Chapter 34 The Fallen Luna
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Aurora's POV
The darkness didn't just fill the room; it felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing against my chest as I woke up. My head throbbed with a steady ache that matched the flickering candlelight. Beside me, Elio’s different-colored eyes—one pale blue, one deep amber—shone with a worried, watery light. Kelvin stood in the shadows near the heavy oak wardrobe, his body stiff.
"How long?" My voice was a dry scratch. I tried to lift my hand to rub my eyes, but the sharp sting of bandages stopped my movement. "Who treated me? How did I get here, Elio?"
I struggled to lean against the headboard. The world tilted, a dizzying swirl of dark wood and velvet.
"Your Majesty, please," Elio whispered, her hands hovering near my shoulders, afraid to touch me yet desperate to hold me down. "The doctor said you must stay still. Your spirit is... weak."
"You aren't answering me." I gripped her wrist, my fingers digging into her skin. I didn't want comfort; I wanted the truth. "The King. Is he better? I need to go to him."
Elio looked at Kelvin. The look they shared was like a blade to my gut—a silent message that left me out.
"You’ve been passed out for seven days, Luna," she finally said.
"Seven days?" I tried to jump out of the silk sheets, but the weakness in my legs was a betrayal. "The King was dying. I spent weeks nursing him, pouring my own life into his—how could I sleep while he suffers?"
"Luna," Kelvin’s voice was rough, losing all its usual warmth. "Have you forgotten? He recovered. The miracle happened... because Lady Victoria returned."
The name felt like a physical blow. Victoria. The ghost, the legend, the woman whose picture hung in the forbidden gallery. "Who is back? That’s impossible. She’s dead."
"She is very much alive," Elio said, a single tear running through the dirt on her cheek. "And she hasn't left his side since she stepped through the gates."
"Then why isn't he here?" I looked between them, my heart beating a fast rhythm against my ribs. "Why hasn't he checked on me? He saw what it took to save him. He saw the price I paid."
Kelvin stepped forward, his eyes fixed on my throat. "Luna... touch your neck."
My fingers shook as they rose. I followed the line of my collarbone until I felt it—the raised, bumpy skin of a fresh mark. But it wasn't the jagged, raw mark of a desperate bond. It was smooth and detailed. The mark of a rose. The finality of it made my breath catch. I searched my mind for the moment it happened, but there was nothing but a blinding white light and the distant, echoing sound of someone screaming.
"He marked me," I whispered, a desperate hope growing in my chest. "He claimed me fully. That means something, Kelvin. It means I'm his."
"It means you were a tool," Kelvin answered, his voice full of a cruel kind of pity. "Lady Victoria returned, and the King hasn't whispered your name once. The Prince is holding court. The staff are throwing parties. You were the bridge he walked across to get back to his real life, Aurora. Now that he’s across, he’s burned the bridge."
"We should leave," Elio urged, her voice low and secretive. "Before Victoria decides to finish what the illness started. We can find Carlus. We can disappear before the palace realizes you're even awake."
I looked at the bandages on my hands. My revenge against Leonardo, the blood-debt my father owed me—all of it was tied to the power I was supposed to have here. I hadn't given up my soul to be a tiny note in another woman's love story. I wasn't a temporary replacement.
"No," I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The cold stone floor sent a shock through my body. "I am the marked Luna. I will not be thrown away like a used bandage. Take me to his rooms."
"The guards won't let us pass the West Wing," Elio argued.
"Then we walk through the front," I snapped.
The walk through the hallways was a slow slide into a nightmare. Music drifted up from the Great Hall—happy, loud strings that mocked my seven-day sleep. No one stopped us, but no one bowed either. It was as if I had already become a ghost.
As we reached the big staircase, a figure stepped out from the shadows. He was young, with the King’s sharp jawline but eyes full of a planned, cold hate. He held a thin ceremonial sword across his chest, blocking the path.
"Who are you?" I demanded, trying to find the royal tone that usually controlled the room.
The boy laughed, a dry, rhythmic sound. "He is the Prince, Luna," Elio whispered behind me.
"Prince William," the boy corrected, his eyes looking over my messy hair and the bandages showing from my sleeves. "And I would suggest you stop using that title. My mother is back in her rightful place. Why would we call a commoner 'Luna' when the Queen has returned?"
I felt the heavy weight of his stare—he wasn't looking at a Queen; he was looking at a nuisance. "I am marked and claimed, Prince. No matter who has returned, I have a rank you should respect. I am older than you, and I am the woman who saved your father’s life."
William took a step closer, his face inches from mine. I could smell the expensive wine on his breath. "You were a distraction. A temporary fix for a sad man. Now?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a mean whisper. "Now you’re just a stripper who got lucky for a season. Enjoy the title while it lasts. I'll make sure the loss of your rank is much more painful than the marking was."
He brushed past me, his shoulder hitting mine hard enough to make me stumble. I gripped the railing, my knuckles hurting, but I refused to fall.
"Let's go," I whispered.
We went down to the bottom of the stairs just as the heavy doors to the courtyard swung open. A group of advisors and high-ranking officials entered, surrounding a tall, powerful figure. My heart jumped.
It was him. The King.
He looked stronger than I had ever seen him. The paleness was gone, replaced by a lively, fierce energy. He was laughing at something an advisor said, his eyes bright.
I stood at the edge of the carpet, Elio and Kelvin like shadows behind me. As he came closer, I raised my hand. It was a simple move, a silent plea for him to see me, a "here I am."
The King’s gaze shifted. For a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto mine. I saw the recognition. I saw the memory of our shared whispers in the dark, the way he had clung to me when he thought the end was near.
Then, the light in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a terrifying, flat lack of care. He didn't frown. He didn't sneer. He simply looked through me as if I were a piece of glass, moving his attention back to the man beside him without missing a single word in his conversation.
He walked past. The wind from his heavy cloak brushed against my skin, cold and smelling of the outdoors. I stayed there, my hand still hanging in the empty air, the music of the palace growing into a roar that drown
ed out the sound of my heart breaking.