บททั้งหมดของ STAINED BY THE MOON : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Gavin's POV The healers had done what they could. Now it was just waiting. I sat beside Lily's bed in the healing wing, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Three days she'd been unconscious. Three days of herb-soaked bandages and waiting for her to open her eyes. The bond between us was still there, faint, but present. A thin thread connecting us. Sometimes I felt flickers of emotion through it. I reached out and took Lily's hand. Her skin was too pale, too cold. "Come back," I said quietly. "Please. Just... come back." *** I must have dozed. Because when I opened my eyes, the light had changed. And Lily's hand had moved in mine. Just slightly. I sat up straighter. "Lily?" Her eyelids fluttered. Then opened slowly, unfocused at first, until they found me. "Gavin?" Her voice was barely a whisper. Relief crashed through me so hard it made my hands shake. "I'm here." "What..." She tried to sit up and immediately gasped, her hand moving to her side. "Don't move. Y

Lily's pov "Murderers!"Lady Cressida's voice cracked through the evening air like a whip. I turned from where I stood near the supply tent, my hand frozen on the water skin I'd been refilling.She stood in the center of camp, her face twisted with fury and grief, one jeweled hand pointing accusingly at two figures cowering before her. Eleanor and Pierre. Merchant Brennan's children."You killed him!" Cressida shrieked, her silk gown billowing as she advanced on them. "Your misfortune brought death to your own father!"Eleanor's face was pale, her hands trembling as she held them up defensively. "My lady, please…we didn't…""Cursed children!" Cressida's hand struck Eleanor across the face. The crack echoed. Eleanor stumbled, and Pierre caught her, his own face white with terror.My jaw clenched. My feet moved before I could think, carrying me toward them."He died because of you!" Cressida spat, grabbing Eleanor's arm with clawed fingers. "Whatever darkness follows you killed him! Yo

Lily's POVOne Month LaterThe uniform lay across my cot like a challenge I wasn't certain I could meet.When I finally stood before the small mirror in the barracks, I barely recognized myself.I took a breath and stepped out into the corridor.The moment I emerged into the courtyard, voices erupted around me."By the saints! look at what she's wearing!""Is that... animal hide? And is that fur?"A male guard stopped mid-stride, his mouth falling open. "She looks like she crawled out of some desert tribe! That vest, those... those straps hanging from her waist…"“ Her legs are completely bare!" a woman gasped. "That skirt is shorter than a tavern girl's!""And what's on her arms? Those cuffs, gold and iron mixed together like she can't decide if she's noble or slave!""That collar around her neck... is she bound to someone?""Look at the hat, the bronze thread, and the strange symbols. What clan does she think she belongs to?"Another voice, louder: "But her skin…""Blighted! Look at

Gavin's POV Barden apologizes for failing. I was reviewing supply reports when Veyla burst through the door. "Barden's awake." The parchment fell from my hands. I was already moving, shoving past her into the corridor. My boots echoed against stone as I took the stairs two at a time toward the infirmary wing. I shoved the infirmary door open hard enough that it slammed against the wall. Barden was propped up against pillows, his face pale as winter snow, bandages wrapped around his torso. But his eyes were open. Alert. Alive. "Your Eminence," he rasped, attempting a weak salute. I crossed the room in three strides and gripped his shoulder carefully, mindful of his injuries. "Don't. Just... don't move. You're not going anywhere." "I am sorry…" "You need to rest." My voice came out harder than I intended, relief manifesting as command. "That's an order, Barden. It's not your fault." Veyla moved past me, returning to Barden's bedside. Her hand hovered over the bandages, check

Lucas's POV"Where is the elder?" I called out.For a long moment, nothing. Then, slowly, a hunched old man emerged from one of the cottages, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane. He stopped several paces away, his head bowed low."Here, my lord," he said, his voice rough as old leather."I've come to collect the taxes."The elder's face tightened. His knuckles went white where they gripped his cane. "My lord, we... we cannot pay. The harvest…""I know about the harvest." I cut him off, but kept my voice level. "I know it was poor. I know the people are struggling."He blinked, surprised. His head lifted slightly, rheumy eyes searching my face as if looking for the trap."But the taxes are still owed," I continued. "However... I am not unreasonable. Those who can pay, will pay. Those who cannot..." I met his eyes. "We will make arrangements."The elder stared at me, disbelief written across every weathered line of his face."My lord, I... I don't understand.""You will." I turned to Ster