Luna arrived at the Royal Empire, deliberately ignoring the formal escort meant to greet her. The guards had long since stopped trying to redirect her; she had the aura of a woman who knew where she was going and dared the world to get in her way.
As expected, she walked straight into Damien’s office.
He turned at the sound of her, a rare softness overtaking his usually grim expression. The wariness faded from his eyes as he crossed the room in three long strides and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"So, how’s it going?" Luna asked.
"Busy as usual," Damien replied with a shrug. "But I did set time apart for you."
Luna blinked. "Awww. That’s sweet." Then her lips curled into a teasing smile. "Are you trying hard to be cute, Prince Damien?"
He raised a brow with exaggerated pride. "Is it working?"
"No..." she said bluntly, though her grin betrayed her.
Damien mock-gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Well, I can always try, can’t I?"
"You’re persistent. I’ll give you that." Luna chuckled, eyes dancing. "So, what’s this magic you want to work about hiding the scar on my neck?"
Damien’s smile turned sly. "We are going shopping."
Luna stared at him. "Uhn... shopping hides a mark?"
"You need signature pieces to go on that beautiful neck..." Damien murmured, as his fingertips traced the curve of Luna’s shoulders. He wasn’t touching her with hunger but with that quiet desperation of a man who both adored and feared the very presence before him. His hands skimmed down her arms, trying to imprint her onto himself in case everything unraveled tomorrow.
"This won’t be for long," he added, and even he wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort her or himself. "I am not ashamed of calling you my mate, but marking you... it’s a different level politically, and there are some who may disapprove of it."
He said the words lightly. But internally, Damien winced. He had started out trimming the truth to protect her, but now his lies were forming a twisted vine around them both—delicate at first, but now threatening to choke the very thing he was trying to protect. His moral compass, once so elegantly tuned, was now just spinning in exhausted circles.
Luna stilled in his arms. "There are those who don’t want you with me? Asides from your...you know who."
Damien cursed internally and forced a strained smile. "No... not that. It’s just vampire politics. Don’t worry about it."
"Ah," Luna replied dryly. "The famous ’don’t worry about it’ clause. That always makes everything better."
"Damien," she said quietly, stepping back just enough to look up at him, "if you never give me full stories... how am I ever supposed to understand you?"
Her gaze was not accusing, just honest.
He swallowed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I don’t want you to understand me, Luna," he said honestly. "I want you to love me enough to trust me."
It wasn’t fair. And he knew it. But he also knew that if she understood everything, she might take the blame on herself and make even more stupid decisions. Or worse, she might try to help, and be consumed by it.
Luna exhaled slowly, then sat on the edge of his desk. "Listen... this finding myself thing, it has less to do with you and more with me."
"I understand..." Damien said. "It’s not a good feeling to have no control over your own life. And I may have played a huge part in that."
She arched a brow. "You think?"
He smirked despite himself. "I have said it a thousand times already, I was trying to save you."
"Well," she said, tapping his forehead with one finger, "next time try saving me without taking away all my decisions."
Damien laughed and leaned his head against hers. "Noted."
"Now, this... is working." Luna smiled.
"It is, uhn..." Damien chuckled. "I should be more understanding more often."
Luna laughed. "Oh, Damien," she said mockingly, "look at you evolving."
"I know. Tragic," he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. His lips lingered there just a beat longer than necessary, breathing her in. Then, gently, he stepped back and gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
"We shall," Luna replied, sweeping past him.
Damien had just finished a sip of water when Luna stepped into the living area. And then the glass almost slipped from his hand.
She was wearing a dress. No, that wasn’t the word. Dress was too humble, too unworthy. This was a declaration of divine royalty stitched in seduction. A bare-shouldered, snow-white gown that hugged her curves, with rose patterns blooming at the hem and a slit up one thigh that was... generous. It revealed enough to make his brain completely wipe its cache of diplomatic priorities.
And then there was the necklace—the signature piece he had just gifted her—a collar of glittering diamonds, wrapping around her throat. She didn’t just look beautiful—she looked dangerous.
"You look magnificent," he said at last
"I know, right?" Luna beamed, twirling once with giddy pride. The dress flared with her movement, catching the light, catching him, catching everything. "I feel magnificent."
"My mum got me this dress for my honeymoon with Kyllian."
"Please don’t ruin the moment," he scoffed.
Luna smirked. "Just saying. It’s a very versatile dress."
Damien narrowed his eyes, lips twitching in reluctant amusement. "You’re dangerously close to being tossed onto the bed and kept there until you forget that name entirely." fre\e(w)ebn ov.e l\. co.m
"Which one? Mum or Kyllian?" she asked sweetly, blinking innocently.
"Oh, grow up," Luna said with a cheeky roll of her eyes, that perfect blend of teasing and challenge in her voice.
Damien stepped closer, closing the distance between them until there was no room left for jokes or distractions. His gaze locked onto hers, serious and smoldering. He took her hand in his, fingers curling gently but possessively around hers.