All Chapters of Dragon Born Luna : Chapter 21 - Chapter 25

Kiara The sky was still pitch black when I felt someone kick me off the bed hard enough to send me tumbling onto the floor of my new chambers. I sent a silent thanks to Ryden for the ridiculously large (and aggressively purple) but soft rug that broke my fall. I sat up groggily to find Julise humming a tune and looking like she'd just had a full night's rest and a double shot of something strong. “Wakey wakey, baby dragon,” she sang, dropping a bundle of dark fabric onto my head. “We’ve got exactly forty-three minutes before the kitchen staff starts their rounds, and I’d rather not explain why the Alpha’s favorite stray is sneaking around with me at this ungodly hour.” I peeled the silk from my face, blinking at her. The single candle she held threw sharp shadows across her annoyingly chipper expression. “Do you wake everyone by assaulting their furniture, or am I special?” “Special,” she confirmed, already strapping knives to her thighs with the casual efficiency of

Ryden The grandfather clock in the west wing chimed three times as I slipped through the shadowed corridors. My boots made no sound against the marble floors,a skill honed from years of navigating palace politics in silence. The guards at my door didn’t even blink as I passed, merely stepping aside with practiced deference. They’d learned long ago not to question where the Alpha King went after dark. The brass knob turned easily in my hand. Unlocked. Of course it was. The woman survived poisoned tea and assassination attempts daily, yet still couldn’t be bothered with basic security. Moonlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting silver stripes across the rumpled bedsheets. Mira lay curled on her side, one bandaged hand tucked beneath her cheek, Julise nowhere in sight. The blanket had slipped to her waist, revealing the thin linen shift she slept in. In sleep, without her usual armor of sarcasm and steel, she looked younger. More vulnerable. The dark circles under her

Ryden The hinges screamed like a dying animal as I forced open Lady Dain's warped study door. The scent hit me in waves. First the coppery tang of fresh blood, so thick I could taste it on my tongue, then beneath it, the musty perfume of old paper and cracked leather bindings. Commander Jaret lifted a shattered oil lamp from the wreckage, his face grim in the flickering light. "No signs of struggle elsewhere in the house, Your Majesty. But this room..." His boot nudged an overturned inkpot, the viscous black stain spreading across the priceless Qalathi rug like a fresh bruise. I stepped deeper into the chaos, my fingers trailing along the splintered remains of what had been Dain's prized bookshelves. The female scholar had been our foremost expert on every obscure text from here to the southern isles. Her study was a temple to knowledge, floor-to-ceiling shelves carved from black walnut, each compartment precisely measured to house volumes of varying ages and sizes. Scroll cases