3. CHAPTER 3
MOON
Vivienne was speaking across the table about…
something. She swept her long blonde hair over one shoulder, cool blue eyes narrowing when she realized I wasn’t listening.
Black lace sat at her shoulders; gold rings caught the light every time she moved her hand.
She looked effortless. The other girls at the table suddenly seemed as if they were trying too hard.
Crystal glasses caught the low chandelier light. The air smelled of roasted meat and expensive perfume.
My head was still looping the cathedral. Why didn’t I tell him to go away?
I reached for my champagne and drank it down. The bubbles turned sour on my tongue. The plate in front of me stayed untouched; the smell of rich food twisted my stomach.
Father’s opening week brief was due by six a.m. Favor trajectory, Black Chalice positioning, Patronage Seat viability, Aster donor alignment, projected liabilities. Every risk filed neatly before breakfast.
One photo of Cillian’s hand in my hair and I already heard it. Father’s cold, disappointed voice:
Don’t embarrass me.
“Hyun. Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” She snapped her fingers at me.
“I am.”
A waiter passed. I took another glass. My fingers tightened until the stem threatened to snap.
Vivienne’s hand closed over mine and removed it. “Put it down.”
Without looking at her, I reached for Sawyer’s untouched flute beside his empty seat and drank from that instead. The champagne slid down too easily.
“You have not touched your food.”
“Not hungry.”
“Is this about your father?”
“Don’t mention my father tonight.” The words came sharper than intended. My collar was suddenly too tight. One false accusation and it would reach House of Moon by morning.
Vivienne leaned back, one brow arched in that unimpressed way that meant she believed nothing. “Fine.”
What if someone already knew about Saint Lucia?
“He’s with the rest of Thorn, Hyun.”
“Who?”
She gave me the look. “Don’t insult me.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t looked once.”
“Because I’m not stupid,” I said. “He already pulled that stunt at initiation. I don’t need scandals on day one.”
Vivienne hummed. I hated that sound. It always carried judgment.
“He’s looking this way.”
I twisted toward him on instinct.
Stupid.
Cillian lifted his wine glass and drank without breaking eye contact. Then, with the same slow, unhurried calm, he winked at me.
Don’t react. Don’t you dare react.
My heartbeat skipped, then crashed back twice as hard. My fingers crushed the napkin. I looked away so fast it was humiliating. Not because I didn’t want him watching.
Fuck. I liked it.
The rest of the hall had already disappeared, and that was the real liability. This wasn’t Saint Lucia. One more second of eye contact and everyone at the table would know.
Vivienne made a delighted little sound. “Oh my God.”
“Don’t.”
“You looked.”
“I observed.”
“You panicked.”
“I corrected my attention,” I said through clenched teeth.
“You are so embarrassing.”
She knows.
I never told Vivienne about Saint Lucia. Too fucking embarrassed. But she was already catching on, she’d always been too good at reading me. She didn’t need the full story. Just one crack in my mask and that knowing smile would file it away.
Don’t you dare say anything.
I stood before she could dig any deeper, already reaching for my jacket.
Vivienne had the Menagerie. I trusted her. I did. But I wasn’t stupid enough to trust the machine that moved around her.
Vivienne blinked up at me, still smiling. “Running?”
“Going back to my room.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t make that sound.”
“That was a supportive sound.”
I gave her a flat stare.
She laughed softly and rose just enough to kiss my cheek. “Fine. See you tomorrow. Coffee first?”
“The Scholars’ Nook. Before first lecture.”
“Good. Love you.”
“Unfortunately, mutual.”
I left before she could collect any more evidence against me.
The heavy doors shut behind me, and the hall noise died instantly. Cool night air hit my face. Dark stone and rain-wet hedges stretched beneath amber lamps casting a soft glow over the academy campus. Alone, finally.
I exhaled. It should have felt better.
Ah, fuck.
I bit down until I tasted blood. He did this. Dragged Saint Lucia here, and I was unraveling. Am I that fucking touch-deprived?
Control yourself.
Something rustled near the hedge. A small black cat slipped out, gold-eyed and damp, brushing once against my leg.
“Hi, kitty.”
She ignored me and vanished into the dark.
Huh? Where are you going, kitty?
A hand caught my arm and slammed me back against the cold stone wall before resistance even crossed my mind.
His chest crushed against mine. One thigh forced its way between my legs, spreading them.
“I let you walk away in Saint Lucia,” he said, breath hot against my ear. “I won’t be that nice twice.”
“Hi,” I choked out.
Hi.
Brilliant. Aster’s perfect candidate, pinned to a wall, greeting the threat like an idiot.
“Hi?” he echoed. “After you spent all night spilling your secrets and talking yourself out of letting me fuck you in Saint Lucia… that’s all you’ve got?”
His free hand gripped my jaw. Thumb dragged roughly across my bottom lip before shoving between them, pressing down hard on my tongue.
Salt and smoke hit my tongue. My lips closed around the intrusion on reflex. I jerked back hard enough that my skull cracked against stone.
Cillian’s eyes darkened with cruel satisfaction. “There he is. Still so fucking hungry.”
My eyes caught on the small black crescent near the base of his thumb. It definitely wasn’t there in Saint Lucia.
My name on his skin. In a place anyone could see if they looked too long.
“What is that?” I demanded, voice strained around the intrusion.
He didn’t answer. Just pressed his thumb deeper, pinning my tongue.
“You like it?” he asked. “Good. You’re going to see a lot more of it.”
What the hell is wrong with him?
A crescent moon. My name. Permanently carved into his skin like some deranged brand.
Salt and smoke still on my tongue. Skull still ringing from the stone.
Anyone could have walked this path. Anyone could have seen the way my mouth closed around him on reflex. I should have shoved harder. I should have made noise. Instead, I heard myself breathing like he already had me.
I bit down hard on his thumb, teeth sinking into flesh and the edge of that fresh black crescent. Cillian hissed sharply. Then the sound melted into a rough laugh. He pulled his thumb free, eyes gleaming with surprised delight as he examined the fresh indent of my teeth.
“Don’t put your fucking fingers in my mouth,” I snarled, shoving hard at his chest. “Are you insane?”
Cillian didn’t move.
“My name is Moon,” I said. “And you have a tattoo of a crescent moon on your hand.”
Cillian’s smirk deepened. He cocked his head, studying me like I was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all night.
“Oh really, prince?” His tone dropped. “That’s news to me.”
He didn’t step back far. One hand stayed wrapped around the top of my neck, thumb resting under my jaw.
“Come back inside with me,” he urged quietly. “One drink. We can finish what you started running from in Saint Lucia.”
My pulse raced.
“No,” I said, sharper than I intended. “Early lecture tomorrow. And I don’t drink with Thorn heirs.”
Cillian moved in closer, looking down at me. He reached out and dragged one finger slowly up the center of my chest, light, but unmistakably mocking.
“One drink won’t crack that flawless Aster armor, prince,” he said. His thumb brushed along my jaw. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll like what happens when you stop running.”
I drove him backward with both hands. “Back off.”
He took a step back, but his smile only widened.
“I’ll find you again soon enough,” he said. “Whether you want me to… or not.”
He finally let me go. I got the hell out before he could see how badly my hands were shaking.
“Oh, and one more thing, prince.”
His voice stopped me. Something slid against my chest. I caught it.
A photograph.
Saint Lucia. The beach at dusk. I was laughing, relaxed against the sand on the beach, looking at him like he was the only person in the world. Unguarded and happy.
Horror flooded me.
“When did you take this?”
Cillian’s smile was slow, but not kind. “I could stay away,” he said quietly. “But we both know you don’t actually want that.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Nothing came out.
Cillian didn’t look away. “It’s not me pretending Saint Lucia never happened,” he murmured. “I see you, Moonshine. Even when you’re still lying to yourself about how badly you wanted it.”
I should throw the photo on the ground. Step on it. Burn it. Anything. Instead he took my hand and folded my fingers around it himself. They stayed closed.
“Keep it,” Cillian said. “I have more. And remember… You can’t run from me, Moonshine. Not anymore.”
I walked away, photograph crushed in my fist. This time he didn’t follow. He didn’t need to. He was already in my head.
The paper edge cut into my palm. My fingers would not open. One photo and the boy from Saint Lucia was already there. I kept walking under the wrought-iron path lamps, fingers locked around it.