The Moon Goddess had a cruel sense of humor.
For days, Lyra Hale told herself that she’d buried her feelings, that she could face her mate without her heart breaking all over again. But every time she passed Caelum in the halls, every time their eyes met—even for a second—the bond between them flared like fire beneath her skin.
She could lie to everyone else. But not to the bond.
Not to the part of her that still remembered what it felt like to be his.
That morning, the packhouse was alive with whispers again. The Temptation Trial might have ended, but the scandal had not. Servants bowed low when Lyra passed, but their eyes darted toward her—their sympathy thinly veiled, their curiosity sharper than knives.
“Have you seen her?” one maid murmured. “The temptress?” “She’s working in the
