All Chapters of The Luna's Groom: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

167 Chapters

091| It's Just Blood

E L E A N O R It feels almost too surreal that he's awake. I’ve spent the previous night in tears, overwhelmed to the point that I couldn’t even speak because the words simply won’t come. My throat feels tight, my mind a jumble of emotions I can’t quite process. When Perseus finally walks into the room this morning, I look up to see him smiling at me, a warmth in his eyes that somehow feels both reassuring and heartbreaking. He kicks off his boots casually, as if he’s just returned from a routine meeting, but I sense the weight he carries. I sit at the vanity table, carefully cleaning off my makeup, my hands a little shaky. Today has been quite eventful, and I’ve had to handle more than I expected. While he’s here in the castle, I’ve been busy approving documents for new stores at Eleanor’s Court, a task that’s daunting in its own right but also strangely motivating. It feels good to be included in this, even if just a little. I appreciate the fact that I am part of something b

092| Just Let Her Be

P E R S E U S When I return to the bedroom, I find Eleanor lying on the bed, humming softly with her eyes closed, as if she’s already drifting asleep. I slip into some loose, comfortable clothes, the kind I wear when I want to unwind without any pretenses. Carefully, I approach her, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?” I ask softly, my voice full of concern. “Hmm… I just got a little tired,” she murmurs, not opening her eyes. She yawns again, her body relaxing into the bed. Gently, I lay down beside her, slipping my arm underneath her waist as she lets out another yawn, her head resting on my chest. I adjust the sheets to cover her fully, feeling the warmth of her body. But then I notice—her skin is suddenly steaming hot, even though she seemed fine just moments ago. “You don’t look okay, darling,” I say quietly, my brow furrowing. “I’m just tired,” she repeats softly. I hesitate, then whisper, “I’m sorry.” “For?” “I’m sorry for worrying you while I was unconscious,”

093| That's How Dangerous It Is

P E R S E U S The next morning, she wakes up wrapped in my arms, softly yawning as her eyelids flutter open. She fixes her gaze on mine with a gentle smile, as if last night’s argument had never happened, as if everything between us was perfectly fine. I could barely sleep, still overwhelmed by the awe I felt when I sensed the baby kick—felt it with my own hand, in disbelief. That moment had hit me hard, real and raw. The reality settling in that I’m going to be a father now. But what hit me even harder was the gnawing thought that this child might be the reason she could be taken away from me. The possibility of losing her, of losing everything, lurked like a shadow in the back of my mind. I swear to myself, I will find a way to prove Asmodeus lied. I will, sooner or later, no matter what it takes. “Good morning,” I greet softly, my voice husky from exhaustion and emotion. “Good morning,” she whispers back, sliding her hand around my waist. She pulls me closer, her face p

094| Ugly Lies, Very Ugly Lies.

P E R S U E S When I finally make my way back to the house, I’m met with a strange, heavy silence hanging in the air. Eleanor is already seated at the dinner table, waiting for me, her posture tense but composed. She’s there, sitting upright, eyes flickering with an unreadable expression, as if she’s trying to hold herself together. I join her, partly to find some semblance of calm amidst the chaos raging inside me, knowing full well that I’ve been told two things today that could ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to build. First, I learned that my mother likely had an affair with my enemy. That revelation alone is enough to shatter what little stability remains. Second, I could be related to him—connected to the very man I’ve been fighting against all my life—and worst of all, my wife is carrying a child that might be capable of killing her. The weight of this knowledge presses down on me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me. Did the Ashen Brotherhood know? Is that why the

095| Of All Things To Lie About

P E R S E U S “I lied… I lied about the pregnancy. I’m not pregnant, Perseus. I lied.” At first, I thought I didn’t hear her properly. I stood there, blinking. My ears must’ve deceived me. Maybe she said it wrong. Or maybe I imagined it altogether. Because this—this couldn’t be happening. It had to be a joke, a sick one. I felt it… didn’t I? I felt the baby kick. I remember placing my hand there. I remember the warmth, the flutter. That wasn’t made up, was it? “What are you talking about?” I ask, though my voice barely comes out, like it’s stuck somewhere in my chest. My mind is scrambling, trying to rearrange the pieces she just scattered. “I’m not pregnant. I never was. I panicked. The massacre happened, everyone turned on me. Then my father would attack and you—” she hesitates, like saying the words out loud would make it worse, “you would probably kill me too. I had to do something—” “You wanted the throne?” I mutter, more to myself than her, the words slipping through

096| Slowly Killing Her

E L E A N O R Two days. Perseus hasn’t spoken to me since that night — the night I dared to ruin everything by revealing something I should have kept locked inside. When I told him I was heading to Clawford to finalize Caspian’s appointment, he gave me a quick kiss on my cheek and lips right there at the entrance of his office before turning back inside to discuss things with Severus. It felt almost mechanical, like a routine gesture stripped of warmth. And the guilt that churned inside me only made it worse. He hadn’t said a single word about filing any official report to inform the public or about revoking my position as Luna. Just silence. Cold, plain, suffocating silence. The kind that presses down on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. I can tell he’s trying to accept it with as much calm as he can muster. I see it in how he holds back his rage, how he forces himself to stay present even though the hurt in his voice when I told him still lingers like a shadow, hauntin

097| And The Woman Who Painted Her

E L E A N O R The studio is dusty. Not just slightly dusty—years-of-neglect dusty. Every piece of canvas is covered with white sheets, all yellowed with age. Even the grand piano, sitting in the center like an old ghost of music past, is veiled in a thin, brittle cloth. I hold a lantern in my hand, the flame flickering with every step as I carefully make my way across the creaky wooden floor, weaving through dusty tables, brittle palettes crusted with dried paint, and jars full of forgotten, hardened brushes. I reach the window and push it open. It creaks loudly, resisting me at first, before finally yielding. Light spills into the room in a rush, cutting through the gloom like a sword. It bounces off the glass jars, hits the white sheets and reveals more than I was prepared for. Cobwebs lace across the corners of the walls and dangle from the shelves like nature’s forgotten decorations. Dust particles float mid-air, dancing in the sunlight like they’ve been waiting for an audi

098| There’s No Other Possibility.

E L E A N O R I search through the room, my fingers brushing over shelves, digging through cabinets, scanning for anything that could serve as proof. The vision I had was one thing. That glimpse, that eerie clarity—it might’ve been a warning. But I need something solid. Tangible. Real. I open every drawer, check behind every picture frame, knocking gently on the walls for hidden hollows. Trinkets are scattered around, random, almost meaningless on their own—an old stamp book, a dusty coin collection, a broken pendant—but together, they feel like a trail. Like she left them for me. A sharp pain cuts through my stomach, sudden and violent. I pause, breath catching in my throat. I try to move again, to push through it, but it comes back, harder this time. My knees nearly buckle and I stumble backward into the chair behind me. I press my palm to my abdomen, biting down on a groan that escapes anyway. It’s not just discomfort—this is something else. The sun’s already sinking behind

099| Ungrateful Wench

E L E A N O R It's dark. Everywhere is. Thick, heavy darkness wraps around everything like a suffocating blanket. From somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls, followed by the low hoot of an owl and the constant croaking of frogs. Each sound slices through the still night, sending chills racing down my spine. The wind brushes against my bare arms—cool, sharp, almost whispering. I glance down. My feet are bare, brushing over cold, damp soil. Leaves crunch softly beneath me, dry and brittle against the moist earth. The trees around me stretch endlessly toward the sky, their canopies clawing at the clouds, blocking out what little moonlight filters through. But there’s light—unusual, eerie. The air carries a reddish tint, like something out of a nightmare. I stumble toward a small puddle, drawn by the shimmer on its surface. My breath catches in my throat. Reflected in the water is the moon, but it isn’t silver or white. It’s red. Blood red. A deep, sickening shade that churns

Volume II [The Dragon's Bride]

Dear Reader, If you’re reading this, you’ve just completed the newly revised and expanded edition of The Luna’s Groom. Every chapter has been carefully reviewed—restructured for better pacing, polished for clarity, and tightened to pull you deeper into Eleanor’s storm. This isn’t a sequel. This is the second half of the hurricane. The Dragon’s Bride begins exactly where this volume ends. There is no time jump. No easy breath. The same heartbreak still echoes. The same war still bleeds. But now, the battlefield expands. Alliances will shatter. Secrets buried in Vol. 1 will erupt. And the dragon… the dragon is no longer sleeping. What to expect in The Dragon’s Bride: · The warfront widens—faeries, ancient warlocks, and shifting loyalties. · Eleanor’s true lineage unravels. · Perseus’s transformation and what it means for the crown. · Higher stakes, sharper betrayals, and a love story forged in fire and fury. Some chapters will shift into third person as the conflict spreads acr

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