Betrayal
“You are so precious,” Matilda whispered to the pink bundle in her arms. She lay propped against the pillows, slowly recovering from childbirth.
Her curls were damp against her forehead, and her skin glowed from exhaustion.
Denalia was nestled against her chest, little fingers curled, suckling softly.
The sound was barely audible, but to Luka, it was the loudest, sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
He sat beside them with one arm behind Matilda’s shoulders, the other resting lightly on their daughter’s back.
He gazed between them as if trying to memorize every detail before the world could steal the moment away. “She’s perfect.”
“She is,” Luka hummed. “You both are.”
Matilda smiled softly, brushing a fingertip along Denalia’s cheek.
“Do you think she’ll have your stubbornness?” she asked.
“I would prefer it as long as she does not inherit your feralness,” he answered, leaning in to kiss the child’s forehead.
She huffed a laugh. “Is it feralness or fearlessness? She should be so lucky.”
He grinned. “She’ll be a shining example of why vampire-human hybrid children were banned.”
The words had barely left his mouth when he remembered his bastard brother in the dungeon.
“My King,” Matilda said quietly, cupping his cheek and turning him to face her. “Stay with me. Stay with us.”
His jaw worked as he attempted to keep his anger at bay, eventually relenting with a stiff nod.
“I’m with you both.”
His resentment was set aside when Denalia summoned his attention with demanding coos. He lost himself in them, and for a moment, it felt like the future they’d imagined was within reach.
Matilda winced; he noticed immediately. “You’re in pain.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “More than I expected.”
“I’ll bring you something to ease the pain.”
He left the comfort of their bed, and each step felt more impossible than the last, like he wore boots weighed down with metal. Some time later, he arrived at his private study and retrieved the black-capped mushrooms from his desk.
“You’re doing it,” Ezra said, closing the door behind him softly. Luka nodded and silently boiled the mushrooms in a kettle from the fireplace. He sliced open his hand, and the blood flowed into an ornate goblet. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
“It must be done,” Luka whispered. “For the kingdom demands that I pay for the sins of my father.”
“You are not absolved, Luka. They are just as much your sins as they are his.”
Luka chuckled humorlessly and agreed. “Aye. This is true.”
“She will come back,” Ezra proclaimed, deep in his conviction.
Luka didn’t respond. Instead, he continued making the elixir. He moved to leave the study when he stopped in the doorway with his back to his friend. “Will you watch Denalia while I lay Matilda to rest?”
“Of course.”
“I may… I may be sensitive after. I will tell you to leave me be, but please do not leave me be.”
Briefly, silence fell between them.
“I swear it,” Ezra whispered.
Luka nodded and returned to Matilda, where she was singing a lullaby to Denalia, rocking her in her arms. He sat on the edge of the bed and kept his voice low so as not to disturb the slumbering baby.
“This will ease the pain, my Queen.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the cup without suspicion and lifting it to her lips. She drank slowly, and when she handed the empty cup back, she sighed, settling comfortably against the headboard.
“I think it’s working already.”
He brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “Good.”
Luka pulled back his hand so that she didn’t witness how it trembled.
She also missed the grief that flickered across his face that he smoothed away.
She only saw their newborn daughter, who brought indescribable light into their lives.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in—that precious human scent that he wouldn’t have the pleasure to indulge in again.
“Rest,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
He noticed the changes within seconds. Her breaths slowed, her eyelids fluttered, and a faint, unnatural stillness crept into her limbs.
“Matilda?” he whispered.
She smiled faintly, eyes half-closed.
“Tired. I feel… so warm… everything feels… light.”
Light was wrong. Light meant she was slipping, and they had only precious seconds left.
Luka’s eyes glazed over as he took her hand in his. It was already cooling. That heat that warmed him better than any stoked fire could was dying out.
“Matilda!” he said again, sharper this time. She blinked up at him, confused.
“Why are you yelling?” she questioned, rubbing her chest. “I feel… take Denalia,” she said, voice laced with growing concern.
Denalia began crying as he gathered her into his arms. Her angry cries told him that she was aware of his betrayal before Matilda did.
Their daughter instinctively reached towards her mother, not wanting to be in the arms of a monster.
And selfishly, he held her—clung to her as her mother drifted toward the afterlife.
Luka’s composure cracked when Matilda’s breathing hitched.
“No,” he breathed, leaning over her. “Please, please, please,” he begged the gods. “Give us more time.”
Her eyes fluttered open again, searching his face. “Luka… what’s happening?”
His throat closed around the truth, forcing him silent.
Her lips parted in a slight, startled gasp. “You gave me something.”
His face crumpled in shame and despair. “Forgive me, my love.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she gasped for air, reaching for Denalia. He gathered Matilda against him with Denalia nestled between them. His hands shook violently as he held her, as if he could anchor her soul with sheer force of will.
“I love you. Do you hear me? Come back to me. Come back to us,” he whispered in her hair.
He felt it and stilled—the moment her soul left. Her final breath left in a soft exhale, warm against his cheek. She went limp in his arms, and Denalia let out an earth-shattering wail.
Something inside him shattered.
He pulled Matilda closer, clutching her until her bones creaked in protest. His breath came ragged and broken, like a man unraveling from the inside out.
Luka pressed a trembling kiss to Matilda’s brow.
Then another and another until Ezra intervened.
“My King, the sooner you bury her, the quicker she can return.”
Luka lifted Denalia and gently bounced her, pressing his lips to her brow, while fixating on Matilda’s limp form.
“Take her, Ezra,” he instructed. “Keep her safe and warm.”
Ezra accepted Denalia with reverence. “I will guard her with my life.”
Luka nodded once, unable to speak. He watched them disappear into the dim corridor beyond the chamber doors. Only when they were gone did he turn back to Matilda.
He moved slowly toward the wardrobe and opened it with a shaking hand.
Inside hung the gown she had worn the first night of her captivity at his castle.
It was black velvet, trimmed in gold thread that shimmered like the sun his kind avoided.
She’d looked regal and untouchable—the epitome of a queen.
He laid it gently on the bed and dressed Matilda with painstaking care. He fastened every button as if they were glass and smoothed every fold with trembling fingers. He fluffed the curls he loved to tease and frowned at how the curly strands seemed to already dull.
He kissed her forehead and gathered her into his arms. Her body was pliant against him, her head resting on his shoulder as if she were sleeping. She felt light—too light, as if confirming her soul had already journeyed to the afterlife.
The castle corridors were silent as he walked. Servants darted out of sight, guards stood at attention, and Denalia’s wails echoed from somewhere deep within the castle walls.
Outside, the night air seemed sharper and colder, and the moon hung low, tinged a delicate red, casting pink shadows across the snow-dusted grounds.
It was either promising or a deadly omen.
The grave he prepared awaited them. He stepped to the edge and peered into it.
The soil was dark and rich, and the scent of his blood was pungent.
It was the threshold between life and death.
Luka lowered himself to his knees, cradling her tighter, not yet willing to let her go. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, memorizing the softness of her skin, the curve of her lips, and the quiet peace of her face in death.
“You will rise,” he murmured. “You will return to me.”
His voice broke.
“And if you don’t… then I will lie beside you until the earth takes us both.”
He pressed one final kiss to her forehead.
The night went unnaturally still. The tree branches stopped swaying, the howling winds died down, the rustling of woodland creatures ceased, and the light of the fireflies faded into darkness.
Carefully, he lowered her into the grave. She looked as though she were only sleeping, but he knew better. He reached down one last time and wiped away his tears that splashed onto her face. He inhaled sharply and steadied himself before climbing out.
On hands and knees, he shoved dirt over her body.
“Matilda,” he choked. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you.”
The soil dropped around her, covering her legs, torso, and arms. Only her face remained visible—perfectly serene, peaceful, and heartbreakingly still.
Dirt brushed her chin, lips, nose, eyes, and then… she was gone.
When he finished, Luka’s chest felt as if a boulder was pressed against it. He collapsed, pressing his forehead into the earth. His fingers clawed at the dirt that dampened with his tears. A tortured wail ripped from him so loud and feral that he was certain his enemies in Moonshire heard.
Hours passed, and he remained sprawled on top of her grave, hands buried in the fresh earth, shoulders shaking with silent, violent grief.
He didn’t feel the hours that passed. The only thing he felt was the hollow ache in his heart where his love for Matilda was etched into the chamber walls of his heart.
Footsteps approached. They were soft, careful, and respectful. He knew it was Ezra before he picked up on Denalia’s intoxicating newborn scent.
“Luka,” Ezra said quietly, cradling the sleeping infant to his chest. He stepped closer when the king didn’t look up, stopping just behind him. “The sun will rise soon.”
Ezra tried again when Luka failed to respond. “You cannot be out here when it does,” he said more firmly.
“She’s gone,” Luka whispered, voice muffled against the ground.
“She is not. Her soul is in another realm. She is probably stealing ethereal garlic rolls as we speak.”
Luka snorted, rolled onto his back, and laced his fingers on his abdomen. His eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused as he searched the remaining constellations in the sky.
“There is much to do before Matilda returns.”
“I am aware, Ezra. Just give me a moment.”
“If I give you a moment, you’ll ask for a lifetime.”
Ezra shifted Denalia in his arms, lowering her slightly so Luka could see her face.
“She needs you, my King.”
Luka’s expression twisted. He felt pain, longing, guilt, and shame all tangled together.
“The pain I feel now…” He swallowed hard. “It is nothing compared to what I felt when Anastasia died. I thought I was suffering. The grief nearly destroyed me.”
Ezra nodded and continued listening without interrupting.
“But this?” Luka said, voice cracking. “This is worse. This is torment. This is madness. This is worse because this time I chose it. I murdered her, Ezra. She trusted me. She trusted me while she held our baby, and I ended her life. I put her in the ground and sealed her away. And now, I must wait—hours, days, months, perhaps years without knowing if she will rise again.”
His hands curled into fists.
“This world has nothing for me if she’s not in it.”
Ezra stepped closer. “That is not true,” he said, lowering his voice. “Denalia is your world until Matilda returns. She is your purpose… your blood… the future of Night Falls. If you fall apart now, you leave her with nothing. And Matilda would never forgive you for that.”
Luka stared at the little sleeping face, and something inside him shifted. It was a reckoning—painful and reluctant—but a reckoning all the same.
“Take her,” Ezra said, extending Denalia toward her father.
Luka hesitated before pulling himself to his feet. He reached out with trembling hands, and when Denalia settled against his chest, the coldness he had felt melted away when her warmth seeped into him.
Ezra placed a steadying hand on Luka’s shoulder. “Come. The sun is rising. Let’s get you both inside.”
They left, but not before Luka looked back at the grave one last time.
“I’ll return soon,” he promised.