When The Moon Remembers

Chapter 6: Summons

Vaelric’s Pov

Tearing off the dusty cloth after two decades, I finally saw her portrait. The painter—shame on him—had done her no justice. I had offered gold for this work, yet it barely captured her. Still… it gave me a hint of her. She stood there, lifeless on canvas, yet I could feel her presence. The same hazel eyes that had once spoken without words… still alive in some fragment. Her hair—red, not like blood, but something far more precious.

The weak fox from last night… she reminded me of her, yet she was not her. Nothing like her. The moon goddess must be testing me. Of course… the moon remembers. I had tried for years to bury the agony, the cries, the pleas, the blood. Her lifeless body. Me holding her, drenched in it, crushed by my own unforgivable actions.

I killed her. Isolde. Saying her name brought back every memory, every regret. I am still waiting for the promise the moon goddess made, still waiting for her return. Not this… not a torment meant to punish me.

I covered the portrait again, sealing away the memories. The room remained unchanged, untouched for decades, yet it lacked the most important thing… her.

I closed the door to her room, forcing a calm I did not feel. Pretending everything was fine was almost laughable. Nothing was fine. Slowly, I am growing weary of the wait, each passing night like a stone pressing on my chest. The night I saw her—the weak, trembling girl—I had dared to hope it might be her. But no. No mark, no scent, no wolf. Just a fragile fox, red hair catching the moonlight, delicate features like shards of a memory I could never forget. A cruel forgery of the moon goddess, a trap, a wound opener. I should have let the angry omega devour her. My hands itched to act, yet before I could even think, some foolish part of me moved first. That weakness—how it mirrored her—was poison to my mind.

Returning to my chamber, Eldric was already waiting at my door. So early. Even before my supposed enemy—the sun—had risen. The sight of him made my chest tighten; loyalty and duty clawed at me even as irritation bubbled beneath my calm.

“Eldric,” I called, sliding my arms behind my back, posture perfect, as any honorable royal would. My eyes never left him as he bent in a bow, the faint scrape of leather on floor the only sound.

“A report was brought earlier to your father, the King,” he began, voice low but steady. My heart thudded, anticipation sharpening every nerve. “A lad was found severely injured in the courtyard… Kaelen Dravaris, of House Dravaris. I examined him and—” He hesitated, a flicker of unease passing over his features. “—I discovered that he bore your mark—”

I cut him off before he could finish, my voice calm but sharp. “My doing,” I said, each syllable heavy, deliberate. I turned, letting my cloak brush the floor in long, measured steps, my mind already running ahead to the implications. Eldric caught up silently, his presence steady but wary, like a shadow unwilling to overstep.

“Your father,” he continued, words almost swallowed by the tension between us, “has also summoned one of Thaloris’s daughters. She was supposed to be with him at that hour. He suspects her… while the boy is still unable to speak”

I paused, letting the silence hang just long enough to taste it. I had made up my mind: I would never come across her again—not after last night, when she appeared like a moth drawn to fire, interrupting me. She was the reason I hadn’t finished with him. Even after I warned her she was in danger, she had still shown boldness beneath her weakness.

The thought made me smirk, and I caught Eldric staring, confused. His brow lifted slightly, as if asking silently what was wrong. I brushed it off before he could ask.

“When does Father summon her?” I asked, voice steady.

“In an hour,” he replied.

Regret had stacked itself into these eight days, a heavy weight in the corners of my mind. I had enjoyed the times I was undisturbed. This would be my last encounter with her. From the night I involved myself with her, memories had been surfacing like shards I couldn’t ignore. And with every memory, every reminder of her audacity, I felt a dark, irresistible urge—an urge to crush the life out of her.

Sitting beside my father had never been my style—not since the day I learned to speak the language of politics and lies. Yet today, for reasons I couldn’t name, I wanted to join the court affair. I adjusted myself on the seat; it felt as if it had been crafted from thorns just for me. The judging stares from all around seemed to wish it would swallow me whole.

I saw it clearly in my supposed siblings’ eyes—the way my presence suffocated them, even my nemesis, my father. He brought all of this to me, yet I am a man who does not blame his fate on another.

Father demanded they enter. She strode in, accompanied by her mother, who held her hands as if she were made of porcelain. Her father and brother followed, their eyes sharp enough to cut, yet all the weight of their wrath seemed to land on her alone.
 They greeted, and without hesitation, Dravaris was the first to strike.

“What did you do to him?” His words were sharp, laced with anger that made her flinch. I saw it—every twitch, every falter.

Disrespectful too, not letting the king speak first. I had never enjoyed political affairs, but I knew enough: the king’s voice should always come first.

“I… I did nothing…” she whispered, head bowed, too heavy to lift now.

“Were you meeting him in secret?” Aldren, the king’s first son and my insufferable brother, spoke next. His voice rang like steel, every syllable a verdict I would have rather ignored. “Do you grasp how utterly disgraceful it is to consort with someone not bound to you?”

Silence fell. She trembled.

“Speak up!” the king finally bellowed, his voice breaking free like a beast from its cage. Stupid court affairs.

She sank to her knees, face still bowed, her long hair cascading like shadows, fingers twisting in her skirts.

“I swear I don’t know,” she cried.

A part of me wanted to savor her torment, yet her tears… they gnawed at something I did not wish to confront.

“Lies are not allowed in court. You will be forced to speak,” the king said, his voice colder, sharper.

The moment he spoke, her mother sank to her knees beside her, wailing like a child, knuckles whitening against the stone floor. The more the little fox cried, the more uncomfortable I became. A guard stepped forward, whip in hand, the metal glinting coldly.

“I have failed to train my daughter, my lord. Please, have mercy,” her mother pleaded, but her father and brother remained unmoved, statues of icy authority.

“She said she didn’t do it!” The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, anger and irritation creeping in. Part of me wanted to admit it—I did it—but why? Because I had overheard him plotting in secret against her? Shameless. Utterly shameful.

For the first time, she looked up. Our eyes met—sad, weak, delicate—and something unspoken passed between us. I could read it: she couldn’t claim she had been with me instead of her secret lover—or should I call him sly? Her eyes held unspoken words… the same way hers did. No. This could not be.