Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Luna's Groom: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

P E R S E U S “I’m not being disrespectful,” Roseline mutters, clearly offended. “I’m only expressing my views.” “In a manner designed to attack more than advise,” I cut in before Eleanor can. My eyes fix on Roseline’s, daring her to argue. She falters. “Well, I’m sorry then.” “Perfect,” Eleanor says with a nod, adjusting slightly in her seat. “Now, like I was saying—this isn’t about theatrics. I’m only trying to clear my name. An interview would make me look desperate. A memorandum would make me appear disconnected, like I’m hiding behind closed doors, too afraid to face the people I’m meant to serve. I know it’s risky. I know they hate me. But I need to show them that I’m approachable. That I’m here.” I want to protest. Goodness, I do. She’s pregnant. Travelling all over Bloodthorn while carrying our child? It's insane. But the look in her eyes—steady, resolute—it stops me. This is something she’s always wanted. Something she’s capable of. And I know damn well she’s not the ki

E L E A N O R I pause briefly, letting my eyes scan the faces in the crowd as I subtly adjust the papers in my hand. Some still bristle with barely concealed anger, their jaws tight, eyes sharp and distrustful. Others listen quietly now, their expressions softened, showing signs of tentative conviction—the kind that creeps in slowly after hearing words that resonate. A flicker of hope perhaps. I keep my voice steady and firm as I continue, forcing strength into each word. “I understand the pain and the outrage that brought you all here today. The scars left by the massacre run deep—too deep to heal overnight. The safety of Bloodthorn feels threatened, especially with the cryptic notes left behind by those perpetrators. I see you. I understand your pain.” My gaze sweeps across the crowd, locking briefly with a few eyes that reflect back the same sorrow. “I was shaken to my core when I learned the attackers were werewolves—my son’s kind. But I stand here not just as your Luna-in-waitin

E L E A N O R My father is yanked up from the floor roughly, limbs jerking like a puppet cut loose from its strings, just as Perseus wraps an arm around me and pulls me into him. I'm still frozen. Stuck in place as a cold numbness crawls through my bones. My mind struggles to process the brutal clarity of what just happened. My father had tried to kill me and got taken down by a barrage of arrows before he could finish what he started. There’s blood, but more than that, there's betrayal hanging thick in the air. I didn’t want him dead. At least, not like this. Not as a hunted man brought to his knees. Perseus just took the last blood relative I had left, and I don’t even know how to react to that. My thoughts are a mess, my body heavy. I feel the warmth of Perseus’s palm as it slides around my wrist. My breath stumbles. I turn my head slowly to meet his gaze. “He’s not dead. Just tranquilized,” he says, his voice low and steady, but not exactly gentle. Just then, one of the g

P E R S E U S “How is that even possible?” I mutter under my breath, disbelief thick in my voice. I saw Ravon’s crest myself, the mark burned into my mind—my blood, my very own veins, revealed the map’s intricate details as if it was carved into my soul. It should have been impossible for anyone to forge such a connection, yet here I am, questioning everything I thought I knew. “I’m as confused as you are,” Severus grunts, handing the crumpled letter over to me with a resigned sigh. His expression is tight, like he’s been running through a storm of doubts just as much as I have. Without wasting a moment, I skim through the letter, my eyes darting over the words with sharp focus. I skip the formal greetings, the pleasantries that don’t matter now, and zero in on the core message—what’s truly important. [ After weeks of relentless searching, our efforts have proven to be utterly fruitless. The map refuses to stay still; it keeps shifting, evading us at every turn. We’ve gone in circl

E L E A N O R “And we’re done,” Gertrude grins, stepping back to admire her work. I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The crimson ball gown takes up most of the glass, a waterfall of silk and embroidery. My shoes are flat, chosen for comfort over height. A black gemstone jewelry set sits perfectly against my throat, heavy and cold. My hair has been styled into an intricate bun, accessorized with luxurious hairpins and a small, delicate tiara. I look gorgeous, there is no doubt about that. But the turmoil within me is a living thing, hard to conceal underneath the layers of makeup. Perseus left earlier, as I asked him to. I can’t ride in the same carriage with him. Over the last few days, I tried my best to get personally involved with the final preparations for the ball. It was the perfect excuse to avoid him, to steal moments alone with my dread. My encounter with Ravon in the courtyard haunts every quiet moment. My nightmares have returned, but they have changed.