40. EPILOGUE 1
MOON
FIVE YEARS AFTER EVERMOURNE ACADEMY
Fifteen minutes late. The elevator crawled. I stabbed the button until my finger screamed. The stranger beside me glared. Polite smile. Keep stabbing. Faster. Harder. Doors finally opened.
I bolted out of the elevator, through security, burst onto the street. Whistle sharp for a taxi, arm already waving.
A black SUV idled at the curb. The driver stepped forward. “Mr. Moon. Mr. Ashbourne sent me. I’m to take you to Le Veilleur.”
My hand dropped mid-wave. Of course he did. I slid into the back seat before my pride could stop me.
I pushed through the restaurant doors at Le Veilleur, pulse still refusing to settle.
Soft light, low conversation. There he was.
Leaned back, arm draped along the seat, scarred fingers loose around his glass.
Emerald eyes found mine. That slow, knowing smile carved dimples I still felt in my spine.
Fuck. Still the same. Years later and my body still sold me out first. I crossed the room too fast and slid into the seat across from him. Heat crawled up my neck. “Meeting ran long.”
Waiters appeared. I ordered water. Cillian lifted his glass, watching me over the rim.
“Paperwork from the agency. You read it?”
My stomach hollowed out. I pulled out my phone. Cillian plucked it from my fingers before I could scroll.
“Breathe, prince. I’ll fill in the blanks. You’re spiraling again.”
The waiter brought water. I drank it down fast, the cool liquid useless against the heat still crawling my throat.
“I like adoption. A kid who actually needs the home we can give.”
My fingers tightened on the table edge. “You'd be the one they ran to when they had nightmares.”
Cillian’s knee pressed mine under the cloth, heavy. “But?”
I laughed softly.
“Selfishly?”
I looked up at him.
“I want our kid to have your eyes.”
Cillian went still. His gaze dropped to the table, before returning to mine.
“Really, prince?”
His words came quieter. “We could skip lunch. I’ll bend you over in the car and try to knock you up properly. They say practice makes perfect.”
I looked away. My cock twitched against my thigh while mortification clawed through me.
“Behave. We’re in Zara’s brother’s restaurant. I’ve caused her enough optics damage since Evermourne. Let alone at the wedding when you and Mikhail decided to…” I swallowed. “I won’t add public indecency to the list.”
The waiter appeared with appetizers Cillian had already ordered, along with a bottle of wine chosen to match.
I speared a piece of tuna, trying to sound casual. “Adoption or surrogacy. What do you actually think?”
Cillian leaned back, watching me. “I’d be happy with either, prince. Whatever you want.”
I scoffed. “Be honest with me.”
“Honestly?” He dragged his thumb around the rim of his glass. “I say we keep trying the old-fashioned way.”
“Shut up. We both know that’s not how it works. Adoption or surrogacy?”
Cillian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, that calm I knew too well settling over him. “Why not both?”
I nearly choked. “Two children? I can barely manage my own schedule. I can barely manage myself.”
Cillian reached across and stole a piece from my plate without asking, eating it slowly. He shrugged. “I love my family. I want to expand it. Fuck, I’d fill a house with eight if you’d let me.”
Seven years ago, the idea of children would've sounded like succession.
Duty. A wife I'd chosen for the photographs.
Now I pictured green eyes and an Irish accent terrorizing my furniture.
I laughed despite myself. “Calm down, Daddy Warbucks.” I slapped his hand away.
“You have your own plate. Stop eating mine like some half-feral animal.”
Cillian dragged his plate closer, but not before stealing one more bite, eyes glued to me the whole time.
Five years.
Five years since Evermourne spat us out and I still felt the Academy’s teeth in my throat every time I stepped foot back on those grounds.
Yuna was there now. Aster Court. Yale graduate. Thriving in a way I never quite managed. She had a boyfriend.
I still saw my little sister when I looked at her, but she was a woman now, and the realization lodged somewhere sharp behind my ribs.
I speared another piece of tuna so I didn’t have to meet Cillian’s eyes.
I went back for her, of course. But mostly I went back because after year three I won the Mourning Star seat.
Masked Patron. Even Cillian wasn’t supposed to know.
The first few times I left alone I told him it was business. He hated it. Then he started showing up anyway. Found me. I told him the truth.
He didn’t like that I had a vote in that machine. Sanctioned killings. Blacklisting successions. Territory retaliation. Darker than I ever expected.
And after he learned… he’d been worse. More obsessive. Clingier. More violently protective.
Because all he wanted was out. No more mafia. No shares in House of Moon. Just him and me.
And apparently a house full of children.
The man looked like walking violence and talked like a man who wanted to build a nursery. It was almost funny.
Almost.
I wanted to give him that. I did. Even if I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Even if co-leading House of Moon with my father still felt like walking a razor's edge over open flame. We had grown closer, Father and I. But he was still not okay with Cillian.
I already told him. It was Cillian or I walked.
My fingers tightened around the fork until the metal bit.
I caught him staring mid-bite.
“What?”
Cillian shook his head. “Nothing.”
“No. What.” I swallowed the bite too fast. “Do I have something on my face?” I grabbed the napkin, dabbing at my mouth as if the optics of looking like an idiot in public might kill me.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Shut up.” My face betrayed me instantly. “I’ve told you a million times. Don’t call me beautiful. I’m a guy. You don’t call guys beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful. Pretty. Gorgeous. Handsome. Mine.”
“Oh my God, please stop. We’re in public.”
Instead of answering, he slid out of his side of the booth and into mine in one fluid move, slinging a heavy arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side.
“What do you say we forget about House of Moon, Evermourne, the adoption paperwork, and whatever else is circling that pretty head of yours?” His voice dropped, rough against my ear.
“What do you say we take a trip to Ireland? See the family. Then I want to take you to Dún Aonghasa. Just you and me.” His fingers tightened on my shoulder. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“What’s Dún Aonghasa?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“I don’t know if I can take time off right now.”
Cillian threaded his fingers into my hair and tugged, hard enough to pull my head back. “Yes, you can, my prince.”
I grunted, grabbing for his wrist. “Not in public. I told you to stop being insane.”
His fingers stroked down the back of my neck, lips brushing my ear. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Flight’s already booked.”
“Tomorrow? But—”
Cillian cut me off with a low sound. “Nah-ah. If I want you to myself, I’ll have you to myself.
You've been giving everyone else pieces of yourself lately. I don’t like that.
” His arm cinched tighter around me. “So you’re coming with me.
If not, I’ll take you. And we both know who wins that fight.
” The words came low against my ear. “Not that I mind when you fight me a little.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “Cillian.” I couldn’t believe he was doing this in public. “Fine. We’ll go.”
Cillian paid the bill with a black card and a curt nod to the waiter. We left the restaurant. The same black SUV was still waiting at the curb.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said, already turning. “See you tonight then.”
Cillian said nothing.
“What?”
He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the car. “I don’t think so, prince. You’re coming with me. Right now.”
I fought it, old instinct, but he was already bundling me into the back seat. The door shut. The car pulled away fast.
Cillian reached over and clicked the seatbelt across my chest. “Safety first.” He gave the belt a firm tug, close enough that I felt the heat of him.
“What the hell has gotten into you?”
He sat back, one heavy hand landing on my thigh, fingers digging in possessively. “You.”
We reached the penthouse. My fencing bag was still dumped beside his boots in the entryway, exactly where he'd complained about it that morning.
The second the elevator doors closed, I snapped.
“What the fuck, Cillian?” He pushed me hard against the wall, hand under my jaw, pinning me with the kind of strength that reminded me exactly who he was now.
His other hand clamped down on my thigh, squeezing hard.
“I haven’t had you in weeks. Months. Who the fuck knows anymore.”
“We see each other almost every night,” I bit out, “except when you go to Ireland.”
“No.” His thumb pressed under my jaw, eyes dark. “Even when you’re here, your head is somewhere else. House of Moon, the Seat, your father. So tonight I want all of it. No more sharing you.”
“Let me go.” I shoved at his chest.
“No.” He pinned me harder, then suddenly hauled me up and over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing.
“What the fuck—” I punched his lower back, trying to wiggle free.
He threw me down onto the bed. I bounced once. “Do you want to fuck? Why are you being so aggressive all of a sudden?”
Cillian loosened his tie, then started unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving me. Muscle and ink shifted with every movement. “I need to remind you who you belong to. I saw you talking to that guy in the lobby again.”
“David? He’s the coffee guy. He asks for my order and picks up my dry cleaning.”
Cillian was shirtless now. He yanked my feet toward the end of the bed, stripped my belt, and dragged my pants down in one rough motion.
“You’re unhinged and possessive again, Cillian.”
He looped my own belt around my wrists and tied them to the bedpost. I twisted, fighting.
“Don’t tie me up.” He ignored me and used his tie to gag my mouth, knotting it tight.