The Vampire's Luna

"Well, it is up to you. I only offered a solution," Morvakar said.

Damien stared blankly at the floor for a few long seconds, his fingers slowly rubbing the edge of the armrest. "This is one of the reasons I didn’t want her to know," he murmured. "She would want to find a solution, no matter how stupid it is."

Morvakar scoffed and wandered toward the window, peeking out at the night. "So I am guessing you are not going to tell her."

Damien hesitated again, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his lips. "No, I will. She wanted a solution. Well... now she has it." He shook his head slowly. "Would be nice to see her reaction, wouldn’t it?"

Morvakar turned. "You children of nowadays... love is a game to you. All fireworks, no compass. Bunch of new generation idiots."

Damien arched a brow. "Morvakar, for someone who cursed me and should technically be groveling for his life right now, you’ve insulted me more times than my entire people ever have."

The sorcerer snorted, unapologetic. "That’s because they love you. I thought you were going to turn out like your uncle Gabriel." He rubbed his chin as if reminiscing. "Would’ve felt less guilty for poisoning you if you were."

Damien’s head snapped up. "Ah! Ah! I knew it! I knew you feel guilty!"

Morvakar groaned and threw up his hands as if caught in the most annoying game of truth or dare ever invented. "Would it make your royal highness feel better if I admit to it?"

"Oh, it absolutely would." Damien leaned forward, grinning now. "Say it. Go on. Say you feel guilty. Let me savor this."

Morvakar sighed as if Damien were a particularly stubborn stain on his reputation as a recluse. "Fine! I feel guilty," he snapped. "I wanted to teach your father a lesson, but in my pain, I hurt you and Luna. For that, I feel guilty."

Damien gave a slow, satisfied nod. "That wasn’t so hard now, was it?"

Morvakar scoffed and pointed at him with a bony finger. "You’re still an idiot, though."

"Of course," Damien muttered, eyes rolling. He pushed himself up from the chair with a wince and stretched out his stiff limbs. "I’m going to go check on Luna."

"She’s finding it hard to sleep," Morvakar said casually. "She keeps tossing and turning. Go be with her."

Damien stopped mid-step, side-eyeing the sorcerer. "For the love of God, that thing you do is creepy. Could you turn off your magical spy sense and let the woman have some privacy?"

"It is for my own protection."

Damien threw his hands up. "I can see why you don’t get any guests. Creep." He snorted, shaking his head, and made his way to the narrow staircase, the sound of his footsteps fading.

Morvakar smirked, muttering, "Ungrateful little prince. One day they’ll build statues of me for putting up with your nonsense."

*****

Luciver slammed the door to his private quarters. The only thing louder than the slam was the expletive he muttered under his breath—a creative string of words not even the oldest vampire scrolls dared record.

"Gabriel..." he seethed.

If Gabriel’s talent for scheming could be bottled, it’d power ten kingdoms and ruin twice as many.

"If he weren’t my brother," he growled, "his head would already be on a spike."

He poured himself a glass of bloodwine.

He found a note on his bed, perched right on the pillow. A small piece of paper. He picked it up, squinting at the familiar handwriting.

’The kids are with me. You know who this is.’

Well, he’d be damned.

A dry chuckle escaped him, low and rasping, as if his lungs had momentarily forgotten how to exhale anything but disbelief. "Morvakar, you stubborn, unpredictable, treacherous genius," he muttered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Despite all the chaos and the spellbinding drama, Morvakar had always been... a good man.

He’d simply made one bad decision. Well—many bad decisions.

Luciver gave a tired smile and pulled out a match. He struck it against the table’s brass edge, the flame bursting to life with a quiet hiss. He held the note above it and watched it curl, blacken, and vanish into ash.

If word got out that Morvakar had communicated with the throne... he would be in danger.

*****

Luna padded quietly to the wide, cold window, barefoot and solemn, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if the stars could judge her if she stood too proud. Her dress shimmered faintly in the moonlight, clinging to her as the wind brushed through the cracks of the old tower.

She pressed her fingertips to the glass and looked out.

Beyond the forest, under the moon’s pale eye, she could still see the protective dome of Morvakar’s magic. It shimmered faintly around the ruined castle, more beautiful than it had any right to be.

She wondered, not for the first time, if her father was up there among the stars. Watching her. Judging her.

Did he regret his decision?

She had once thought he’d never die. That kings were too big, too fierce to fall. But now Magnus Sinclair was gone.

She blinked hard, trying to see him in the constellations. But the stars didn’t answer.

"I’m sorry about your father," Damien said softly from the doorway.

Luna turned, startled. She hadn’t heard him enter, too buried in the silence of mourning and questions she didn’t know how to ask. The stars had been her only company. And now, there he was, the Prince of Blood City looking as tired as she felt.

"I know," she replied simply.

Damien walked over to her. "I promise you," he said, stopping beside her, "the people who did this to your father... they won’t get away with it. I’ll make sure of it."

Luna didn’t look at him. "I know," she said again.

They stood together in silence, staring at the heavens.

"I love you, Damien," she said quietly. "And it hurts me that you doubt that."