The firelight flickered across her armor like water over obsidian.
Her hair fell in dark braids that gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and her smile—sharp and effortless—did not reach her eyes.
Luna felt the air tighten, a kind of pressure that hummed beneath her skin. Valois stood utterly still, sword half-raised, as if any movement might unseal something dangerous.
“Who are you?” Luna asked.
The woman’s gaze slid to her, curious and faintly amused. “You must be the wolf-blooded heretic I keep hearing about.” Her voice was low, smooth, and edged like a blade dipped in honey. “I am Selene.”
Luna’s pulse quickened. “The Oracle of Thorns.”
Selene inclined her head, mockingly graceful. “You’ve heard of me, then. How flattering.”
Valois’s voice was colder than the night. “You shouldn’t
