again from Hidi's throat like fine champagne—deep, rich, and unmistakably hers. The sound carried a tremor of victory, of finally having everything exactly as it should be. Her skirts flared wide with each step, the emerald velvet catching candlelight like captured starfire. The weight of the fabric against her legs felt like armor, like power made tangible. She loved the way it drew eyes—the sharp intake of breath from onlookers, the involuntary step backward. Loved even more the way people scrambled to get out of her way.The vampires danced as if afraid of their own sleeves—stiff-backed, too dignified, too correct. Every movement measured to the point of suffocation. Every step more tradition than joy, their bodies held so rigidly they might snap if they bent too far. The scent of their fear clung to the air like expensive perfume gone sour—all bergamot and bitter herbs. Very much like Nochten and its vampires to make even a dance something dull and restra