The days following the Moonbinding ritual passed in a delicate hush. The capital continued its gentle recovery under the warming spring sun, but within the palace walls, a different kind of tension had settled — quieter, more intimate, and far more personal than any siege or battle. Caelan spent most of his time in the royal gardens or the private solar, moving with careful grace. The ancient power within him had shifted once again. It no longer surged with defensive fury or healing urgency. Instead, it curled protectively around a faint, new warmth deep in his core — a fragile spark that the moonlight threads constantly monitored, nurturing, and guarding. He could feel it. A tiny, flickering presence — not yet fully formed, but undeniably there. The ritual had taken root. Lucien rarely left his side. The king had cleared his schedule of all but the most essential duties, delegating reconstruction efforts and border patrols to trusted generals. He watched Caelan with an intensity t
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