The night had long since wrapped the palace in darkness when Liora lay beside Gonzalo. His breath was slow, deep with sleep, his arm heavy over her waist. The warmth of his body should have been comfort enough, yet her thoughts churned. The memory of Vanya's silence haunted her, the image of her slipping out of the chamber without a word echoing louder than the cheers that had celebrated the pregnancy.
She turned slightly, gazing at Gonzalo's sleeping face, the proud jaw, the scar at his temple, the mouth that had said vows of devotion. It was easy to love him. But love was not blind, it could not blot out the shadow of the other woman who had once been where Liora now was.
When dawn broke, she found him in the council chamber, already dressed in a dark tunic embroidered with the Alpha's crest. He was reviewing reports from the border patrols, his brows drawn together in concentration.
"Gonzalo," she began gently.
He looked up, and the hard line of his mouth softened. "Liora. Come." He extended a hand, drawing her close enough that he could press a kiss to her temple. "What troubles you this early?"
She hesitated, then let the words spill. "It's Vanya."
The softness in his face cooled. He released her hand and leaned back against the high-backed chair. "What about her? Is she troubling you?"
"I've seen how she moves through the halls," Liora said carefully. "She's quiet, but not at peace. She spends her days alone. Gonzalo, she is your Luna too. She gave you loyalty when you needed it, and she stood beside you before I ever arrived. You should…pay her more attention. Balance your time."
His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in weariness. "And what would you have me do? Split myself in two?"
"I would have you remember," Liora pressed softly, "that her heart still beats for you, even if she hides it. She is hurting quietly. I don't want her to be destroyed while I am lifted. That isn't the way of the Moon."
For a moment, silence stretched. Gonzalo's gaze softened, but it was tinged with something resolute. "Vanya is strong," he said finally. "She will be fine. Do not trouble yourself with her. My focus is on you now, and the child you carry. That is where my duty lies."
Liora lowered her eyes, both warmed and unsettled by his words. She had what she wanted, yes, but part of her wondered at the cost.
***
The garden became her refuge. Days stretched warm and golden, and she found herself slipping away from the bustle of the palace to where the apple trees grew heavy with fruit. There, Elira waited more often than not, her hands busy with baskets and water basins.
The girl's laughter was like birdsong. They would sit beneath the shade of the trees, sharing stories, trading secrets that made the long hours bloom with brightness. Liora shed her title in those moments, speaking not as Luna but as woman, as friend.
One afternoon, when the sun burned lazily above them, Liora asked, "Tell me about your family, Elira. You never speak of them."
The girl stilled, her fingers twisting in her lap. "There is little to tell, my Lady."
"Little, perhaps, but I want to hear it," Liora coaxed, leaning closer.
Elira's eyes dropped to the grass. "My family lives beyond the southern hills. We once had fields and goats enough to live, but my father fell ill. The debts piled higher than we could climb. My brothers work the fields of others now, nearly as servants themselves. My mother weeps every night, fearing the collectors will one day take even the roof from above her head."
The words trembled with shame, though spoken in a quiet, steady voice.
Liora felt her chest tighten. She thought of her own days of being overlooked, of hunger gnawing in her belly, of loneliness that could hollow a soul. To see this girl—bright, sweet, undeserving carrying the same burden made her heart ache.
She reached for Elira's hand, clasping it warmly. "No family of yours will suffer while I can stand. I will see to it."
Elira shook her head quickly, alarm in her eyes. "No, my Lady, I should not have said anything. It isn't your burden…"
"Hush," Liora interrupted, smiling. "The Moon has given me much. It is only right that I share. Let me do this."
Elira's lips parted, words failing her. Her eyes shimmered as though she might cry, but instead she bowed her head, whispering, "Thank you."
***
The very next day, Liora summoned her steward. "See to it that Elira's family's debts are erased. Deliver gold enough to settle every account, and livestock enough to fill their fields again. Quietly. I want no fanfare."
The steward, a grey haired wolf who had served the palace for decades, inclined his head deeply. "As you command, my Lady."
By evening, word reached Elira. She came running into the garden, her eyes wide, her breath quick. She fell at Liora's feet, clutching her hands. "They are free!" she gasped. "My mother wept with joy, my brothers sang! We are no longer slaves to debt. You have given us back our lives."
Liora bent and lifted her to her feet, laughing softly. "I gave you nothing but what was already owed. You deserve happiness as much as any Luna."
Elira's eyes glistened. "You are more than Luna. You are kindness itself."
The words warmed Liora's heart. She felt lighter than she had in months, as though by lifting another, she had freed herself too.
***
That night, when she returned to her chamber, her cloak stirred restlessly on the peg by the fire. The enchanted garment had always been more than fabric, its whispers brushing against her mind in warning when danger lurked. Tonight its voice was sharp, urgent.
Beware, Liora. Shadows lengthen. Danger coils near. Do not trust too freely. Do not rest too deeply.
Liora paused, fingers brushing over the soft weave. For a heartbeat, unease pricked her spine. But then she laughed lightly, shaking her head.
"Oh, cloak," she whispered. "Always fretting. The war is over. The rogues are scattered, the kingdom feasts. Peace has come, at last. Gonzalo and the kingdom accepts and loves us. There is nothing to fear."
The cloak's whisper grew louder, desperate, but Liora only smoothed it down and turned away. "Calm yourself," she said with a smile. "It is time to live, not to fear."
She climbed into bed beside Gonzalo, closing her eyes as the night pressed close.
In the corner of the chamber, the cloak stirred as though writhing against invisible chains, its whispers swallowed by the silence of sleep.