Chapter 266: The Heir Is Still Sleeping
He yielded, just barely at first, and then fully, his mouth answering hers with the hunger of a man who had been untouched for centuries. His hand rose almost helplessly, finding the small of her back as though drawn there by instinct. Heat surged through his fingertips where he touched her, and for a moment the world ceased to exist.
The man who had bent the heavens to his will was undone by a single kiss, and Thessa felt it. Logic evaporated from him in that instant. He had not touched a woman in so long that the very act was dizzying, and utterly beyond reason.
Moments later, they pulled back, the faintest trace of heat still between them. Morvakar’s gaze lingered stubbornly on her lips, as though he couldn’t quite believe he’d tasted them, as though letting go of that sight would make the moment vanish into mist. He hadn’t felt that pull, that raw desire, in centuries.
"I’m going to take a rest," Thessa said softly. "The heir is still sleeping. The past few days took quite the toll on him." A small smile softened her lips. "He fought as though he already knew the throne depended on him."
"How is he?"
(Golden Tickets? Yes, I want)
"He is fine," Thessa reassured him, pride lacing her tone. "Strong. No blood yearning. He is remarkable, even by royal standards." She hesitated, then added, "Councilman Richard will be by tomorrow morning. He wants to assess the boy himself."
"Good," he murmured.
Thessa shifted. "Are you going to tell the queen you won’t be staying?" She didn’t want to sound accusing, but there was a trace of sadness threaded in her question.
Morvakar turned his eyes back to the horizon. "Not until after the ceremony," he admitted.
Thessa nodded, accepting his words though her heart sank with them. She understood him too well. With a last long look at him, she turned away and left the balcony.
*****
The soldiers in the castle stood guard at the main gates to the king’s castle. Eryk stood at the forefront, his back straight, the perfect image of loyalty and authority.
The crunch of wheels on cobblestone pulled every gaze forward. Damien had returned. He stepped down from the car, his movements smooth. He had spent the last hours with Councilman Richard, preparing the lists. Those lists would mean trials, maybe executions. And though his heart was hardened, Damien carried the fatigue of judgment in his shoulders.
When his shoes hit the ground, the soldiers moved as one. They bowed in unison. "Long live the king!" they chanted.
Gabriel was gone. Defeating him was freedom. A heavy chain had been lifted from the city’s throat, and Damien could feel it in the air: the citizens breathed easier.
The future lay before him, full of storms and trials, yes, but also of promise. His heir would not be raised in terror but in strength, and justice. And Damien would make certain of it.
Damien tapped Eryk on the back in acknowledgement, the gesture kingly. "Where is she?" Though the words were simple, Eryk could hear the ache beneath them—the king’s impatience, the desperation barely concealed under a veneer of control.
"She is waiting for you inside, your highness," Eryk answered respectfully, though he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Everyone in the castle knew their queen was Damien’s anchor, his flame, his undoing. It was the sort of devotion soldiers whispered about, secretly envied, and sometimes prayed to the Blood Goddess to experience themselves.
Damien nodded once, his sharp eyes sweeping over the gathered guards. He acknowledged them with a subtle tilt of his head, a silent thank you that carried the weight of a thousand words. The soldiers straightened, proud to serve a king who treated even his lowest man with respect. Then Damien stepped inside, the grand doors shutting behind him.
He paused in the entryway, his chest rising and falling as he closed his eyes. He didn’t need his sight to find her. All he needed was the rhythm—the rhythm that had guided him through the darkness and the unbearable nights when he thought he had lost her forever. Luna’s heartbeat. The sound he’d memorized as surely as a holy prayer.
He followed it like a pilgrim chasing the divine. When he reached the threshold of their bedroom, the sight of her stole what little breath he had left.
She was standing there, her back half-turned, a golden spill of lamplight catching in her hair. She looked radiant as the woman who was his entire world. Even in a simple nightdress, she outshone every jewel in the kingdom. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, just watching her as if he needed to convince himself she wasn’t a mirage conjured from longing.
"Hey," he finally said.
"Hey," Luna responded softly. She turned fully, her eyes catching his and holding them. For a long heartbeat they simply stood there. Husband. Wife. Lovers. Mates. Their gazes said everything.
Damien took the first step forward, his strides slow as though every inch closed was a victory. When he spoke again, his voice broke with honesty. "The past few days, when I thought I wasn’t going to see you again..." His throat tightened, and he exhaled harshly, forcing the words through. "My future—my life—looked bleak. Empty. Nothing made sense without you. You...you have no idea, Luna. And I cannot even express it in words. There are no words that can perfectly describe how I feel about you. I am obsessed with you. Madly. Entirely. Obsessively yours."
Luna fought back her tears because in that moment, tears weren’t what was needed. Tears spoke of pain, of loss, of helplessness—and she had already given enough of those to the past days. What was needed now was strength, devotion. She wanted him to see a happy woman, a woman in love. She loved him obsessively, recklessly. And he needed to feel that. She whispered instead, "We can make our own words."
Damien’s eyes searched hers as though hunting for proof that this moment was real. "We could," he admitted hoarsely, "but still—it wouldn’t be enough."
(Sparky, Rocksteady, Deshauna: I see you.)