บททั้งหมดของ The Slave Who Owned The Moon: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

LUCIANEvelara always smells like cold flowers, expensive, brittle things that die in a vase before you ever get to enjoy them. I catch her slipping out of one of the side corridors after dinner, no doubt fresh from whispering poison into someone’s ear.“Evelara,” I call smoothly, letting my voice carry just enough to halt her in her tracks.She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Lucian. What a surprise. Shouldn’t you be entertaining someone more… appropriate?”I smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “We need to talk.”Her painted lips curve upward. “Finally decided to take me seriously?”“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say lightly, stepping closer. “This isn’t about you. It’s about Amaya.”The name alone is enough to make her face tighten before she smooths it over again. “Ah. The little rogue. What about her?”I let the playfulness fall from my voice, layer by layer, until only the steel remains. “Stay away from her.”A sharp laugh escapes her. “Oh, Lucian. You’re cute when you’r

DARIANI was about as done with this council meeting. Like I needed it to have ended three hours ago. But I'm stuck here listening to Theron ramble on about the same thing over and over again when I had it handled.“Unrest is rot,” Theron says, each syllable clipped. He stands at the map, a charcoal stick stabbing the northern borderlands. “You don’t negotiate with rot. You cut it out before it spreads.”"We've been over this," I say. I keep my voice even, but the edges want to cut. "We send an emissary. Meet with their elders, hear the grievances, and move provisions if winter shortages are real. We enforce our laws after we try to understand why they resisted in the first place."“They resisted because they are weak,” Theron answers. “Weakness emboldens. If you show softness, you invite challenge.”Lucian slouches in his chair like the discussion bores him, but his eyes are bright, picking at everything. "Theron, you always give the same sermon," he says lightly. "Set something on f

DARIANAt this point, even I can admit I'm fast becoming a recluse.Lucian knows how I feel about Amaya. He's too smart to still be oblivious. That's one of the reasons why he won't shut up about it.If he weren't my brother, maybe I would have had him sent to the countryside. At least he wouldn't be able to taunt me from there. I know he derives enjoyment from what he's doing to me, just like he derives enjoyment from always hanging around, Amaya.And the annoying thing is that there's nothing I can do about it.I drop into the chair and stare at the reports on my desk until the letters blur. Theron is wrong about many things, but he knows how to apply pressure. There's no doubt about the fact that he will push again tomorrow, he will gather allies, feed rumors, and position his cruelty as a necessity. The elders will weigh fear against conscience and, as usual, try to pick both.It was the same old trick he had been using for as long as I'd known him.If I falter, he will use it.I

AMAYAThe whispers start before the sun clears the eastern ridge.They trail me through the kitchens and along the service hall like burrs caught in the hem of my skirt. Soft, sticky voices, casually cruel. She thinks she’s special.Did you see how Lucian looked at her?Alpha's eyes are on her, too. Rogue girls don't last long when the lady of the house decides they won't.I keep my face empty, my steps brisk. If I show teeth, I feed them. If I look hurt, they feast. I have learned that both mercy and malice linger in this house, and neither one is safe if it comes from the wrong mouth.By midmorning, my hands ache from polishing the council chamber's oak panels. By noon, I'm hauling crates of wine that should require two servants, not one. Evelara has changed the labels three times in as many days, and I suspect it has nothing to do with the wine. It’s a test. A slow squeeze to see when I’ll crack.Trish appears by the door with a basket of folded towels. Our eyes meet for half a h

DARIANThe kitchen is dark at this hour, save for the faint glow of the moon spilling through the high windows. I’m not supposed to be here, not as Alpha, not at midnight, but the restless energy in my chest won’t let me stay in bed.I tell myself I came down for a glass of water. I know I’m lying to myself the moment I hear the soft shuffle of feet and the sound of cupboards opening and closing.She’s here. Alone.Amaya’s hair has fallen loose from its tie, brushing her shoulders as she wipes down the counter. She hasn’t noticed me yet. The sight hits me harder than it should. Sleeves rolled up, face smudged with flour, eyes narrowed in concentration as if the task at hand is the only thing that matters.I clear my throat. “You’re working late.”She jumps, spinning around, eyes wide. For a heartbeat, I see something raw there, fear? Anger? Before her mask slides into place. "Alpha." Her voice is polite, even. Too polite. "Couldn't sleep?"“You could say that.” I step farther into the