The training yard was quiet that morning. Only the soft hum of steel and the dull thud of wooden blades filled the air. Valaen Duskmoore stood in the center, sweat clinging to his bare chest as he drove his sword into the practice dummy again and again. Every strike echoed like thunder, every swing another attempt to silence the memory that refused to fade.Her voice.
Her eyes.
The moment she'd looked at him and whispered, "You don't believe me."
He gritted his teeth and swung again, hard enough to snap the dummy's arm clean off.
"Your Highness," Dael called from behind him. "The councilors are beginning to worry. You haven't eaten in two days."
"I'm not hungry."
Dael sighed. He'd been his right hand since childhood—steady, loyal, and far too honest for his own good. He exchanged a look with Kieran, another friend from the palace guard, who stood by the railing with a hesitant frown.
Kieran cleared his throat. "The soldiers say the body count's been confirmed. Two hundred of ours dead in that ambush. The people are demanding a new Luna before the Moon Feast."
Valaen dropped his sword, chest rising and falling heavily. "Then they'll have one."
Kieran blinked. "You've decided?"
"Yes."
Valaen walked to the water trough and splashed his face.
The cold bit against his skin, but it did nothing to clear the heaviness in his chest.
"Lyra will take the title."
Silence fell over the yard.
Dael spoke first, carefully. "Lyra of Ashmoor? She's been your friend since childhood, yes, but—"
"She's steady," Valaen cut in. "Loyal. Everything Selene wasn't."
The words came out sharper than he meant, and for a brief moment, his voice cracked under the weight of them.
Kieran shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure, Valaen? You've known Selene longer than most. Maybe there's something we missed—"
"Enough," he snapped. The power in his tone made the air seem to vibrate. "The Council has ruled. The evidence was clear. Selene Hale was guilty of treason. I will not discuss it again."
The two men exchanged glances but said nothing more.
Valaen sank onto a bench and pressed his hands to his face. His head throbbed from lack of sleep. Every night since the trial, he'd seen her standing there in chains—her hair matted with blood, her eyes glassy but unbroken. She hadn't cried. Not even when the sentence was read. She'd only looked at him once, as if searching for the man she thought she knew.
And he hadn't been able to meet her gaze.
He'd told himself it was duty, That justice had to come before love. That a leader couldn't bend for sentiment. But in the quiet moments, when the moon hung low and the palace fell silent, that lie began to crack.
Dael finally spoke, breaking the tension. "When will you announce it?, The new Luna?"
"Tomorrow," Valaen replied. "Before the court. Lyra's family has served Duskmoore for generations. The people will approve."
Kieran nodded slowly. "She's kind. Everyone knows she's admired you since you were pups."
Valaen exhaled, staring at the sky. "That's not why I chose her."
Dael tilted his head. "Then why?"
"Because she won't betray me."
The words hung in the air, bitter and hollow.
Moments later, a messenger approached and bowed low. "Your Highness, Lady Lyra requests an audience. She's waiting in the courtyard."
Valaen hesitated, then nodded. "Send her in."
When Lyra entered, her presence was calm, familiar,like a memory from a simpler time. She wore a soft blue dress that brushed the ground and her hair in loose curls around her shoulders. Her scent; wildflower and silver rain—stirred something deep within him.
"Valaen," she said gently, bowing. "You called for me?"
"I did." He forced his expression into something resembling composure. "I'll be announcing my decision tomorrow. I'd like you to stand beside me as Luna."
Her eyes widened. "You mean—"
"Yes."
For a heartbeat, she seemed speechless. Then she took a step closer, voice trembling slightly. "Are you sure this is what you want? After everything that's happened…"
He looked at her, at the softness in her eyes, the concern there.
"It's what Duskmoore needs."
She smiled faintly, though her eyes held something unreadable. "Then I'll do my best to be worthy of it."
"Good." He turned away, unwilling to hold her gaze for too long. "There will be a ceremony before the moon's turn. Prepare yourself."
Lyra lingered a moment, then spoke quietly. "You've been carrying this alone, Valaen. Let someone share the weight with you."
He didn't answer.
When she left, Dael approached again. "You know, the people will see this as strength," he said. "Moving on so quickly. Showing you're not broken."
Valaen's lips twitched into a humorless smile. "That's the idea."
But long after his friends left, and the torches burned low, Valaen remained in the yard alone. His sword lay abandoned in the sand, his fists clenched. The night wind carried the faint scent of rain,the kind that came from the southern border, where the desert began.
For a moment, he thought of her. Of Selene, somewhere out there, probably dead or close to it. The thought twisted in his chest, and he cursed himself for caring.
"Traitor," he whispered under his breath, as if saying it enough times would make him believe it.
He turned back toward the palace, his jaw set, his expression cold. The guards at the gate saluted as he passed, murmuring to each other about the new Luna-to-be.
Inside, preparations were already underway; silver drapes being hung in the great hall, ceremonial robes laid out, letters being sent to the noble houses.
Duskmoore would have its queen again.
And yet, for all the order and purpose surrounding him, Valaen felt only emptiness.
In the reflection of the polished glass doors, he saw himself; a king, an heir, a ruler. But not a mate. Not anymore.
He exhaled slowly and looked away.
"Tomorrow," he muttered. "Tomorrow it all begins again."
But even as he said it, the hollow ache inside him refused to fade.