Chapter Fifteen
The stone was all she could think of.
It was all she saw the rest of the evening, those strange undulating waves within, taunting her. When she closed her eyes in her bed, the sharp edges found her, carving shallow scratches into her skin. She’d prayed to Proserpina, and to any other gods who might be listening, to give her the push she needed, but now that it was here, she was rooted and withering.
If she were younger, perhaps—a bit more brash, a bit less jaded—she wouldn’t have hesitated.
If she were Astra.
Fuck it, Lunelle thought as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped on the boots she’d never tucked away after Proserpina’s feast. She pulled a cloak from her trunk, yanking the hood low over her face.
“Lunelle?”
Lura asked as the princess tied the ribbon.
“Do not stop me,”
Lunelle said.
Lura grabbed her by the shoulders, her amethyst eyes fixed on her princess.
“I will not stop you, but I also must urge you to please be careful. Let me come?—”
“No. No,”
Lunelle insisted.
“I will do this alone. You saw how Arcas responded to the manuscript and the man from the first night. Imagine what he’d do to you—I cannot ask you to take that sort of risk.”
Lura relented, but Lunelle could feel her hesitation gnawing at her.
“Please, be careful.”
Lunelle only nodded, sweeping from the room as quickly as possible. The palace was quiet. It wasn’t so late that everyone had turned in for the night, but most eyes were either bleary with the sleep they craved or a haze of wine as they finished their card games and danced lazily under lowered lanterns.
It was easy for her to slip away, a shadow curling through the garden and onto the streets of Charon.
She took the same path she’d taken before, staying close to the sides of buildings and avoiding the streetlamps as much as possible. When she came to The Underground’s door, she released a tense breath. It was as if her body knew she was making the right choice, even if her heart was still bound by fearful black ribbons.
Kwan did not seem surprised to see her as she blew into the tavern, but he did seem surprised by the wave of fury that preceded her as she held out her arm.
“I want in,”
she barked.
“Good evening, Princess,”
Kwan said quietly, his eyes flashing toward the door. Lunelle sank back on her hip, drawing her arm into her side. She’d assumed this was a safe house of sorts, which was a big assumption to make.
“Did you enjoy your reading material?”
Kwan tilted his head toward the door to the stairs, walking slowly across the tavern as she followed.
“I didn’t get far before the prince destroyed it,”
she said softly as they ascended the steps. As they crested the landing outside of his study, Lunelle set her face and balanced her shoulders.
“I figure that anything which produces so much anxiety to those in power must be worth fighting for.”
“I feared what might happen if Arcas got his hands on it. I was foolish to think he might be tempted to educate himself,”
Kwan said, tucking himself behind his desk.
“It’s a good thing we make copies.”
He smiled, pulling the drawer of his desk open, a dozen neatly copied manuscripts tucked beside one another.
“What do I need to do to take the oath?”
she asked, afraid that if she slowed her breath, she might come to her senses.
“You’re here, that’s a good start.”
Kwan reached to his side, slowly unsheathing a small dagger and resting it in the space between them.
“The Nova oath is simple. You can never reveal your participation or anyone else’s outside of the rebellion. The blood oath protects us. Most of us have found ways to signal our allegiance without stating it outright. You’ll pick it up.”
Lunelle nodded.
“You’ll have to find someone to initiate you,”
Kwan said.
Lunelle’s brows arched.
“You cannot?”
“I will not,”
Kwan returned.
“It’s not personal, Princess. You’ve just scratched the surface—if you really want to join, you’ll find your way in.”
Lunelle pointed to the slim dagger between them.
“Was this for show, then?”
He pushed it toward her, folding the blade into a slot in the handle.
“It’s yours now. My Plutonian captain’s insignia is carved into the handle. Whomever you bind yourself to will recognize it and know you can be trusted.”
She took the blade, turning it over in her hand. It was lighter than she expected, a scrawling rose piercing a crown carved into the handle.
“And once I’m oathbound?”
“You find your Lunar captain, and you prepare yourself. Revolutions are never bloodless endeavors, Lunelle.”
She rubbed her thumb against the intricate carving, letting it warm to her touch.
“Thank you,”
she said, tucking it into her cloak.
“I’ll see you again soon.”
“I hope that’s true,”
Kwan said.
“And where were you at such a late hour?”
She heard her mother’s voice before she saw her proud shoulders held gracefully as she read from one of her daily reports.
“I was out with Yallara,”
Lunelle said.
“Of course,”
Oestera sighed, but did not push her further.
“Your sister is up to no good, as usual.”
She waved one of Tula’s missives in the air between them.
“Seems she injured herself falling off a horse.”
“Astra?”
Lunelle asked as she peeled her cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Lura, who waited at the door.
“What happened to spook the horse? It must have been extreme if Astra couldn’t handle it.”
Oestera cast a glare at her eldest daughter.
“Tula believes there was a snake. But Tula, unfortunately, is a fool.”
“She’s not a fool,”
Lunelle insisted, sitting across from her mother.
“She trusts my sister. Something you might consider trying one day.”
She smiled, attempting to keep her tone light and playful, but she heard the edge forming on her tongue.
“I trust your sister,”
Oestera said, leaning back in her seat and pursing her lips.
“I trust her to lie straight to Tula’s face so convincingly she doesn’t think twice. Your father… however… knows her better. She went to Ellume with the Mercurian commander.”
“Luxuros?”
Lunelle asked, trying to think of her sister’s most recent mention of him. They were all quite critical.
“Yes, the Solarian.”
Lunelle bristled.
“That’s quite the accusation, Mother.”
“It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact. And if you couldn’t sense it on him the moment he entered the palace, I’ve failed as your mother.”
Lunelle rose from her seat, a veil of sweat forming against her skin.
“And you’re just fine with this? You’re perfectly content to sell Astra to a king who keeps that kind of company?”
“Sell is a harsh term,”
Oestera said, laying her book on the cushion beside her.
“I merely created the right circumstances for them to meet.”
“You forced her hand, you know you did! I don’t understand how you could do this?—”
“Lunelle,”
Oestera said, a command. Stand down.
“Your defense of your sister is admirable, but do not fret. I have plans in place for Astra that you do not want to understand right now. One day, it will all be clear.”
Lunelle’s chest tightened—the fabric of her dress felt much stiffer than it had moments ago.
“You always have it all planned, don’t you? You brought me here for the same reason. A bargaining chip! And to that awful prince?—”
“Think what you want of me, Lunelle. Tell yourself whatever story you need to. But I am doing what’s best for all of us, I can assure you of that. I’ve given you plenty of outs with Arcas. The only one forcing your hand is you.”
Oestera stood, brushing past her daughter as she aimed to disappear into her side of their rooms.
Lunelle was panicked, angry, and flush with a rage she’d never felt before.
A rage she knew her sister felt frequently.
“And what of your mother? Selenia?”
Oestera froze.
“What of her?”
she asked without turning.
“Is she where you’ve learned all your tricks—your planning?”
Oestera released a heavy sigh, a sour grin spreading over her lips.
“Selenia is precisely where I learned every move I make, Lunelle. For better or worse.”
Oestera pushed into her bedroom, shoving the door shut behind her without an ounce of the grace she held so dearly.
Lunelle stood in the silence, but only briefly.
“Princess,”
Lura whispered, hovering near her.
“Are you all right?”
Lunelle smoothed her skirts and set off for the door.
“I’m staying in the palace,”
she assured Lura before taking off through the Plutonian halls.
She let her revulsion at her mother’s convoluted plans propel her across the palace, through the quiet halls as most of the courtiers slept, and around the corner into the chambers of the Mercurians.
She did not care about the implications as she knocked on his door, nor did she offer any explanation to the baffled servant who answered.
“Where is he?”
“Princess Lunelle?—”
She pushed past him.
“Where is the king?”
The servant eyed her, his Mercurian greens contrasting with the rich sapphires of the walls.
“Lunelle?”
Mirquios appeared in the doorway, pulling a thin shirt over his shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
He stepped closer, his feet bare against the plush rug beneath them as her chest heaved.
“Is Astra okay?”
Lunelle’s eyes fell to the servant beside them.
“Leave us,”
Mirquios commanded.
The servant resisted, uncomfortable with Lunelle’s vibrating energy.
“Your High?—”
“Now!”
Mirquios bellowed.
The man faded away through the door Lunelle had just stormed. Mirquios reached for her elbow, a touch she was sure was meant to be comforting, but in her anger, it was irritating. She jerked her arm away.
“He’s Solarian,”
she finally growled, three decades of wishing she’d defended her sister louder falling out of her at once.
“You left my sister with a godsdamned Solarian?”
He reached for her arm again, and she pushed him away, shocking the king.
“Lunelle—”
“Have you lost your wits, Your Highness? Do you’ve any idea the danger you’ve put her in? He could, he could, he?—”
Mirquios closed the distance between them, towering over her as she struggled to put her fears into words.
“What? He could what? Tell me, Princess, what is it you fear my commander will do? My best friend? My brother?”
Lunelle’s voice caught in her chest, unsure how to navigate the weight of a man’s seething—she’d been exposed to it so infrequently.
“Speak up, Princess.”
The spite with which the words leaped from his tongue unraveled something within her that would not return to its spool.
“You know, perhaps my anger has been misplaced,”
she hissed through her teeth.
“Perhaps, you are the one I should be suspicious of. From the moment you arrived at my court, you’ve had nothing but my sister’s power in your sights, and I wonder what you wouldn’t do to ensure she was on your side or unable to stand against you?—”
“Lunelle,”
Mirquios said, his face falling. His hand reached for his chest as he stepped back from her.
“Is that what you think of me? That I would con your sister into an attachment with the intention of harming her?”
“I don’t know what to think!”
Lunelle cried, throwing her hands up.
“You are the King of Mercury, but you are also in leagues with the rebels, you are my sister’s betrothed, but you cannot deny that you’ve been on several occasions a bit too comfortable with me?—”
“What did you say?”
His sparkling eyes burned into her.
“I am not a child, Mirquios, I know when a man has more on his mind than?—”
“Not that,”
Mirquios breathed. He gripped his chest as he moved closer to her.
“But trust that we’ll get back to that.”
Lunelle inhaled slowly, trying to gather the thoughts that had exploded from her mind across the room.
The king eased further into her space, consuming her.
“Who am I in leagues with, Princess?”
She swallowed. “I?—”
His head tilted.
“Come now, Lunelle. You’re far too wise to accuse without evidence.”
She folded her arms, swallowing against the heat of his stare.
“I followed you,”
she admitted.
“To The Underground.”
Mirquios nodded.
“Keep going.”
“I spoke with Kwan,”
she continued, her nerves beginning to seep back into her speech. Mirquios circled his finger between them, begging her to keep pulling at the thread.
“And what did you discuss?”
Kwan’s words clicked into a linear thought in her mind—the king was oathbound to someone, and forbidden from revealing himself to her.
“You cannot tell me,”
Lunelle breathed.
His eyes widened, a slow smile breaking across his jaw. Lunelle reached into her cloak and felt for the blade Kwan gifted her, shoving it into the king’s hands.
“Bind me,”
she gasped.
“You can bind me, can’t you?”
Mirquios examined her with those all-seeing eyes, a blush spreading across her neck as she feared he saw more than she intended to display.
“And you understand fully what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Absolutely not,”
she sighed.
The king laughed, bursting through the tension between them.
“Good, that was a test of your arrogance. But you’ve read the manifesto?”
She frowned.
“Partially. Arcas found it. He burned it.”
“Bastard,”
Mirquios muttered.
“But you’re genuine—you want to bring about the end of the monarchies? You understand that the end goal aims even higher?”
His eyes swept upward.
Lunelle nodded, for the first time in her entire life, she felt it deep within her, emanating from the very marrow in her bones—she had found it. The thing she was chasing.
“Hold out your hand.”
She extended her pale palm, glimmering under the low lanterns, as he unfolded the blade.
“A shallow cut will do,”
he said, his voice steady as he dragged the sharp tip across her flesh, carving a delicate arc in the shape of a crescent moon.
“Might as well make you the Lunar queen in your scars, since you may never reign on the throne.”
Lunelle’s lips twisted into a smile, her breath catching as the sting in her flesh sank between tendons, returning a bloody blossom from the wound. A bronze glimmer flickered in the swirling crimsons, the goddess blood within her lurching to the surface of her skin. Mirquios repeated the movement against his own palm, creating a mirrored moon to hers.
“Lunelle Aurellis, Princess of Lunaria, you will fight for the people who serve the courts alongside them, never over them. You will protect peace and reject oppression. You will never reveal your association or another Nova’s as long as we both breathe.”
He held out his palm, stained with a rush of red. She averted her eyes as she rested her hand over his, unable to hold their intensity.
The king closed his fingers around hers, pressing their cuts together. He squeezed to ensure their blood intertwined, a searing heat gripping the nerves of their palms and fusing them together.
Lunelle drew in a sharp breath at the pain, wondering if she would feel any different now that she’d taken such a large step into the ether.
Mirquios stared at their entangled hands.
“Now, the other thing you said?—”
A flush of embarrassment crawled over her neck, pushing her back a step. She’d hoped he would forget the other accusation she’d made, as she hadn’t meant to let it slip out.
She hadn’t meant for many of the things she said lately to slip out.
Lunelle sighed, preparing to face the cursed greens of his eyes, impossible to tolerate at such a close distance.
“I shouldn’t have said that,”
she admitted quietly, staring at their hands still resting together, the sting racing around her flesh.
“I was angry at you, I’m still angry, by the way. But I was being ridiculous?—”
“Were you?”
he asked, his low voice slipping into a hushed whisper across her lips.
The king’s other hand reached forward, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him.
To see him.
Her eyes flickered to his, and she swore she heard the entire realm draw a breath as that thing in her chest she’d wrestled with so many times broke free, shattering bone and blood vessels as it tore through her.
She reached for it, attempting to capture the rush, but there was no containing it.
The king’s hand tightened around hers as time crashed to a halt, the static between them popping into an iridescent shimmer that dimmed the rest of the world, leaving only them.
Only that single second.
Oh, gods.
Lunelle searched for a breath. She did not find it within herself, but rather between them, pulled from an impossible, invisible thread she’d only ever heard stories of.
“H-how? No,”
she sputtered, backing away from him, but that only sealed their Fate—it was undeniable as she rocked back and felt the Tether pull at her ribs, begging her to return to him.
“Lunelle,”
Mirquios whispered, his eyes as wide as hers, breath just as stilted.
“I don’t—I don’t understand! Oh,”
she gasped.
“Oh, my gods, how? My sister! You’re Tethered to Astra!”
Lunelle grasped at the space between them, sure she’d be able to pluck it away from her like a piece of lint.
“Right,”
Mirquios said, a hesitation beneath his words she could not unhear.
“No, Lunelle, wait. I can explain?—”
“There is nothing to explain, Your Highness,”
she said through clenched teeth, backing away from him.
“This—this is impossible. This cannot happen. You belong to my sister, no matter what you two have agreed upon, this does not change that.”
Lunelle fought back a sob, the overwhelm of the Tether setting her entire Soul on fire.
“Yes,”
he agreed, his hand rubbing at the bruise on his chest.
Lunelle did not bid him farewell.
She did not ask questions she did not want to know the answers to.
She did not risk looking into those dazzling eyes once more as she opened his door.
She felt it, the release on the cord between them as he moved to follow her.
“Do not,”
she choked. “Please.”
She felt every ragged breath he released as she ran, fighting every instinct that begged her to retreat, to run back into his arms the entire way.