There was a hardened resolve in Kyllian’s eyes. He stopped before her, not saying a word.
She stepped into his arms.
For a moment, she let the tears come. Quiet, graceful sobs that shook her shoulders as she clung to Kyllian. Kyllian held her tightly, his chin resting on her head, and even he closed his eyes against the ache in his chest.
"Your highness..." Kyllian said gently.
"Would you quit calling me that?" Ravena sniffed. Her hand moved instinctively to wipe her tears, but they kept falling. Her daughter — her Luna — was no longer theirs.
"You didn’t cry when she got married," he said, hoping to lighten the mood, but his words lacked their intended playfulness. "How come you are crying now?"
"I don’t know, Kyllian," Ravena answered with a broken breath, her voice trembling. "I feel like I have finally lost her. We have finally lost her."
The confession shattered the last thread of her composure. Her sobs, though quiet, were raw and soul-deep — the grief of a mother watching her child step out of her reach.
"Oh... Ravena..." Kyllian murmured. His arms came around her tighter, protectively, as though he could shield her from this particular brand of heartbreak.
Then, the temple doors opened with a ceremonious groan, and all conversation ceased.
Damien and Luna emerged — the newly crowned King and Queen of the vampire realm. The court lords followed in formation behind them
.A new era had begun. The people cheered, the banners flew, and the court celebrated. But beneath the polished splendor, a storm brewed. Damien may have found a way to prolong his life... but at what cost?
The coronation party was grand, lavish beyond measure. Toasts were made, glasses clinked, and laughter rippled through the night.
But Damien was barely present.
He sat at the high table, smiling when necessary, nodding when addressed, but his eyes carried a glassy, distant look.
Luna was seated beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his under the table — a gentle, reassuring touch. She had no idea what storm brewed behind his silence.
And then there was Gabriel.
Damien’s uncle was too cheerful. Suspiciously so. He moved about the ballroom with ease of someone who hadn’t just lost a throne he once coveted. His laughter rang out often, a little too loud, and his glass never seemed to empty.
He was standing with Lady Sharona.
Damien’s eyes narrowed, barely concealing the storm behind them. Sharona — the haughty woman who had tossed a young girl aside in his presence this very morning — now stood too close to Gabriel, laughing at whatever poisonous things he whispered into her ear. Her posture was flirtatious, her smile cunning.
The image burned into Damien’s mind. A cruel woman and a cunning uncle — what were they plotting? And did it have something to do with Isolde?
Damien was truly torn.
If he was to escape the cursed countdown of death, he had to mark his so-called true mate. A girl the blood goddess had chosen for him. The bond with Isolde had erupted with a frightening clarity that morning, a magical thread that had no regard for love or loyalty. Marking her might save his life... but it would mean betraying the one woman who held his heart, his queen, the one he had fought death for—Luna.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her just yet. She sat beside him, poised, regal, and glowing. His queen. His mate by every meaning of the word that mattered to him. The one who had endured banishment, and bloodshed—all for him. And now, she smiled up at him, unaware of the storm beginning to brew behind his eyes.
"If you are tired, Damien, we can leave," Luna said softly. She tilted her head, watching him beneath her thick lashes, as though she were trying to read the flickering shadows behind his expression.
He swallowed, forcing a smile. "No, I’m fine," he said. "I’m sure the people will like to see us a bit more. They barely do."
Luna narrowed her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I know something is wrong, Damien. I do. And I don’t understand why you won’t tell me."
Her voice held pain. That was what broke him.
He turned to her then, catching her hand gently in his, wrapping his fingers around hers. His thumb brushed over her skin. "I truly do love you, Luna," he said. "With every single nerve inside me."
Her eyes softened, glimmering in the candlelight. She nodded. "I know. I do."
The tenderness in her gaze only made it worse. Damien nodded too, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. The warmth of her touch. She needed to know this—feel this—because soon...
Soon, he feared she would hate him.
Because just as the mate bond between them had pulled him to her in the first place—raw, urgent, undeniable—the same magic had taken root the moment Isolde’s hand met his. That telltale thread of light had burst forth, winding their wrists. And he’d walked out of that hotel room like his pants were on fire.
It was a bond he didn’t ask for. A bond he didn’t need.
But it was also the only chance he had left to survive.
And the blood goddess, it seemed, had a brutal sense of humor—to offer him poison in the form of the woman he loved and salvation in the form of someone who was not.
Lord Gabriel walked over to the both of them and offered his congratulations.
"Your Majesties, congratulations on your coronation. May your reign be peaceful." Gabriel bowed with the elegance of a man well-versed in courtly deception.
Luna, ever the diplomat despite her inner fire, offered him a courteous nod and a soft, regal smile. "Thank you, Lord Gabriel," she said, her voice laced with grace. She kept her back straight and her tone light, but her hand instinctively tightened around Damien’s arm as if she sensed the snake hiding in Gabriel’s pleasant tone. She didn’t need to know every detail to feel the tremor of unease in her mate.