Chapter 18 Surprise
Surprise
The ballroom appeared largely unchanged—except that the guests were noticeably more inebriated. Women spun gracefully, their dresses billowing like petals, while others were boisterously gossiping and cawing. With Clyde on her heel, Luna weaved through the crowd, intent on disappearing.
William abruptly stepped in front of her, Diera nestled in his arms. Had they been dancing together all night? “I was just thinking about you . . .” His voice was lazy with drink, but his gaze sharpened when it met Clyde’s. “Is it time?”
Clyde dipped his chin.
William leaned down and whispered something to Diera—probably sweet nothings, given how red her face turned. After a tender kiss on her hand, he sent her on her way.
“Alright, let’s go see the—” William stopped mid-sentence, his smile faltering. His gaze had locked on something behind her.
Luna followed his gaze to the stream of guests entering through the western gardens. An unusual entry, but what truly caught her eye were their matching red cloaks and featureless masks.
“I don’t like the look of this . . .” Clyde murmured, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Before she could respond, the ballroom doors burst open. Another wave of red-cloaked figures poured in, blades drawn, led by a towering man in a black cloak and mask.
“The Darkened One!” someone screamed.
The music screeched to a halt as the ballroom erupted into screams and shattering glass, chaos making a whirlwind of skirts and flailing limbs; guests trampled over one another in their desperate bid to escape.
Steel clashed against steel as the king’s guards rushed in. The shrieks and shouts of the panicked crowd merged into a deafening roar, drowning out the frantic commands of the king’s guards as they failed to fight off the intruders.
Luna stood frozen, her limbs locked. Time seemed to stretch and distort—every scream, every clang of metal became a muffled echo in her ears.
From the crowd came desperate voices.
“Lady of Moorlight, save us!”
“Transform, Lady Luna!”
“Protect us!”
Each cry struck like a blow, but none broke through the fog pressing in on her; she could barely breathe, let alone think or do something.
The red assailants’ blades glinted beneath the flickering chandeliers as they cut down both guards and nobles alike. Blood splattered the walls, staining the floor with a sea of red.
Clyde stood steadfast in front of her and William was close behind. Their faces twisted in a grim mask of determination. Together, they carved a path towards the raised platform where the king had already fled.
One of the cloaked men lunged at Clyde, but before Luna could even blink, Clyde turned and decapitated him in a single stroke. His head fell with a sickening thud and Luna gasped, stumbling backwards. Her heel caught on something soft, stretching taut until it tore free.
She looked down.
Diera’s once lovely eyes stared up at her, glassy and unblinking. Blood soaked her gown, spreading like a dark halo beneath her limp body.
A scream tore from Luna’s throat as she shook a piece of fabric off her shoe.
“No!” William dropped to his knees, shaking Diera’s shoulders. “Diera, my love. Please! Diera, please!”
This was real. Death wasn’t some far-off idea; it was here, warm and wet—and staring back at her.
Her stomach lurched. She staggered, eyes scanning wildly. Where was her sister? Her parents?
Without thinking, she reached for William’s arm. Not to comfort him, but to pull him up, to move, to survive.
He shoved her off, hard. “This is your fault!” he shouted over the din, face twisted in rage only inches from hers. “You were supposed to protect us!”
“I can’t!” Luna cried out. Someone then slammed into her, knocking her to the floor.
Clyde was there in an instant, hauling her up. “We need to move, now!” he growled, gripping her hand tightly as he dragged her forward.
They were nearly at the platform of thrones when Luna looked back and recognized a familiar face. Desperate to be heard, she shouted with all her might, “Venita!”
Venita spun around. Her eyes were wide with tears, and she met Luna’s gaze just as a red-cloaked figure swung his sword. In a horrifying flash, he severed her head. It tumbled to the ground, rolling until it came to a haunting stop . . . mouth agape.
Luna screamed and tried to lunge towards her, panic breaking through her numbness. Clyde held her back, his grip on her arm tightening.
“Let me go!”
If she could just get to her—just reattach her head—then maybe, somehow, everything would be fine. Venita wasn’t dead; she couldn’t be.
She was too sweet, too kind, to have an ending like this.
Luna reached for her magic, for anything that would help, but only the hollow ache of loss answered her.
She screamed again, tears blurring her vision as memories crashed over her all at once—Venita’s laughter, her warmth, her unconditional support. Gone with a single swing of a blade.
Clyde dragged her on. “I can’t save everyone,” he said, his voice raw, “but I can save you.”
At the platform, Luna collapsed to her knees, barely registering Clyde as he fought off attackers right in front of her.
The threat of death felt both distant and imminent, hovering beyond her ability to process.
A small voice in her mind urged her to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Her world was breaking, piece by piece.
“I don’t know if I can hold them off much longer!” Clyde shouted, his voice strained as William joined him, both of their swords moving in a blur. “You need to transform, Luna. We need your help.”
What good would a few flowers do in a fight like this? She shook her head. There was nothing she could do . . . She could only listen and cry as everyone she had ever known and loved was slaughtered.
“You have to try Luna,” Clyde pleaded. “Save us all!”
She hardly heard him through the mountain of grief.
More guards rushed the room, but their numbers were too few to stem the tide of assailants. Clyde moved like a man possessed, his blade flashing as he sliced one attacker’s back before plunging through another’s chest.
A shadow moved behind him. Before Luna could warn him, an arrow, swift and silent, struck his leg. His face contorted in pain, and he fell backwards against her.
“Use the passage!” William barked. “Now!”
How could she have forgotten? Amidst the chaos, it had completely slipped her mind that the palace was riddled with secret escape passages. Quickly, she rushed to help Clyde to his feet.
Grimacing, he draped his arms around her shoulders, leaning heavily on her as he pointed to the wall behind the thrones.
They hobbled over and, despite the pain, Clyde pressed three subtly marked stones.
The wall groaned, and with a soft click, a secret door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit escape route.
Moving as fast as they could, they slipped inside with William staying behind to guard the entrance.
The door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into semi-darkness.
Damp air clung to them, thick with mildew.
Luna kept moving, one arm locked around Clyde’s waist as he stumbled beside her, the other keeping his arm secure across her shoulders.
Faint beams of light slipped through cracks above, barely lighting the narrow corridor.
Her dress dragged through the grime, but she pressed on, focused only on escape.
Then, her foot smacked against wood—a door.
She grabbed the handle and twisted, but it didn’t open.
She tried again, but the door simply wouldn’t budge.
“It’s stuck,” she wailed, her throat tightening.
Clyde grimaced and summoned the remnants of his strength to throw himself against it. It gave, groaning on its hinges.
Behind it was a small safe room, furnished with a bed, a cabinet, and a lantern.
Luna helped Clyde over to the bed, and once he was settled, he instructed her to wedge a piece of wood under the door handle. She obeyed, then did the same to the second door across the room.
The silence after the battle was jarring—too sudden, too complete.
Outside the safe room, not a sound stirred.
Luna took deep, steadying breaths, trying to quell the nausea curling in her belly.
The iron-rich scent of Clyde’s blood clung to the air, suffocating her like a second skin soaked in death.
Searching for a distraction, she rummaged through the cabinet and found a spare cloth, what she thought was a bandaging kit, and pincushion with several needles.
Quickly, she set it beside Clyde and examined his injury.
Dark blood oozed from a deep puncture, and the flesh around it was already swollen and bruised.
With shaking hands, she soaked a towel in alcohol and dabbed it around the wound.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, putting even more of the pungent liquid on the towel before pressing it again. “I know the basics, but I’m no healer.”
Clyde met her eyes and managed a weak smile, but there was no warmth in it. “At least I’ll die with the one I love,” he said. “Not many men get to say that.”
A sharp pang shot through her ribs, his words landing somewhere deep and unsteady. She didn’t answer right away—just pressed the bloodied towel harder against his leg, then tossed it aside and reached for a clean one.
“You’re not going to die,” she said, sharper than intended.
Whether it was fear or frustration, she couldn’t tell.
She still cared. How could she not? Some part of her, buried and stubborn, still loved him .
. . might always love him . . . but that didn’t erase what he’d done, nor did it make her trust him. It certainly didn’t make this easier.
He nodded faintly, then he lay back, tugging her hand to draw her close. His lips met hers in what might have been a tender kiss if not for the blood between them and the ballroom screams still ringing in her ears.
She stiffened. “What are you doing, Clyde?”
“Enjoying my last moments with the love of my life.” He reached for her again, but she pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. As if that could erase the kiss, the moment, and the wrongness of it.
“We need to focus.” Her eyes darted down to the grotesque sight of the arrow. “Should I pull it out? Tell me what to do.”
“I wanted you to be mine . . .” he whispered, his hand seeking hers. “I was going to ask you after the ceremony—”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
He let out a breathy sigh and curled his hands against his chest. “Everything went so wrong.” His voice was weak; he must have lost too much blood.
“Clyde,” she repeated, with more urgency. “What do I do?”
His fingers fumbled along his chest, squeezing his heart as if it ached. But he said nothing, his eyes drifting closed. Dread twisted inside of her.
“Clyde!”
“Nothing,” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Only magic can save me now.”
She looked down at her hands as if her powers were there. They weren’t, only useless trembling fingers. She tried to summon it anyway, but nothing answered her call. “I can’t just make it happen,” she said quietly, her eyes burning. “I don’t know how.”
Clyde’s hands fell to his sides, his body going completely limp. A deep red stain had spread across his tunic, dark and uneven.
“Skies above,” she gasped, her breath hitching. How had she missed that?
Frantically, she fumbled for the scissors in the bandaging kit and with unsteady hands, she snipped the fabric away, peeling the blood-soaked cloth from his skin. The sight made her blood run cold.
“When did this happen?”
There was so much blood. It coated his skin, pooled in the hollows of his ribs, and dripped onto the sheets beneath him. Forcing herself to move instead of gawk and freeze, she grabbed more towels and pressed them firmly against his chest.
Stay calm. Stop the bleeding. Keep him alive.
His fingers curled weakly around her wrist, his touch featherlight. “Try,” he whispered. “Try for me, my Luna love.”
She shook her head, blinking back tears. “I can’t do anything useful with my magic,” she said gently. “I can’t even make it appear when I want to. Damien could, but I can’t . . .” A sob lodged itself in her throat. “I can’t save you.”
Clyde’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”
She pressed her lips in a tight line. Now wasn’t the time to explain her adventure or the star flowers. Let him draw his own conclusions.
He pushed himself upright, ignoring her protests for him to stay still. “I’m here to protect you,” he said, his voice oddly steady. “You can trust me with your secrets.”
Funny, once upon a time, he was her only secret.
His voice turned sickly sweet. “Unicorn or human, I love you.” He chuckled, but it faded fast. “Without seeing your beast, I feel like I only know half of you.” A pause, then softer, he said, “Think of it as my last dying wish.”
She stilled.
Why would he want to see that now? Surely, he’d want his last memory to be of her as he’d always known her.
Emily’s words from the banquet echoed: The only reason he wants you, why anyone wants you, is because you’re exotic.
She was a trophy to him, she realized—a conquest. Not someone to love, but something to be claimed. Cold dread crept in, sending a shiver through to her bones. He had never truly loved her; he had only ever loved the idea of her. She’d been a fantasy, not a person.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”