Lahat ng Kabanata ng Between Destiny's Chains and Moonlight (Book series): Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

The East Wing of the Palace felt less like a Royal suite and more like a gilded interrogation chamber. Grey marble stretched endlessly underfoot, cold and indifferent, while vaulted ceilings loomed overhead like the ribs of a giant stone beast. And the mirrors, there were far too many of them, multiplied every exhaustion-lined flaw a hundredfold, forcing me to watch my own unraveling from every angle. I stood on the dressing dais, my feet aching with a rhythmic throb, while the staff hovered in the shadows like frightened birds waiting for a predator to strike. But it wasn’t just the servants. Elara sauntered toward the fireplace, where a heavy mahogany drink cabinet stood stocked for the elite. She poured herself a glass of something amber and ruinously expensive, the liquid swirling like molten honey against the crystal. Her platinum hair fell in a flawless, shimmering sheet down her back

The fallout from the ‘Slap Heard Round the East Wing’ was swift and, frankly, hilarious. Romani had kept his word, scrubbing Elara and her brother from my sight as if they were a pair of stubborn ink stains. In their place, he had sent in the heavy artillery: Elizabeth. Elizabeth was Romani’s old nanny, a woman who looked like she was made of equal parts gingerbread and iron filings. “Honestly, dear, I’ve wanted to smack that girl since she was six and threw a tantrum over the color of her pony,” Elizabeth chirped. “You’ve done us all a service. Now, stand up straight. We have twelve centuries of history to cram into your head before tomorrow, and I refuse to let you walk into that ballroom looking like a lost puppy.” Training with Elizabeth was a whirlwind of dry wit and surprisingly practical advice. “When the King speaks to you,” she continued, adjusting the posture of my shoulders with

I remained pinned to the rough pine bark, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm that I feared the beast might hear. Every pulse of my blood felt like a drumbeat in the silence of the Solstice night. And then, impossibly, the creature shifted. Where the beast had crouched moments before, a man now stood. A Shaman! He was older, his hair a wild cascade of gray, his beard a tangled mess of unkempt strands. A sharp, pointed mustache lent his face a sinister, aristocratic edge despite the rags he wore. His garments were strange, marked with ancient symbols and hand-painted patterns that whispered of forgotten, macabre rituals. He looked ancient, but I knew better than to trust appearances. Shamans wore age like a mask, their shabby exteriors concealing a power that ignored time. ‘So it truly is a Shaman,’ Era snarled, low and dangerous. ‘What was he planning for us? Romani warned that they use our blood

When the silence finally settled over the chamber, it felt heavier than the darkness. I just lay there, staring at the intricate carvings on the ceiling, winding vines and snarling wolves etched into the dark wood that seemed to pulse with a life of its own in the moonlight. My breath was shallow and uneven. To be entirely honest, it was the most volcanic experience of my life. I had arrived at the Palace a virgin, guarded and cynical, but this Prince had dismantled every defense I possessed. The mate bond was a treacherous, beautiful lie, it made the violation of my plans feel like a victory. For a fleeting moment, as the adrenaline receded, I simply didn't care about the world outside this bed. The betrayal, the Shaman, and the Secretary’s oily voice temporarily seemed like ghosts from a past life. Romani’s arm draped over me, a heavy, possessive weight that claimed my body as his territory. He was wide

A Love To FollowWith a violent start I woke, my breath hitching as the cool air of the room hit my damp skin. Sweat streaked down my forehead, and my body shook with the electric aftershocks of a pleasure so fierce it felt like fire tearing through my veins, leaving me breathless and undone.It was those eyes again.Endless, piercing blue, chasing me through the dream I had just escaped. They hunted me there, relentless, unyielding, until I could no longer run. And when they caught me, I was lost. Their gaze stripped me bare, pulling me into a place where I surrendered to every hidden longing I had tried to bury. Even now, awake, I could still feel them on me—a force that was both terrifying and beautiful, a hunger that refused to let me go.As the fog of sleep began to lift, I realized my hand was still buried between my wide-spread legs, my fingers slick with the evidence of my own undoing. My nipples were painfully stiff and erect, sensitive even to the slight movement of my breat