Death in the Moonlight
996 Words
Written By: Zinny Mund
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Chapter 04
The moon hung high and mournful over the Crescent Palace, a ghostly lantern casting pale light through the stained-glass windows. Its silvery glow fell upon the lifeless form of Queen Selene, now shrouded in the ceremonial veil of moon silk. Her once-brilliant eyes were closed, her golden hair damp with sweat, her skin cold as marble.
The Queen of the Moon was dead.
Wails echoed through the halls—servants sobbing, guards swearing vengeance, noblewomen gasping behind embroidered fans. But none louder than the anguished roar of King Theron, a sound that rattled the palace down to its roots.
He knelt beside her body, clutching her hand as though he could will life back into it. His voice cracked. “Selene… don’t leave me.”
Elder Zephyr stood a respectful distance away, his long robes whispering over the floor. His eyes, aged and piercing, held no tears—but something harder. Knowing. Watching.
“She was poisoned,” the elder said quietly, but firmly. “And not by accident.”
Theron rose slowly, like a volcano before eruption. “The maid. Mira. Where is she?”
A guard, bloodied and breathless, approached. “Gone, Your Majesty. Disappeared into the night. We’re searching the outer courtyards and forest paths.”
Theron’s fists trembled at his sides. “Seal every gate. No one leaves this palace without my word.”
“But—” the guard hesitated. “If she had help from the inside…”
Theron’s eyes darkened like the sky before a storm. “Then find out who.”
In the Council Hall…
A fire roared in the central hearth, casting twisted shadows on the stone walls as the high council gathered. Tension crackled in the air like a coming storm. Elder Zephyr stood at the head of the crescent table, his staff resting in front of him.
“We must not delay the sacred rites,” he said. “The Queen’s spirit must return to the Moon before the next cycle. It is tradition.”
King Theron nodded, jaw tight. “Prepare her for the Lunar Chamber. The wolves will mourn tonight.”
From the far end of the table, Duke Kael Valen lowered his hood. His face was solemn, his voice soft and smooth as velvet. “Brother… we are all shattered by this loss. Selene was beloved. But we must also think of the kingdom. A ruler must be strong. And decisive.”
Theron’s eyes flicked toward him. “What are you suggesting, Kael?”
Kael sighed. “The people will be afraid. A queen dies under mysterious circumstances. Rumors will spread—about the babe, the crown, and curses. We must act swiftly to ensure loyalty does not fracture.”
Elder Zephyr spoke before Theron could reply. “Loyalty is not the issue. But trust is.”
His eyes, ancient and knowing, locked briefly with Kael’s.
There was something unsaid between them. A shift in the air.
Kael gave a polite smile. “Of course. I meant no disrespect.”
In the Shadows…
Back in his private chambers, Kael poured himself a glass of wine, the red liquid catching the moonlight like blood. Lady Calista stood by the window, watching the courtyard where Selene’s body was being prepared.
“She’s really gone,” she murmured. “I thought I’d feel… more victorious.”
Kael sipped slowly. “Patience, my dear. Victory doesn’t always come with trumpets. Sometimes, it whispers. Sometimes, it mourns.”
Calista turned. “Do you think the King suspects?”
“He suspects something,” Kael said. “But he’s grieving. And grief clouds judgment. We must use this time wisely.”
Calista leaned closer. “And the child?”
Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Aurelia. The kingdom will not accept a cursed heir. Not without resistance.”
She smirked. “So we feed the fear. Let it grow.”
Kael raised his glass. “To fear. And to futures rewritten.”
In the Moonlit Temple…
Queen Selene’s body lay upon a marble altar, surrounded by lunar crystals and sacred white lilies. Priestesses in flowing silver robes lit candles in a slow, mournful rhythm, chanting the Rite of Return.
Aurelia was not allowed in the chamber—but she stirred in her cradle, restless.
And in that soft space between worlds, something opened.
A silver forest stretched beneath a red moon. The air shimmered with frost. In the distance, a frozen lake reflected constellations that did not belong to this realm.
At its edge stood the white wolf.
Majestic. Watchful. Eternal.
“She is gone,” the wolf whispered into the wind.
From the snow appeared a small child—Aurelia, older than she was, but not grown. Dream-Aurelia. Unaware, yet called by blood and fate. She stood barefoot, her tiny fists clenched.
“They will come for her,” the wolf continued, pacing slowly. “Not with love. Not with truth. But with chains. And lies.”
The frozen lake cracked beneath their feet, webbing like shattered glass.
“She is marked,” said the wolf, gazing into the sky. “And soon, they will try to cage her.”
Then, as if pulled away by unseen winds, the dream dissolved.
And Aurelia awoke with a soft cry.
Back in the Palace...
King Theron stood alone in the Queen’s chamber, the place still heavy with her scent. He reached for the emerald pendant she always wore—now cold and silent.
He stared into the mirror above her fireplace and saw not just grief—but fury.
“You were right, Zephyr,” he whispered.
“There is betrayal here.”
And so the King of the Moon made a vow in that moonlit silence:
He would find who murdered his queen.
He would protect their daughter—at all costs.
And if war must come to the Crescent Kingdom…
Then may the traitors bleed beneath the moon.
- Writer
