The Blessed Moon
1615 Words
Princess Moon
Tiny crystal stars had been sewn through the fabric, each one catching light when I moved. My sleeves were sheer and silver, my waist bound in a corset that believed breathing was a personal weakness.
Elira stood behind me, pinning the last of my hair into place.
“You look beautiful,” she said.
“I look trapped.”
“You look like a princess.”
“Exactly.”
In the mirror, a girl stared back at me with dark hair, luminous skin, and a moonstone crown resting above eyes too sharp for the softness of her face.
Pretty.
Polished.
Royal.
I touched the crown.
It was not heavy because of the jewels.
It was heavy because every unmated male wolf in LunariaNova had arrived hoping to wear me with it.
Storm paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
What is wrong with you tonight? I asked.
I do not know.
That answer frightened me more than any prophecy.
A knock came at the door.
One of my father’s advisors entered with a bow. “Your Highness, the receiving line has begun.”
Of course it had.
The ballroom was already overflowing by the time I entered.
Chandeliers of moon-glass hung from the ceiling, glowing with soft silver fire. Music drifted over polished marble. Noble houses stood beneath banners of their element.
Snow and Ice Wolves in pale silks and crystal clasps.
Earth Wolves in deep greens, browns, and gold.
Air Wolves in flowing fabrics that moved even when the room was still.
Fire Wolves in red, black, and molten amber.
And at the center of it all, the Moonlight and Nova wolves of my own royal court, watching, weighing, waiting.
Every eye turned to me.
I smiled.
The practiced one.
The princess smile.
Soft enough to charm. Calm enough to command. Empty enough to survive.
Suitors bowed.
Names blurred.
Compliments stacked on top of each other until they meant nothing.
“Your beauty humbles the moon.”
“Your Highness, LunariaNova shines brighter tonight.”
“The Goddess herself must envy you.”
Storm yawned at that one.
I nearly laughed.
Then the room warmed.
Not pleasantly.
A male wolf stepped from the Fire delegation, tall and golden-skinned, with dark auburn hair and eyes like banked coals. His formal coat was black with red embroidery at the cuffs, flames stitched so finely they seemed to move when he bowed.
Dorian Calder.
He bowed low enough to flatter me.
Not low enough to respect me.
That told me everything.
“Princess Moona,” he said, his voice smooth as heated honey. “The Rare Moon honors you tonight.”
“The Rare Moon honors the kingdom,” I replied.
His smile widened. “And the kingdom honors you.”
“Then the kingdom has excellent manners.”
A few nobles nearby chuckled softly.
Dorian’s eyes stayed on mine.
He smelled of smoke, amber, hot iron, and ambition.
Storm’s lips curled.
Careful, she warned.
“Many of us have waited a long time to see who fate will place beside you,” Dorian said.
“Fate is not a throne room, Lord Calder. It does not open simply because a man knocks loudly.”
His smile did not falter, but heat flashed in his eyes.
“Then I shall knock gently.”
“Or not at all,” I said sweetly. “Fate has excellent hearing.”
This time, the laughter was louder.
Dorian bowed again, but I saw it then—the irritation beneath his charm. Men like him were used to doors opening because they were handsome, powerful, and certain.
I was not a door.
I left him with that knowledge and moved through the rest of the receiving line.
The sons of SilvaFrost arrived later.
Twins.
Handsome. Polished. Cold.
The elder looked at my crown before he looked at my face.
The younger looked at my face first.
That difference mattered.
“Callan Drakewood,” the elder said, bowing with perfect arrogance. “It is an honor, Your Highness.”
“Cael Drakewood,” said the other, quieter.
“SilvaFrost has sent only two sons?” I asked.
Something flickered across Cael’s face.
Callan answered before he could.
“The third was delayed.”
I tilted my head. “Delayed?”
“Aillness, Your Highness,” Callan said with a small smile.
Storm stilled.
Not calm.
Listening.
“How unfortunate,” I said.
“For him, perhaps.”
Cael’s jaw tightened, barely.
I noticed.
I noticed many things men wished princesses would not.
More introductions followed.
More bows.
More hungry eyes.
More smiles.
By the time the musicians began the first formal set, Storm’s restlessness had crawled so deeply into my bones that my skin felt too tight.
I was not anxious.
Not truly.
I had been raised under council scrutiny, trained in negotiation before most girls were trusted with knives, and taught to smile through threats disguised as proposals.
But Storm was heightened.
Her senses sharpened mine until every scent, sound, and look pressed too close.
Too many wolves.
Too much wanting.
Too many men imagining a future where my name became attached to theirs like a conquered territory.
I needed air.
“Princess?” Elira whispered beside me.
“I need a moment.”
“Your mother said—”
“My mother said to be wise. Leaving before I bite someone is wisdom.”
Elira’s lips twitched. “East courtyard. Two minutes.”
“Five.”
“Three.”
“Four, and I will bring you cake.”
“Done.”
I slipped away between dances, through a side arch, past two guards who knew better than to stop me when I looked like I had made a decision.
The east courtyard was empty.
Blessedly empty.
Moonflowers climbed the walls in pale clusters, their petals open beneath the Rare Moon. Silver roses bordered the fountain. Frost lilies glowed faintly along the walkway, and night-blooming vines wrapped around the marble pillars like secrets.
I exhaled.
For the first time all evening, the palace did not feel like a cage.
I sat on the fountain ledge, lifted my gown just enough to free one foot, and pulled off a jeweled shoe.
Storm huffed.
Regal.
“I am meditating.”
You are barefoot on a fountain, eating cake you stole from your own ball.
I took another bite of honey cake.
“Meditation takes many forms.”
You have frosting on your thumb.
“I am a princess. It is royal frosting.”
Storm went quiet.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
The kind of silence that made the hair rise along my arms.
I lowered the cake.
What is it?
A sound came from the far archway.
Soft footsteps.
Hesitant.
Not a guard. Not a servant. Not anyone who knew the palace.
I stood, still holding my shoe in one hand and cake in the other.
A masked male stepped into the east courtyard.
He stopped the moment he saw me.
For a breath, neither of us moved.
He wore midnight blue and silver, the formal cut of his coat elegant but unfamiliar. The mask covering the upper half of his face looked as if frost had been spun into lace and kissed by moonlight. Silver-white details curled along the edges, hiding him beautifully.
But it was not the mask that stole my breath.
It was the stillness of him.
Every noble male inside had arrived, trying to fill the room.
This one seemed to be trying not to take up space at all.
And somehow, the courtyard noticed him anyway.
A moonflower beside his shoulder trembled.
Frost touched the edge of its petals.
Storm lifted her head.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Certain in a way that made my pulse stumble.
The masked stranger looked at my bare foot.
Then at the shoe in my hand.
Then at the half-eaten cake.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
I raised one brow. “Choose your words wisely.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“I was going to ask if this was the ballroom,” he said. “But I am beginning to suspect it is not.”
His voice was calm.
Low.
Warm in a way that should not have made the night feel colder.
“No,” I said. “This is the east courtyard.”
“Then I am very lost.”
“Clearly.”
His gaze flicked toward the archway behind him. “I was told to follow the music.”
“You followed it away from the music.”
“Yes. I have discovered that.”
I should have called a guard.
I should have asked his name.
I should have remembered that tonight, every strange male in my palace was a possible threat wrapped in silk.
Instead, I looked at him and felt Storm go utterly still.
Not frightened.
Not restless.
Still.
As if she had finally found what she had been pacing for.
The masked male bowed.
Deep.
Respectful.
Too respectful for a man hoping to impress me.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I did not mean to intrude.”
So he knew who I was.
Interesting.
I slipped my foot back into the jeweled shoe and set the cake on the fountain ledge.
“No one wanders into the east courtyard by accident.”
He glanced around at the flowers. “Then I have achieved the impossible.”
The corner of my mouth betrayed me.
I almost smiled.
His gaze caught it.
For one breath, the air between us changed.
The fountain quieted.
The moonflowers turned.
And from somewhere far above us, the Rare Moon poured silver light across the courtyard like a blessing.
Storm whispered inside me.
Finally.
- Writer
