Chapter 37 TrustFlee?
Trust or Flee?
She was being stitched back together by someone who would soon tear her apart. She knew it, yet she held still and let him.
All night, he’d comforted her as nightmares plagued her sleep; nightmares so vivid and vicious that even his presence couldn’t keep them at bay.
All night, her mind dragged her back—again and again—to the dirty blanket, the sharp instruments, the sound of her own screams. It felt like she was still trapped in that nightmare, like she’d never escape.
By morning, Luna was drenched in sweat and shaking. The sheets twisted around her, clinging like a trap. Never again, she told herself as she shoved the blankets off. Hollow words, but like a mantra, she repeated them anyway.
The truth was, she was weak. She didn’t possess the muscles or skills of a trained warrior.
And with no control over her magic, she couldn’t rely on it in a fight.
Though she wished she could see Nina, somewhere in the grip of last night’s nightmares, she’d realized it wasn’t worth it.
If she wanted to stay free and never fall into someone else’s plans again, she needed to flee.
Her gaze slid to the man lying peacefully beside her. Sleep softened his face, his lashes rested against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted in quiet calm. Somehow, that beauty made his soon-to-come betrayal all the more devastating.
Her fingers ached to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin, but the memory of that night with Gregory soured the moment. A pang of sadness hit her, and she quietly slid out of bed while holding her breath, terrified even the smallest sound might wake him.
Silently, she said her goodbyes and moved to the wardrobe. It was difficult to keep her hooves from clopping against the cold floor. This hybrid form was so different from her human one—stronger, more graceful—and her magic felt clearer now, no longer buried but humming beneath her skin.
As Luna went through the wardrobe, her gaze caught on something unexpected.
Her discarded petal dress was no longer crumpled on the floor.
Instead, the house had grown a mannequin—part vine, part bloom—rising from the ground like a stem.
Its petals fanned open like outstretched arms, gently cradling the gown she’d worn the night before.
It was beautiful, yet it made her shiver.
Continuing with the task at hand, she ignored the softness of the fabrics against her skin as she searched for something simple she could run in.
Everything was plant-based: woven leaves, pressed petals, and airy moss threads—as if the wardrobe had tailored its contents and had taken her first outfit as a template, deciding it defined her style.
She pulled on a moss-coloured blouse, fitted and breathable, and a petal-layered skirt—short in front, longer in back. The material was light, flexible, and structured in a way she didn’t think it’d snag.
As she quietly dressed, a thought surfaced. Survival meant more than escape. Delicate rings and beautiful necklaces filled with various shiny gems lay displayed on a nearby table. She’d need food, supplies . . . money.
With sudden urgency, she tore a broad leaf from a fern in the corner, stuffed as much jewelry into it as she could, then twisted it into a makeshift bag and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt.
She reached for the door but froze, fingers outstretched.
A strange pull made her hesitate, made her glance over her shoulder. The bed lay neat, undisturbed and empty. Her heart lurched. She spun around, a gasp catching in her throat.
There, leaning against the mirror she’d covered earlier, was Damien. His dark eyes gleamed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Going somewhere?”
Her limbs locked, muscles stiffening as she stared at him. How much had he seen?
“Just readying for the day,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder—only to remember she didn’t have any. The motion faltered. Her hand dropped, curling into the layers of her petal skirt, too aware now of everything that had been taken from her.
Damien pushed off the mirror with lazy grace. He crossed the room slowly, eyes on hers and stripping her bare, as if he could read her very thoughts.
That wouldn’t do.
She lifted her chin, proud like any lady in court. Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t give yourself away.
But each step he took chipped away at her resolve. The more the gap between them closed, the smaller and shakier she felt. Her knees trembled; her lungs forgot how to breathe.
How could one man unmake her like this?
When he reached her, his hand slid to her waist and drew her in. A shiver chased down her spine. For a moment—just a moment—she leaned in, aching for the warmth of him, the safety of him, the lie of it all. A groan built in her throat, and she almost begged him to go lower.
He grinned, like he could taste the thought forming on her tongue. His fingers brushed the edge of the broad-leaf pouch tucked into her skirt, dragging her focus from the heat gathering low in her belly.
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Instincts screamed at her to run, to break this spell, but her hooves wouldn’t move.
He didn’t take the pouch. Just let his fingers trail along the little swell it made at her hip—slow, deliberate.
“A girl who runs with diamonds in her skirt,” he murmured. “You do know how to keep things interesting.”
Skies save her.
Digging deep, she managed a shrug. “Figured she wouldn’t notice a few missing trinkets.”
His gaze searched hers, seeking a truth she wouldn’t let him see. He cocked his head and let his voice drop into a purr. “Stealing from Winta? Brave.” A faint smile tugged at his lips—not cruel, but amused. “Deadly, but brave.”
She couldn’t answer. Her throat was tight, her chest burning. How much was he piecing together?
He continued, voice softer now, low and unhurried. “This is all quite unnecessary.”
His hand rose to her shoulder, and she flinched reflexively but didn’t pull away, allowing him to trace slow, deliberate circles against her skin.
The contact was soft and familiar. She melted into it—into him.
She wanted him to drag her back to that bed, drown her in warmth and touch and the dangerous illusion that she was safe here.
That he was safe.
“If you wish to leave,” he said softly, “I’ll give you whatever you need. I won’t stop you.”
A flicker of sadness crossed his eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. “I only ask that you tell me why.”
Doubt clawed at her insides. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Promise you won’t stop me.”
His dark eyes searched hers. Silence stretched, thickening the air between them, until finally, he nodded.
“By blood that binds and breath that breaks, I swear—you are free. If I were to break this vow, let the earth deny me and the sky erase me.”
The words settled between them, and Luna couldn’t help the shudder that ran through her.
She wanted to tell him now. Had to say it out loud. “I heard you.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “That night. You and Gregory . . . talking about taking me to the Darkened One.”
Any lightness in Damien faded entirely. For a brief moment, she wondered if he would deny everything, brushing off her accusations like a trivial misunderstanding.
But instead, his following words cut like a blade.
“Yes, I have made a deal with the Darkened One.” His voice was unnervingly calm.
“But it’s not you I have agreed to trade. ”
The floor tilted beneath Luna. She staggered backwards, her hand flying to grasp the table behind her for balance. “But I—What? No.” This wasn’t making sense. “Who?”
“I just . . .” His fingers squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t stand by while Arleen was forced to marry the Darkened One.”
Luna blinked, his words crashing over her like cold water. Forced? The very idea made her insides twist. “Why would she have to?”
“For peace,” Damien answered with a shrug. “My father believes marrying Arleen to the Darkened One is the first step towards building a political relationship between our territories. We’ve been at war with Solar for centuries, and things have only gotten worse with the Darkened One in power.”
“She’s terrified,” he continued, lips pressing into a thin line.
“So I went behind my father’s back and begged the Darkened One to release her.
He will, but only if I complete an . . .
errand . . . for him.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and for a second, he looked younger—tired, ashamed.
Like saying it aloud might make it worse.
“In exchange for my sister, he wants Nina.”
Not her . . . He would trade her mother. Luna inhaled sharply; the words were like steel slicing through flesh. “How would—Why?”
“Unable to stray far, and unable to trace Nina, thanks to the protection ceremonies, he needed someone to do the dirty work of tracking her down. I was to collect her and bring her to him.”
Her fingers drifted to the spot where the king’s men had shot her during her capture. She pressed her thumb to the phantom ache. “You only came to Ghelvina to kidnap my birth mother?”
He nodded stiffly; the admission was blunt, unapologetic.
Luna ground her teeth together. Who was he to decide whose life could be bartered for another’s? Nina had already lost so much.
If he’d been in King Hendrix’s place, would he have chosen Luna too? Offered her up in Nina’s stead, just to keep someone he loved safe?
She clenched her hands into fists and, for a moment, she imagined knocking his head clean off, but she swallowed the urge. “How did you find her?”