The Impostor Luna

A bridal carry

Nora

"Welcome the Return of the King!"

"Welcome, Princess Cynthia!"

As our carriage rolled into Frostfall City, we were greeted with a torrent of warmth—applause, flowers, and cheers rained upon us. Faces leaned out from balconies; children perched on adult shoulders regarded us with wide-eyed curiosity. Along the road, soldiers maintained order, pushing back the eager crowd whenever they pressed too close.

"Stay back!" commanded the soldiers, and the crowd would momentarily oblige, only to surge forward again with renewed enthusiasm.

"Shouldn't you show your face and greet your people?" I asked, casting a sidelong glance at Clyde, who lay with his head comfortably in my lap, eyes closed. I envied his ability to rest so easily, while I, despite my own fatigue, served as his pillow.

"Maintaining a sense of mystery keeps their awe intact," he replied lazily, without even opening his eyes.

"But that makes you seem distant," I countered. "If I were you, I would choose to be a little more approachable."

"Approachable? So that someone with ill intent can assassinate me?" he chuckled, a wry smile pulling at his lips.

"I meant emotionally closer, not physically," I pressed. "Your soldiers just waged a war. This is a prime moment to win their loyalty. You only need to show your face, wave, and smile."

"I'm exhausted," he sighed.

"I know," I said gently, "but this chance will not come again."

He opened his eyes and said, "You talked too much as a princess," impatience edging his voice. I quickly fell silent. Yet, acknowledging the truth in my words, he sat up and extended his hand to me.

I blinked at him, surprised.

“What? Did you think you'd have the carriage to yourself by pushing me out there alone?” he teased, pulling me to my feet.

“Wait, I haven't properly arranged the folds of my dress…” I began, but he was already guiding me out of the carriage.

“Keep the carriage steady, Josh,” he instructed the coachman."I don’t want my bride to tumble and force me to jump after her." The coachman chuckled in response, accustomed to Clyde's blend of charisma and dry humor.

I swallowed my retort as his arm locked securely around my waist, drawing me against his side with an assertive ease that left little room for argument. “Smile, Cynthia,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tease that was both infuriating and fascinating. “Let my people believe we’re very much in love.”

“And why would we want them to think that?” I asked.

“Ever heard of a war over a woman named Helen? She ran off with her lover, sparking a war when her enraged husband sought to reclaim her. It lasted a decade, with countless lives lost. Yet when the king won and Helen returned, the sight of her inspired the soldiers to declare they’d fight another ten years for such beauty.”

“Interesting tale,” I muttered. “A clever way to glamorize an invasion.”

“Are you always so sharp-tongued, Princess?” Clyde asked, tilting his head with curiosity.

“Only when provoked,” I replied with a smirk.

“It was never my intention to offend,” Clyde said smoothly. “Allow me to rephrase. I hope our union demonstrates to my soldiers that their devotion isn’t in vain.”

“That sounds much better,” I said.

With a wave to the crowd, Clyde played his part perfectly. Reluctantly, I mimicked him, a practiced smile finding its way to my lips as the cheers around us amplified.

“Who’s this woman?” people whispered, their curiosity piqued.

“She’s Princess Cynthia, the most beautiful woman in the Emerald City,” a man responded proudly.

“She looks gorgeous, look at those sun-kissed golden hair and those hazel eyes.”

“I like her dress,” remarked a little girl perched on her dad’s shoulders, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Yours look great too, sweetheart," I replied, my smile softening into genuine warmth.

She blushed, her cheeks a rosy hue, and muttered, “Thank you.”

Our brief exchange drew smiles from the onlookers, the shared moment of connection spreading through the crowd. Somewhere in the throng, a cheer and a whistle directed at me pierced the air.

“Don’t whistle at my Luna, you lecher,” Clyde interjected with mock indignation, flinging his boot at a cheeky young man in the crowd.

The crowd collectively gasped before erupting into laughter, an infectious energy rippling through them. I turned to Clyde, shock written across my features. "What about your boot—" I began, only to be cut off by his teasing response.

"You're failing as a compassionate princess, Cynthia," he quipped, his tone laced with light mockery. "You should worry more about his head than my boot. I have many boots, but he only has one head." His expression softened. “Though, I must admit, I like the shock on your face.” He pinched my chin gently, an unexpected intimacy that made my pulse quicken. "You're almost too cute."

His gaze was intense, leaving me momentarily breathless.“Do you want to know how we can make them like us more?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned closer.

Before I could muster a reply, Clyde's lips captured mine, fervent and possessive.

The kiss was like a blend of defiance and duty, leaving me dizzy in its wake. The crowd's roar swelled around us, an ocean of approval and excitement that seemed to make the very air vibrate.

Yeah, the effect turned out to be great, but…this was my first kiss!

Never had I imagined it would happen like this. So publicly, so unexpectedly, and under such intense scrutiny. The world narrowed to the sensation of his mouth on mine, demanding and possessive, leaving me breathless and disoriented.

And then there was the sharp, unexpected sting. A brief, teasing bite that grazed my lip, drawing blood. It was a jolt, a mingling of pleasure and pain that reminded me of the precarious position I was in. The metallic tang of blood lingered, grounding me as the intensity of the moment swirled around.

Clyde pulled back slightly.“What’s with that expression?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head in playful inquiry. His demeanor was an effortless charisma that both drew me in and set me on edge.

“Do you want my honesty or my respect?” I replied, trying to regain my composure.

“Can’t I have both?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” I stated firmly.

“Alright, then, your honesty.”

“I was thinking of hitting you over the head with my high heel,” I confessed. “That was my first kiss. I wasn’t prepared. You kissed me without asking—”

“Get used to it, southern flower. It’s how we do things in the north,” he said unapologetically.

“Savage,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” His gaze narrowed.

“Sexy,” I quickly corrected. “Sounds very sexy.”

He chuckled darkly. “I doubt that was your honest answer,” he said, giving my ass a playful pinch that nearly made me jump. “Dishonest ones get punished,” he added with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“As if the disrespectful ones would get off any easier,” I murmured.

He smirked but chose not to comment further. Soon, the carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of the grand palace. "Take off your shoes," Clyde commanded, with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"What? Why?" I asked, incredulous.

"Obviously, I'm afraid you'll use them to bash my head in," he replied with a teasing lilt.

I stared at him, my eyes wide.

"It was a joke," he added quickly, urging me along. "Seriously, though, take them off. I’ll carry you into the palace. It’s a tradition here in Frostfall. The palace floors are to remain unsullied by outside dirt." His explanation left me skeptical, and he sensed it. “It’s true. My father carried my mother in this way, as did my grandfather with my grandmother, and all the generations before.”

His explanation was peculiar, but his words unexpectedly warmed something deep inside me, making me feel as though I was genuinely being welcomed into his family. I slipped off my shoes, and Clyde effortlessly scooped me up into his arms. A flush crept up my cheeks, heightened by the watchful eyes of the crowd that surrounded us. Their gazes bore into me, amplifying my embarrassment until I couldn't help but bury my face against him, seeking refuge from their scrutiny.

Suddenly, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Clyde feigned a stumble, momentarily unsettling us both. Instinctively, I tightened my grip around his neck, clinging to him with a startled gasp as my heart raced.

Clyde swiftly regained his balance, his strong arms reassuringly pulling me even closer against him. "Got you," he murmured teasingly, his eyes locking onto mine with a blend of playful mirth and something deeper that made my heart flutter.

“Don’t pin this on me, Your Majesty,” Josh piped up from the front. “The carriage is perfectly still.”

“Quiet, Josh,” Clyde quipped, his light laughter a private melody between us, vibrating through his chest where I rested my head.