Luna was waging war—against clothing, specifically. Her room looked like a battlefield of half-filled suitcases and discarded shoes.
She folded a blouse neatly, then stared at it. "I’m not running away," she muttered to herself. "This is not running away."
She was preparing to move into the private building King Lucivar had commissioned for her. It was elegant, distant from Damien’s quarters.
As soon as she’d spoken to Damien about it, she would move. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? .com
Who was she without the crown? Without the stifling expectations?
She needed to find out. And when she did, maybe—just maybe—she and Damien could finally begin again. One day, when the time was right, maybe she’d walk beside him, not as his responsibility... but as his queen.
She bent to pick up a runaway scarf, only to nearly fall into an open suitcase. She groaned. "Ugh. Maybe being a queen means someone else packs your bags."
That’s when she heard the faint knock and turned to see Damien stepping into the room.
He looked sharp in his dark coat.
"Hey, Luna. I was able to—" Damien’s voice trailed off the moment he stepped into the room and caught sight of the scene before him.
"What...what is going on? Are you going somewhere?" he asked.
Luna looked over her shoulder. "Not really. I didn’t know you’d be back so early," she said, folding a sweater. "I wanted to tell you the king finally got me a place of my own."
Damien’s brows knit together. He took another step into the room. "The king... a place of your own. I don’t understand."
That was the understatement of the century.
"I told the king I’d like my own space," Luna explained. "I want to find my footing in Blood City. He didn’t think it was a good idea to live outside the Blood Castles, so he gave me a building here."
Her logic was flawless, reasonable even. But all Damien could hear was the rush of silence filling the growing gap between them.
"What’s wrong with here?" he asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice. "What’s wrong with this place?"
She paused in her folding. That told him everything before she even spoke.
"Damien... I told you I wanted to be by myself. Figure this whole thing out."
He swallowed. The words lodged in his throat.
"You mean be away from me."
Luna winced a little from how easily he’d misunderstood.
"Not like you’re saying it," she said softly, stepping toward him.
Her eyes searched his face, willing him to understand. She wasn’t running from him—she was trying to find herself without being eclipsed by him. She needed space, not absence. Solitude, not separation.
Damien stood still, as though her step forward had knocked the breath out of him instead of inviting him closer.
"This isn’t about not loving you," Luna continued. "This is about loving myself enough to know I can’t be good for anyone—not even you—until I’m whole."
"You know, in my head, I thought we were finally doing okay," he murmured. "Hell, I actually thought we were making progress."
Luna’s heart twisted. "We are, Damien. But not in the way you want. Not yet."
He looked away, running a hand through his hair. "So, what? I just wait now? Pretend I’m not going crazy every time I walk into a room and you’re not there?" \n(o)v.e\l.com
Luna tilted her head, reaching for his hand. "You don’t have to pretend anything. You just have to trust me. I’m not disappearing. I’m just... relocating."
Damien gave her a long look of heartbreak.
"Luna," Damien said. His eyes burned into hers, fierce and wounded. "I have done everything I can to show you that beyond the mate pull, beyond the bond—I love you."
He stood rigid in the doorway. His fingers flexed at his sides.
"I have begged," he went on. "I have sacrificed, I have..." His throat worked around the words he didn’t want to say. "...but all you do is find a way to keep me away since the very beginning."
"Without the bond," he said quietly, "you would never even see me."
Luna flinched because it was the truth, in some twisted, painful way. She opened her mouth, her heart thudding in her chest.
"Damien... you don’t understand. I..."
But he cut her off with a sharp wave of his hand. "I’m done, Luna."
He took a shaky breath and looked away, as if he couldn’t bear to see her face anymore—because seeing her always made him weak, and he didn’t want to be weak today.
"I’m done being the fool that runs after you," he said. "I can’t do this anymore. I can’t."
"If you would just let me explain," she said quickly, stepping forward on instinct.
"I came to tell you your integration ritual has been scheduled at the High Temple for the next full moon," he said. "You can do whatever you want."
And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Luna stood frozen, her heart racing to catch up with what had just happened.
"Damien..." she whispered, the sound barely audible even to herself.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud.
She didn’t realize her hand was on her chest until she felt the pulse beneath her palm.
It wasn’t supposed to go like that.
She’d only meant to have a little space. To find herself, not to lose him.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the packed bags.
Damien stormed into the throne room, his fury crackling off him in waves that startled even the guards posted at the tall double doors.
"Are you trying to keep her away from me too?" he shouted the moment he caught sight of his father. "You’re supposed to be my father! What... what are you doing?"
Lucivar didn’t even look startled. In fact, he looked... mildly amused. He lifted a brow and calmly turned from the large chested royal secretary who was presenting him with estate reports.