The Luna He Should Have Killed

Chapter Four

For several seconds, I simply stood there staring at the door.

I expected it to open again.

I expected Leo to come back.

I expected someone—anyone—to realize they had forgotten me.

But the hidden entrance remained closed.

The silence that followed felt far louder than the battle raging outside.

My family was gone.

The realization settled slowly, sinking through shock and disbelief until it reached something deeper. My father had sold me, and my mother had defended it.

Toby had told me to grow up and accept it. Yet somehow it was Leo's choice that hurt the most.

He had looked at me.

He had seen the blood on my face, the way I struggled to stay standing, and the fear I couldn't hide.

Then he had left anyway.

A violent crash shook the room, and dust rained from the ceiling.

The estate was still burning around me.

I forced myself to move.

The war room suddenly felt suffocating. Smoke drifted through the shattered windows, carrying the scent of fire and blood. Somewhere nearby, a man screamed in agony before the sound cut off abruptly.

I didn't know where I was going.

I only knew I couldn't stay.

My legs felt weak beneath me as I stumbled back into the corridor. The concussion made the world sway alarmingly, forcing me to steady myself against the wall every few steps.

The grand manor I had spent my entire life in was almost unrecognizable. Flames licked across expensive tapestries. Broken furniture littered the floor. Blood stained the stone walls in dark smears.

Then I saw more bodies.

The first belonged to a servant no older than sixteen. She lay crumpled near the staircase with her eyes still open, her hand stretched toward the kitchen corridor as though she had been trying to run.

I knew her. Her name was Elise.

She used to sneak honey pastries into my room whenever Cook wasn't looking.

I stared at her for a moment before forcing myself forward.

Further down the corridor, two guards lay where they had fallen. One was missing his helmet. The other still clutched his sword so tightly his knuckles had turned white in death.

Everywhere I looked, there were bodies: soldiers in my father's uniform, men dressed in black, servants who had never held weapons and still died as though they had.

The rebellion had always felt distant to me before. It had been maps spread across tables, arguments behind closed doors, and a few wounded soldiers.

This was different.

This was what war actually looked like.

It was blood soaking into the floors while people died far from the battlefields they had expected to die on.

The further I walked, the thicker the smoke became.

By the time I reached the main staircase, my eyes were stinging, and the sounds of fighting had changed. The frantic clash of steel was fading, replaced by shouted orders and the heavy movement of what seemed like soldiers securing a territory that already belonged to them.

Someone had won.

And it wasn't us.

I descended the stairs slowly, gripping the banister for support as another wave of dizziness swept through me. Twice I nearly fell.

When I finally reached the entrance hall, movement outside caught my attention.

The courtyard gates stood open, black banners flying above them while rows of the Alpha King’s soldiers occupied the grounds.

My heart lurched because just moments ago, I had watched my family disappear into the hidden passage beneath the mountain.

Yet as soldiers poured into the courtyard, dragging prisoners behind them, I recognized familiar faces among the captives.

My father was among them.

And so was my brother, Toby.

Confusion washed over me. I didn't understand how they had ended up here. I had watched them escape. I had watched them leave me behind. Yet somehow they were prisoners now, being forced toward the center of the courtyard by soldiers who showed them no mercy.

My father stumbled as one of the guards shoved him forward.

For the first time in my life, Silas Corvin looked small.

The sight felt wrong.

This was the man who had ruled our household through fear. The man whose voice could silence an entire room. The man who had spent thirteen years building a rebellion around his own ambition.

Now he looked like any other defeated prisoner.

Toby remained beside him, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might crack. Blood covered one side of his face, but there was still fury in his eyes.

A movement near the center of the courtyard drew everyone's attention.

The soldiers immediately straightened, and conversations died away. Even the prisoners fell silent.

A man dressed entirely in black stepped forward.

I didn't need anyone to tell me who he was.

Power seemed to follow him naturally, settling over the courtyard like an approaching storm.

Ronan Blackthorn, the Alpha King.

Six years ago, he had inherited a realm already drowning in war.

Since then, he had spent every day of his reign crushing the rebellion my father had dedicated thirteen years of his life to building.

And now he had won.

One of the captured commanders suddenly lunged toward him. The attempt lasted less than a second before a Blackthorn soldier slammed him back to the ground. The commander immediately began begging for mercy.

"My king, please…"

Ronan didn't even look in his direction.

"Execute him."

His voice wasn't raised. It carried no anger, no excitement, and no hesitation. The order was carried out immediately.

For the first time, I understood why my father's armies kept losing.

I watched as Ronan approached my father. Neither spoke loudly enough for me to hear, but I wasn't sure words mattered anymore.

The rebellion was over.

Whatever needed to be said had likely been decided long before this moment.

Their exchange lasted only a few seconds before Ronan moved. The motion was so fast I almost missed it; one moment, my father was standing, and the next, blood sprayed across the stone.

A shocked gasp escaped me.

My father staggered backward, both hands flying to his throat as blood poured between his fingers. For one impossible second, he remained upright, swaying slightly as though refusing to accept what had happened. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed.

The entire courtyard seemed to freeze.

My father was dead.

The great rebel tyrant was finally dead.

"Father!" Toby screamed.