บททั้งหมดของ The Slave Who Owned The Moon: บทที่ 111 - บทที่ 120

AMAYAI couldn’t sleep.No matter how many times I closed my eyes, the words bled back into my mind, the sharp, merciless ink of his father’s hand. No survivors. The phrase clung to me like smoke, filling my chest until I thought I might choke on it.Yet here I was. Alive. Breathing. Proof that the Grayhides’ massacre hadn’t been as complete as they believed. Proof that fate, or chance, or something darker, had spared me.And Lucian had known.I sat on the edge of my bed, the sheets twisted around me, my palms clammy. My body felt like a cage for the storm inside me, grief, rage, betrayal, and something I refused to name because it felt too much like longing.I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to hear him. But it was as though Lucian’s shadow had fastened itself to mine, dogging every step, every breath. His persistence was a weight pressing on me from all directions. And I hated him for it. I hated him because some part of me also wanted it.A faint knock rattled the door. I

LUCIANThe sun barely crests over the rooftops when I leave my quarters, the cold biting into the air. Sleep hasn’t come easily since Amaya’s confrontation, since the look on her face when she discovered what I’d hidden. I can still see it. The betrayal in her eyes, the sharp intake of breath before she stormed out. I thought I was protecting her by keeping the Varyn records from her. Now it feels like I’ve done the opposite.She hasn’t spoken to me since. Not one glance in my direction, not even when we cross paths in the corridors. She’s building walls around herself again, the same ones I worked so hard to break through.But I can’t afford to stay frozen in regret. She’s planning something. I can feel it. And whatever it is, it’s dangerous.By the time I reach the training field, the guards are already rotating shifts. I spot the one I’m looking for near the stables, a young sentry named Harlan. He’s sharp enough to think for himself, quiet enough not to ask unnecessary questions.

LUCIANThe night air bites colder than before. Even after the shouting dies down, the scent of fear still lingers over the compound. They’re searching for ghosts now, but I know the truth.Someone tipped Theron off.I move along the shadows behind the east wing, every sense tuned to the smallest shift. My steps are silent against the frost-hardened ground. From here, I can hear the low murmur of guards at the lower barracks, too hushed for a normal night.“Theron wants confirmation before dawn,” one of them mutters.I move closer, hugging the wall.The second guard grunts. “You think he’ll actually question them all?”“He’ll start with the servants,” the first answers, tone wary. “He said he’s got someone feeding him names.”Feeding him names.A leak.My jaw tightens. The only ones with access to that kind of information are those closest to Darian or to Evelara. And I'd bet anything the Luna's hands aren't as clean as she pretends.The guards shuffle off, their boots scraping over gr

LUCIANThe courtyard still hums from the bell’s echo. Soldiers move fast, the way they do when fear and duty mix in their blood. Evelara’s voice drips honey over command, but I see the steel underneath. She’s baiting the trap.“Take her,” she says.The two warriors close in. Amaya stands perfectly still. The air around her feels charged, the kind of stillness before lightning hits. Her fingers twitch once. I catch her eye. A warning passes between us.“Enough,” I say, stepping forward.Evelara turns, her lips curving. “Brother Lucian. You should learn when to stay silent. Elder Theron gave orders.”“Theron’s orders go through the Alpha,” I reply. “And Darian isn’t here.”The guards hesitate. I move closer. “Touch her, and you’ll answer to me.”Evelara tilts her head. “You forget your place.”“Maybe I never had one.”Her eyes flash, icy blue fire. “You think you can play hero to a servant? Be careful, Lucian. You don’t know what she really is.”“I know enough.”Behind her, the second b

LUCIANThe silver hits like winter.Threads bite skin. Wolfsbane burns my lungs. The net closes over us and drags down. Trish cries out. Amaya stiffens, teeth bared, eyes bright like storm glass.“Do not fight it,” I whisper. “It tightens when you thrash.”She stills. I find the anchor knots by feel. Council weave. Four braids. One master line.Boots crash through brush. Torches flare above the bank. Theron’s voice comes cold and neat.“Alive,” he says. “The rogue first. The others if they do not bleed on me.”Two shadows break from the line. Chains rattle. Iron cuffs. My skin prickles.I slide my knife into the mesh and test an edge. The blade skips. Silver laughs.“Lucian,” Trish whispers. “I cannot breathe.”“Hold on.”I look at the river. Black and fast. The net is a sail. Water is a knife. Soak it. Weight it. Rot the knots with cold and grit.“On my count,” I say. “We go backward.”Amaya shakes her head. “They will shoot.”“They will miss,” I say. “They do not know how much they