All Chapters of The Slave Who Owned The Moon: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

DARIANThe council chamber feels suffocating tonight.Elders drone on about trade routes and border patrols, their words a dull hum that should command my full attention. But I can’t focus. My eyes betray me, sliding again and again to the edge of the room.Amaya.She moves silently, almost ghostlike, carrying a tray from one elder to the next. Her head is lowered, her face carefully neutral, but I see the small things, the tightness in her shoulders, the way her burned hand flexes when she thinks no one is looking.She doesn’t look at me. Not once.That should make it easier. Instead, it makes something inside me twist until it’s unbearable.And then I see him.Lucian.Reclined in his chair, as if this meeting were a game, like nothing mattered. His arms folded lazily, his expression relaxed. But his eyes… his eyes are locked on her. Following her every movement. Drinking her in as if he owns the right.A muscle in my jaw ticks. Rage crawls beneath my skin, hot and poisonous.He does

AMAYAThanks to Lucian, my twisted ankle healed in record time, but that doesn't mean I haven't been avoiding him.I just want to snoop around in peace without him breathing down my neck every time, and it looks like he's finally decided to give me space.The corridor breathes around me like a held lung. Stone walls, torchlight, long shadows, everything is a map of places I could disappear to, if only I dared. I tell myself I am only walking, that the steps steady the tremor in my hands, that I need the cool air because the house sometimes feels too hot, too full of eyes and teeth. The truth is uglier and simpler. I am drawn toward the council wing, toward the place where men in furs sit and speak of borders and power as if those things were separate from the small, mean things that actually break people.I don't know how to explain this new fixation of mine, but I believe that I was drawn here for a reason.I pause at the mouth of the corridor because voices reach me on the hush. Th

AMAYAThe archives are too quiet tonight.Even the flicker of the torches lining the stone hallway feels muted, as if the walls themselves are listening. I press my palm against the heavy wooden door, the one I have opened too many times now, and every nerve in me screams that this is foolish, reckless, suicidal. Yet here I am again, risking it all for scraps of paper that might hold a truth I can barely imagine.The hinges groan softly as the door eases open. My breath catches, but the sound doesn’t echo. The darkness within the archives swallows me whole as I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me.I light the small candle I’ve smuggled under my cloak, the faint flame trembling like my own resolve. The shelves tower around me, ancient and looming, each crammed with dusty tomes, ledgers, scrolls bound in leather so old the stitching has begun to fray. I run my fingers over the spines, searching, desperate. Somewhere in here lies the key, not just to the Grayhides’ stren

AMAYAAlthough I don't fully understand what's going on with me. I know when my powers begin tingling on my fingertips.The fire always comes first.It starts as a glow beneath my feet, faint, harmless, like embers smoldering under ash. But then it spreads, fast, wild, shooting upward until the whole world is aflame. The air burns hot and sharp in my lungs, thick with smoke, but I don’t cough. I can’t. I just stand there, helpless, as the blaze surrounds me.And through the smoke, I spot a figure. A tall, feminine figure, and she's walking through the smoke.The woman is very tall. I feel like I haven't emphasized that enough. Her figure is shrouded in flame so bright it hurts my eyes. Her hair isn’t just catching fire, it is fire, strands whipping and snapping like molten whips in the windless heat. Her steps are deliberate, unhurried, as if she commands the inferno itself.“Who are you?” I whisper, though I don’t know if the sound leaves my lips. My voice feels swallowed by the crac

LUCIANThe council chamber was thick with the weight of too many unspoken words. Shadows clung to the vaulted ceiling, disturbed only by the flicker of torches lining the stone walls. Murmurs passed like restless winds between the elders, their eyes sharp and calculating, always looking for weakness.At the head of the chamber sat Darian, spine straight, jaw locked in that familiar iron mask he wore when the pack was watching. He was every inch the Alpha, commanding, immovable, but tonight I saw something else in him.His gaze.One of the things that made Darian such a commanding alpha was his gaze. He had a gaze that would make even the strangest soldiers cower in fear. His gaze commanded respect.I have heard a lot of the servants say that they avoided looking him in the eye because they don't want to fall under his gaze, especially when he's in a bad mood.During council meetings, he liked to move his gaze from one member to another, especially the speaking member of the council.T