32. Chapter 32
Lunette
I dreamed of Owain again. The dream showed him just like he was last night after the banquet, but this time Reina didn’t interrupt us in the hallway.
He’d backed me toward my room slowly, giving me every opportunity to stop him.
My body swayed toward him instead, breath already unsteady before he’d touched anything but my face.
His thumb traced the line of my jaw like he was memorizing it, like he had time, like he intended to use every bit of it to squeeze as much pleasure out of the evening as possible.
Then all that was between us was clothing and firelight. His breath became unsteady as shadows curled around my ankles. They drifted upward in slow, unhurried inches, a question more than a demand. I pulled him impossibly closer, and my skirts lifted at the hem, fabric whispering against my skin.
Desire blazed inside me so brightly that the denial of flesh-on-flesh felt like agony.
He called me Luna again—whispered it against my neck as his fingers trailed fire down my sides, pressed his straining cock into my belly.
I answered by pulling him close, needing him inside me like I needed my next breath.
In the dream, I reached for him.
But I woke up before my fingers found anything but air.
My eyes snapped open as the sharp sound of wood swinging on a chain cut through the pre-dawn stillness.
I jolted up, my heart hammering against my ribs as my head spun.
The sudden movement dislodged the furs and startled Muffin from his peaceful slumber against my neck.
I rapidly scanned my still-unfamiliar surroundings, trying to pinpoint the origin of the disturbance. I looked up as a shadow streamed through the opening cut into the door that led to the porch. The conjuration had the shape of a hand, delicately pinching a folded piece of paper.
Okay, Owain, that’s a little creepy.
Because Reina wouldn’t sneak a note into my room. She’d walk right in—or have a servant send it.
Muffin was clearly irked by the rude awakening, but he acted as if shadows passing through walls were an everyday occurrence. Instead of reacting to it, he grumpily scurried off the bed and disappeared beneath it to seek more rest.
With meticulous care, the shadow positioned the paper on the breakfast table, leaning it against the candle at the center where it would catch my eye the moment I awoke.
The conjuration retreated as silently and smoothly as it had appeared, leaving only the soft morning light to stream through the small opening.
I lay still for three heartbeats, listening. Then, before better judgment could intervene, I jumped out of bed and threw open the porch door, my eyes still heavy and my hair a bird’s nest from sleep.
I needed answers.
I stepped onto the icy stone in nothing but woolen socks, bracing for the wind.
But my emotions burned so fiercely that the autumn air felt like nothing more than a faint breeze.
My body twisted with sudden awareness, my senses unerringly pinpointing exactly where he’d be standing.
I spun around, my gaze locking onto him as if pulled by an invisible string.
Owain clearly hadn’t expected anyone to see him. He stood on the porch beside mine, clad in fighting leathers, the chest ties undone and his trousers hanging around his hips, exposing the sharp V of muscle that disappeared beneath the untied top.
Benevolent gods. Muscles.
I made a sincere effort to be angry about so much skin being on display…and failed completely. Looking at his eyes did the trick. They had the audacity to fix on me as if I were the crazy one.
“What are you doing, Owain? I can see my breath, and you’re out here half naked.” I tried to keep my voice low so as not to wake the visiting lords and ladies staying in guest rooms across the garden.
He shifted on his feet and looked down as if just noticing the state he was in. He hastily adjusted his trousers, fumbling with the tie with a maddening lack of speed. His reply was slow in coming and sounded more like a question than an answer. “Sending you a letter.”
“You could’ve had a servant bring it to me. You didn’t have to break into my room.”
“Point of correction.” He lifted one finger, a barely suppressed grin dancing on his lips. “I did not break into your room.”
“Your magic did.” I growled under my breath and clenched my fists. “That counts!”
Owain’s expression lost its humor at once. "You're right. I apologize, Lunette. You’re furious.”
“I’m freezing,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. “And furious. You trespassed.”
Did he really, Luna? Or are you just frustrated by how much you still want him after he hurt you?
I didn’t have enough practice at this. Didn’t know how to handle everything I felt for him warring inside me. Some of the heat had gone out of my anger because he’d listened. And he truly seemed to care, but I was still conflicted—and trying desperately not to ogle him.
Seeing what I was so obviously trying to hide, his expression lightened, shedding its gloom for a keen sense of awareness. “If I meant to trespass,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t still be standing all the way over here.”
The silence stretched for three heartbeats too long while I stared at the sleeping garden below because his shirt was still open.
“You are very determined not to look at me,” he observed. He moved to stand with his hands on his hips, making his shirt open even wider. “I find that…encouraging.”
His gaze flicked pointedly to my clenched hands.
Oh, absolutely not.
“The only tunic these hands will be beneath today is your brother’s,” I shot back.
Technically true, but damn. I should not have said that.
The hint of a smile on his face quickly vanished, replaced by a deep scowl.
A sudden gust of wind tossed my hair wildly, stinging my eyes as it swept across my face. He watched me with an intensity that suggested he was about to jump across the gap between us.
“You should go back inside,” he said finally.
“You first.” Not my wittiest comeback—how could it be with him standing there looking like that?
“Can’t.” He shook his head then lowered his voice to a deep basso that lit up every nerve in my body. “If I move before there’s a door between us, I’ll only succeed at convincing you of one thing—and I won’t be able to do it slowly.”
My temper still simmering, I demanded, “And what is that?”
His expression was like the embers after a blaze, devoid of light and yet still hot enough to burn. “That I still want to run my hands through those curls. And I would stop caring who heard us.”
Well, that thawed the ice that had started to invade my lungs. I swallowed, memories of the dream begging me to invite him over. “Then…stay where you are.”
His midnight eyes, dark and unreadable, stared back as he nodded. I’d never seen him look so dangerous, like a man deciding whether to break every rule he’d sworn to uphold. Those eyes didn’t stray from me as I turned and rushed back inside, heart beating erratically.
I walked straight from one flustering encounter to another, simpler sort.
One of the servants Reina had brought in that first afternoon was already expertly tucking in the corners of my bed.
I wasn’t used to people doing things for me, much less entering my private domain.
On the table sat a teacup, waiting beside a plate of pastries and jam.
Across from that, a silver tray held an inkwell with two untouched quills that stood guard over a generous pile of paper.
In Selmont, a single used sheet cost more than a week’s worth of eggs. The stack on that tray—thick, creamy, unmarred—was worth more than a healer’s yearly wages. More than anything that had ever been left at my door…and they’d sent it without asking for anything more from me.
“My lady requested that you be provided with ample materials,” the servant said crisply.
“I’m Lunette, and you are?” I asked.
“Anne, my lady.” Her sharp pivot and immediate return to her task signaled that she wasn’t interested in idle conversation.
I crossed the room and lifted the folded note Owain had left. A seal with a lion’s face, identical to the one on his armor, had been pressed into the dark green wax.
I broke it. Just like the last letter, his handwriting was firm, slanted, and in some parts impatient, as if the ideas were moving faster than the quill could write.
Lunette,
I will be in the lower yard at first light, leading drills. The men must see me steady on my feet and sound in my lungs. Rumor festers faster than rot, and I will not have them wondering whether the Tir rests on two broken men. Camrick insists I spar to prove my stamina.
You are welcome anywhere in the keep, but I think it wise I keep my distance—though I will have to see you at meals.
My actions have already caused you more than enough pain.
I do not know whether I should apologize again or refrain from doing so entirely.
Know this, at least: bringing you here was never about defying your wishes. The decision was about making one mistake to prevent an irrevocable one. Though I would be lying if I didn’t admit that just seeing you fills me with a joy that surpasses any I’ve ever known.
They say a wound stops aching once it goes numb, but I am entirely raw. Thoughts of you now fill every empty space in my mind. It is a strange mercy to be haunted by a peace I do not deserve. You have turned a ruined house into a sanctuary of light.
I still miss you, moonlight.
— Owain
I read the last sentence twice. The words felt different this time. Unlike Coryanthus’s, the thought of tossing this letter into the fire never crossed my mind.
Muffin emerged from under the bed, stretching, nose twitching toward the food.
I folded the note carefully and set it beside the untouched paper stack. Anne had already begun laying out garments from the wardrobe—silks and soft wool in shades of a snowy winter sky.
“I can dress myself,” I said between bites of pastry.