CH. 29 The Lake Beneath the Moon
The moon sits low tonight — heavy and ripe, as if it’s watching me with judgmental disapproval.
But it’s beautiful.
And for once, so am I.
The moment I’m sure I’m alone, I peel the mask away. It hits the floor with a satisfying clink.
Air floods my lungs. My skin hums with that familiar shimmer — the warts receding, the blemishes softening — until the reflection in the mirror across the room is someone else entirely.
The stranger I become every night.
Beautiful.
Untrustworthy.
Annoyingly radiant.
“Ugh,” I mutter, tugging at my now-gleaming hair. “You again.”
The air in my room feels too close, too tight, too human. So I grab my cloak — mostly for dignity, not warmth — and slip out.
The halls are quiet. Everyone’s either asleep or pretending to be.
Outside, Gazaar glitters in the distance like a nest of dying stars. The city hums faintly, but the forest beyond the palace is mercifully silent.
And there, tucked between the hills, lies the lake. My lake.
I’ve seen it from my window — silver as liquid glass under the moonlight.
It calls to me tonight.
---
I strip down to my shift and wade in.
The water bites first, then embraces — cool and silken against my skin.
When I dive, the world above disappears: no curses, no Seers, no trials.
Just weightlessness and moonlight fractured on ripples.
I close my eyes and let out a long breath underwater.
When I emerge, I feel… free.
For about three whole seconds.
Then a voice — low, composed, infuriatingly familiar — breaks the stillness.
“I didn’t think the lake was occupied.”
I whirl, choking on half a scream.
He stands at the edge, half in shadow, cloak open, moonlight curling over his hair.
“Prince Sorien!” I hiss, slapping water like it’s a weapon. “Are you insane? Turn around!”
He blinks, startled — which I’ll treasure forever — and immediately pivots away.
“I didn’t know anyone was here,” he says, voice flat but betraying the faintest embarrassment. “This is where I come to think.”
“Think? You walked into my bath to think?”
“Technically,” he replies, “you walked into mine.”
I gape at him, absolutely scandalized. “You— you pervert!”
“Hardly,” he says calmly. “If I wanted to spy, I wouldn’t have announced myself.”
The worst part? He’s right.
“Fine!” I snap. “Stay there, and for the love of all things holy, don’t turn around.”
I scramble for the pile of clothes on the bank, cursing under my breath as the wet fabric clings to me.
After a lot of hissing, tripping, and muttering murder plots, I finally tug the last layer over my shoulders.
“You can look now,” I say, chin lifted.
He turns. His eyes catch on me for a heartbeat before flicking away — respectful, which is both surprising and irritating.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says simply. “The woods aren’t safe.”
“Neither is the palace,” I counter. “At least the lake doesn’t gossip.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face, gone as quickly as it came.
“I come here when I need silence,” he says. “To think. About the trials. About… other things.”
“Like how to make the Seer less cryptic?”
“Something like that.” His brow creases slightly. “You watched the last trial?”
“Uh, yes. I happened to pass by.”
The wind shifts, and for a strange, still moment, it’s just us — two silhouettes caught in moonlight and reflection.
He looks softer here. Less carved from arrogance. More like someone trying to remember how to be human.
He breaks the silence first.
“Did you make it home?” he asks quietly. “That night. After the first trial.”
I pause. “Yes,” I lie. “But, ah, I had to come back. Terrible accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
I wave a hand vaguely. “Well — my aunt. She lives here in the capital. She was injured and needed assistance with her store. Long story.”
“Ah,” he says after a moment, seemingly lost for words.
“So yeah…” I clear my throat. “I was watching, and I’m really curious about your bonded aide. Why did you choose her?”
“It wasn’t a choice,” he says. “The Seer’s magic decided. She just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.”
“Oh. Nothing special about her, huh?”
Sorien frowns slightly. “No, you’re wrong. She is special. She doesn’t care about things like beauty or approval. She hides her pain in sarcasm, but I think… she’s good.”
That leaves me speechless.
For once, I don’t have a quip ready.
He adds softly, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak ill of her. She’s helped me more than she knows.”
“I wasn’t saying anything,” I say quickly. “She’s… interesting. And yes, she seemed helpful.”
He doesn’t answer — just studies me for a long second, as if trying to decide whether I’m teasing him again. Then he changes the subject.
“There will be a ball,” he says. “After the third trial. And again after the sixth. You should come.”
I blink. “A ball?”
“It’s custom,” he explains. “The court celebrates progress between trials. Keeps morale high.”
Then, quieter: “It might be… pleasant.”
“Pleasant,” I echo. “Well, I don’t think I can afford that. I don’t even have a single ball gown.”
I chuckle awkwardly. “Unless the dress code allows swamp rags.”
His mouth curves — not quite a smile, but close. “I’m sure we can find something suitable.”
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare say you’ll lend me one.”
“Then I’ll simply make sure someone does.”
“Still counts as pity.”
He meets my eyes, calm and unwavering. “Maybe. But pity isn’t always a bad thing.”
I snort. “You say that now. Wait till I spill punch on your boots.”
The wind ripples the lake again, scattering our reflections. For a heartbeat, the moonlight glints across his face — and there’s something there I can’t name. Not affection. Not desire. Something quieter.
Recognition, maybe.
I shake it off first. “Well, Your Highness, you’re officially ruining my nightly bath. You should go think somewhere else.”
He nods once. “As you wish.”
He turns to leave, his cloak brushing the grass. For a moment, I think he’ll say something else — but he only glances back briefly, as if memorizing the scene. Then he’s gone.
When the forest swallows his footsteps, I sink back into the lake and whisper to my reflection,
“Well, Drew. You’ve really done it now.”
The water ripples. My reflection smiles back — beautiful, dangerous, doomed.