The Impostor Luna

Would I be recognized？

Nora

I jerked up my head, staring at him in astonishment. Immediately, a captivating scent hit me. Hate to admit it, but what the Moon Goddess had arranged was truly unparalleled. The smell wafting off him was akin to wood—if wood could somehow be seductive—and it had a deadly allure for me, even outdoing the aroma of roasting meat.

My mouth watered.

My mind drew a complete blank.

He was my mate.

My. f*****g. Mate.

I had conjured up countless scenarios and strategies for meeting Clyde, but none of them prepared me for discovering he was my mate, leaving me utterly speechless. I opened my mouth, only to realize I had no idea what to say.

Bless the Moon, Clyde broke the silence. "This way, princess," he said, leading me gracefully past his soldiers. Their eyes followed us with reverence. Even without turning around, I could feel Rebecca and Rachel's gaze fixed on us.

My heart pounded so loudly that I was afraid everyone could hear it. I was baffled because my situation was quite the unique ordeal compared to most werewolves.

I once had a wolf named Phoenix. Her voice in my mind was a warm, amber glow, a presence that chased away the loneliness of court life. "Chin up, little warrior. Our bond is stronger than their pettiness." she would whisper, giving me strength against Cynthia's cruel jabs. She stayed with me for a wonderful year. Yet, everything changed when Princess Cynthia reached the same age and discovered herself wolfless.

I remember the night. The entire west wing echoed with her shattered screams and the sound of priceless things being broken. The next morning, her eyes, red-rimmed and burning with a cold fire, found me. She had wept her tears, and hatched a plan full of malice. She decided that if she couldn’t have a wolf, then neither could I.

She went to King Theodore, claiming, "Father, to make Nora more like me, her wolf should be removed."

The king looked at his perfect, wolfless daughter and saw a political problem to be solved. He found her logic, and I was summoned and offered a goblet. The air around it shimmered with a faint, purple haze. Wolfsbane. Not just a leaf, but a concentrated, viciously refined cocktail.

"No," I breathed, my blood turning to ice. I took a step back. Phoenix roared in my head, a sound of pure, primal fear. "Fight, Nora! Run!"

I tried. Goddess, I tried to fight. A low growl rumbled in my throat. The familiar warmth of the shift prickled under my skin. But Cynthia’s voice cut through my defiance."Think of your sister, Nora," she murmured, stepping down from the dais to appear as a compassionate friend. She placed a cold, restraining hand on my arm. Her eyes, however, held no pity, only a glint of vicious triumph. "Sweet little Lily. So fragile. It would be a tragedy if her privileges here at court were… reconsidered. If the air in her suddenly grew cold, or if her meals failed to include the medicine that keeps her weak lungs clear. Would you be so selfish as to jeopardize your own sister’s wellbeing for your own… pet?"

Her words were a dagger to my soul. All the fight drained from me, leaving a hollow, aching terror. I looked from Cynthia’s smug face to the King’s indifferent one. My shoulders slumped. For Lily. Always for Lily.

With a trembling hand that felt like it belonged to someone else, I took the goblet. Its bitter scent stung my nose. I heard Phoenix whimper, a sound of utter betrayal and heartbreak. "I’m sorry," I thought to her, my own heart shattering. "I’m so sorry."

I drank. It was like swallowing liquid fire and frost simultaneously, a poison that sought not my life, but my soul. I fell to my knees, a silent scream locked in my throat as I felt it. A tearing, a ripping, a bond stretching until it snapped with a finality.

Phoenix was gone. Sacrificed on the altar of Cynthia’s envy.

"I hope you don’t hold a grudge against us, Nora." Cynthia said with a smirk. "It's nothing personal. It was for the greater good."

I forced my head to bow. "I understand." I choked out. "Your vision for the kingdom's unity... surpasses my own. I was... shallow and short-sighted."

Cynthia’s smile was a victor’s banner. From that day forward, I never spoke of Phoenix again.The idea of finding a mate became more frightening than hopeful. How could I trust another when I had betrayed my own soul?

Thus, I had no idea what encountering my mate would entail under these circumstances. You see, I detected Clyde's scent and felt the spark unique to mates, yet he seemed oblivious to my presence.

Was I invisible to him in some way? Otherwise, why did he act as if nothing had happened?

Clyde helped me into his carriage. As soon as the curtains fell, he released my hand and leaned in with an intensity that made the small space feel even smaller. He gripped my chin, pulling my gaze to meet his. "So, you're Princess Cynthia?" he asked, his voice low and emotionless, yet each word hammered at my nerves. His hot breath skims across my skin, sending involuntary shivers down my spine.

In that charged moment, his gaze pierced through me, the intensity crackling in the air between us. It felt like being ensnared by a predator whose desires were inscrutably layered, more complex than mere fleshly hunger. A twisted blend of threat and allure left me reeling, yet oddly captivated.

Despite the rush of adrenaline, I met his gaze, summoning the regal detachment of a princess. My chin lifted, eyes steady. "I am," I replied with a calm I barely felt. "Didn't we meet briefly at Lord Chambers's banquet, Your Majesty?" I deftly tossed the question back at him, hinting at his prior encounter with Cynthia.

He hummed softly, his lips curving into a wry, almost cynical smile. "Many years have passed," he mused, his eyes unwavering on mine, "Memories can become hazy. I scarcely recall your exact features."

"Then," I ventured, heart hammering against my ribs, but my voice deliberately languid, laced with a princess’s challenge, "after all these years, does my features still please you, Your Majesty?"

Abruptly, he closed the distance, his presence enveloping me, his scent a heady invasion of my senses. "Please?" he echoed, leaning in so close I could count his long, thick eyelashes. "Your beauty is flawless, fit for any king." His voice dropped, now a velvety murmur, "Yet something is amiss. You possess a subtle difference from the Princess Cynthia I remember."

The moment of truth had arrived.

A sheen of cold sweat lined my back, but I maintained my composure, a mask perfected through years of practice. "Oh? What is different?" I asked, curiosity feigned with a tilt of my head. "Is it the fatigue of travel? Or..." I paused, allowing a playful vanity to creep into my tone, "Have I grown more beautiful?" I added a flutter of innocent lashes.

He chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air but never reached his eyes. He retreated slightly, giving me a moment to breathe, but the tension remained thick.

"No. It’s not your appearance." His gaze roamed over my features, from eyebrows to eyes, nose, and finally paused at my lips. "It’s here. You're more spirited, daring. At that mundane banquet, you were like an ice sculpture, silent, aloof."

"People change, Your Majesty," I countered swiftly, though his astute memory set my pulse racing. The more he remembered, the greater my risk of exposure. I chose my words carefully, then added, "I speak more freely with those I admire."

His eyebrow arched, a gleam sparking in his eyes. "Admire?" he repeated, his tone sharpened with playful provocation. "Do you claim to admire me more now—the conqueror of your army, than when I was an ally?"

The jab, expertly aimed, sent a chill skittering up my spine.

Taking a steadying breath, I made a daring move. I leaned forward, deliberately narrowing the space between us, my fingers cool as they wrapped around his gloved hand. His fingers twitched slightly but did not pull away.

"I am married to you, Your Majesty." I lifted my eyes, meeting his with a blend of sincerity and warmth, as though my deepest feelings fueled the words. "From today forward, we share glory and disgrace. You're no longer my foe but my husband, my future strength."

I lingered on the word "husband," infusing it with gentle shyness and commitment. I aimed to portray a princess unafraid to sacrifice pride for peace, eager to forge a new path. I silently prayed he would buy my performance.

He glanced down at my hand, then back to my face, his eyes a storm of ice and fire, settling into a deep, mysterious glow. He returned the grip with gentle but firm authority, a silent claim.

"Well-spoken, Princess," he drawled, each word layered with intent. "Let us hope your deeds match your eloquent words."

We remained locked in each other’s eyes until a knock at the window shattered the moment. Instinctively, I let my hand slip away.

"Your Majesty, have you finished the interrogation?" It was General Marcus.

My heart leapt into my throat as tension crackled in the air. Clyde turned to the window, his voice authoritative and calm. "General, the princess has been identified. We'll escort her back to Frostfall and arrange a feast in her honor."

The general hesitated, doubt shadowing his eyes. He seemed on the verge of questioning, but Clyde silenced him with a simple, elegant wave of his hand. "I said she's the real princess," he declared, his tone smooth and commanding.

Reluctantly, the general fell silent and complied, signaling to the soldiers with raised arms. "Let's move! We have the real princess," he proclaimed.

A surge of cheers erupted from the soldiers, their enthusiasm rolling through the air like a victorious anthem. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension in my chest begin to unwind.

Then, unexpectedly, Clyde's hand closed around mine, a curious mixture of warmth and assertive possession that sent a jolt through me. The surprise on my face didn’t escape him; he seemed amused, his eyes dancing with a playful glint.

"I just wanted to hold your hand, Princess. Welcome to the North," he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips.