All Chapters of The Heart of the Queen: Legacy of The Moonborn: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Lucien’s POV The gardens were quieter than I remembered. Or perhaps I was simply more aware of silence now. The fountains still ran. The white lilies still bloomed along the curved stone paths. The air carried the faint sweetness of early spring. And in the center of it all— She walked alone. Aria moved slowly along the gravel path, fingers brushing absently against the tops of hedges as if she were reacquainting herself with texture. The sun caught in her white hair, making it almost luminous. From a distance, she looked exactly like herself. Untouchable. Regal. But I had seen her eyes up close. And they had not been the eyes of the woman I loved. I had thought long and hard since she ordered me to leave. Antagonizing her would only push her further away. If something had fractured inside her during those months in the void, the last thing she needed was hostility. She needed patience. Understanding. Space. I only hoped—foolishly perhaps—that the Aria I knew was still

Aria’s POV I wore red for him. Not the soft crimson I had once favored centuries ago—but something deeper. Rich. Seductive. The fabric clung to my curves and dipped low at my back, sheer enough at the sides to promise rather than reveal. When I entered Cael’s chambers, he looked up from the firelight. And stopped breathing. “Well,” I said softly, closing the door behind me, “we won’t be distracted anymore.” Lucien had left. One obstacle removed. Cael crossed the room slowly, like a man approaching something sacred—and dangerous. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he murmured, though his hands were already on my waist. “I’m perfectly recovered,” I replied. That part, at least, was true. His restraint lasted all of two seconds. He kissed me with a hunger that felt almost desperate. Weeks—months—of tension poured into that single touch. His hands slid down my spine, pulling me flush against him. Yes. That was more like it. We stumbled toward the bed, laughter and heat tangling

Aria’s POV They dressed me in silver and cobalt boye. At least, that was how the fabric felt against my skin—liquid silk that shimmered every time I moved. The gown hugged my waist and flared subtly at the hips, regal without being excessive. Power did not need decoration. Power simply was. Cael stood behind me as attendants finished pinning the final strands of my hair. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders, his gaze fixed on my reflection in the mirror. “You’ll be fine,” he said. I tilted my head slightly, studying myself. Fine. Such a small word. “I was born to rule,” I replied coolly. “They will remember that soon enough.” I was going to make them. Clearly Aria hadn’t been strict enough if they had the audacity to counter her rule even in the slightest. A faint smile curved his lips. “I haven’t been part of the council for that long either so I can’t help much. But I know for fact that they won’t challenge you openly or directly.” “They won’t dare,” I said. He chuckl

Aria’s POV He came earlier than I expected. But he’d came nonetheless. I’d expected it. When the council brought up marriage, an alliance, I knew he’d come to pitch his case to protect Aria. The sun had barely risen, pale gold light slipping through the tall windows of my chambers when the knock sounded at the door. I already knew who it was. “Enter,” I called, not bothering to turn from the mirror. Ronan stepped inside quietly. He had always moved like that—controlled, deliberate. A warrior who understood the weight of space. I studied him through the reflection. He did not bow. He did not smile. Interesting. Cael had confronted me the night before. His pride had cracked too easily. Perhaps he had not told Ronan outright that he’d been right. Or perhaps Ronan had always known. He didn’t greet me as if I were fragile. He didn’t look at me as if I might break. “I won’t insult you by pretending I don’t see it,” he said calmly. Ah. So we were dispensing with games this mo

Aria’s POV They chose the palest silver silk material for the outer layer. Too soft. Too delicate. Everything I was not. I stood on the raised platform in my chambers while three seamstresses adjusted the bodice, their fingers trembling slightly as they worked. The gown flowed like liquid moonlight down my frame, threaded with faint starlit embroidery that shimmered when I moved. “It needs structure,” I said absently. “Strength. Not fragility.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” one whispered. A knock sounded at the door. One of the guards stepped in and bowed. “The Commander… and the others request an audience.” The others. How quaint. I didn’t turn. “It would be improper for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony.” A pause. “Tell them to wait in the common area. I will join them shortly.” The guard withdrew. I allowed the seamstresses to finish, then dismissed them. Once alone, I changed into something simpler—a dark fitted gown with no embelli