11

11

I don’t remember how long I stayed on that cold stone floor, clutching her lifeless body.

The scent of death lingered on my palms even after the servants pried me away. Their hands were firm, unyielding, as though they couldn’t risk touching me too long lest my grief infect them. I kicked and screamed until my throat bled, but still they dragged me down the corridor, my mother’s warmth slipping from me like sand through my fingers.

“No!” My voice cracked, breaking into ugly sounds that weren’t words anymore. “Don’t touch her! Let me go back please ”

But pleas didn’t matter here. Not in his palace. Not under his rule.

I stumbled as they pulled me toward the upper wing, my body too weak to fight. Every muscle ached, as if my bones had been scraped hollow, but still I resisted. My nails clawed the stone walls, leaving smears of blood where skin split open.

“I won’t go back to his chambers,” I spat, thrashing like an animal in their grip. “I’ll rot in the dungeon before I sleep in his bed.”

They didn’t answer me. Servants never did. But one of them, a wiry older woman with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, leaned close as they forced me into the wide double doors of the Luna’s chambers.

“You should be grateful he even spares you,” she hissed, her breath hot and venomous in my ear. “Do you think Seraphine rests quietly? No her ghost scratches at these walls. You’ll see.”

The others laughed under their breath. It was painful to even stay there while they micked me. I wanted to cry but knew better than to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break down. I was going to get out of here and they would wish they didn't talk to me like that

The doors slammed shut behind me, leaving me in silence that was somehow heavier than all their whispers combined.

The chamber was suffocating. Opulent gold curtains hung over the windows, silk sheets spread across a bed too large, too empty. But beneath all that beauty was a stillness that felt wrong, like a tomb dressed as a bridal suite.

I pressed my back against the door, my breath ragged, refusing to step further inside. My wolf prowled restlessly under my skin, snarling at the scent that still lingered in here the faint perfume of another woman.

Seraphine.

I hated that name. I hated how even in death she seemed to own this place.

Dragging myself forward, I collapsed at the foot of the bed, too drained to care if my gown pooled around me. The tears returned, quiet this time, soaking into the carpet. My mother’s last words echoed in my skull, each one a dagger: carry on with life.

How could I? She was my anchor. She was the only reason I endured the bond’s pull, the only reason I fought to stay hidden among humans. And now she was gone.

I curled into myself, clutching my knees to my chest, rocking. My wolf whimpered deep inside, pressing against me, desperate for warmth for him.

“No,” I whispered fiercely, shoving her back. “We don’t want him. We hate him. We hate him.”

But the bond didn’t listen. It burned in my veins, feverish and insistent, every breath reminding me that somewhere in this palace, he was alive, breathing, watching.

I ripped at my sleeves, needing to do something, to claw this connection out of me. My nails tore the fabric open and then I froze.

The candlelight caught something on my arm.

A faint shimmer.

At first I thought it was just the wet streak of tears, but no the lines ran deeper, across my skin, faint scars that glowed pale silver beneath the moonlight spilling through the window. They spread from my forearm to my shoulder, curling like veins of light under my skin.

“What ” My voice died in my throat.

I stumbled to the mirror across the room, nearly tripping on the trailing hem of my gown. My reflection stared back, wild-eyed, hair tangled, face streaked with grief and marked. The scars glowed across my collarbone, faint but undeniable. Lines I had never seen before.

I dragged trembling fingers across them. They burned under my touch, not painfully, but with a heat that felt alive.

My wolf surged, pressing closer, her voice breaking through the haze of my despair. The bond… it is changing.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, it’s just… the light. Just the moon.”

But deep down, I knew. This wasn’t a trick of the moon. This was something older, something I didn’t understand and it terrified me.

Behind me, the chamber door creaked. My head snapped around, heart hammering. For a moment I thought it was him that he had come to gloat again, to strip me of what little dignity I had left.

But it was only a servant, a young girl with her eyes cast low. She set down a tray of untouched food by the door, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

As she left, I caught the whisper that slipped past her lips, meant for no one but the shadows.

“Ghost-marked.”

The door shut again, leaving me in silence.

I turned back to the mirror, staring at the glowing scars that pulsed faintly in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Ghost-marked.

Seraphine’s ghost.

My mother’s death.

The bond is burning hotter.

I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew one thing: my life had already been cursed by Madden Vale, the cruel king I should never have crossed. And whatever these marks were, they tied me even closer to him.

I pressed my palm hard over the scars, as if I could smother the light. Tears welled again, slipping down my cheeks.

“I will never be your Luna,” I whispered into the empty chamber.

But the marks beneath

my hand throbbed with silver fire, as though mocking me, as though they knew better.