Throne of Claw and Moon

Chapter 4

Selene

The final bell was a blessing. I power-walked through the ancient hallways, a blonde missile aimed at the black town car idling at the kerb. My escape pod.

“Selene. Wait.”

I froze. Chloe’s voice, all fake sugar. I thought about pretending I hadn’t heard, but her heels were already click-clacking on the stone floor behind me.

“What, walking yourself to the car now? How common,” she said, falling into step.

“Charles is waiting. Unlike some people, I have a curfew,” I shot back, not slowing down.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. But you missed the best part of the day.” She looped her arm through mine, and it felt like being chained to a poodle. “The Mark memes are next level. Someone put his face on that screaming painting. You know, the one by Munch? It’s everywhere. His social status is, like, deader than the dinosaurs.”

I stopped and pulled my arm free. We were in a quieter corridor near the art block. “Why are you telling me this, Chloe? What do you actually want?”

She put on a pout. “I want my best friend back. This is stupid. We shouldn’t be fighting. We should be, like, leveraging this.” Her eyes lit up with a scary kind of greed. “Think about it. No one knows what to make of you. You’re mysterious. You’re powerful. You turned Mark into a human bowling ball. You’re a legend.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said, the lie feeling tired on my tongue.

“Exactly!” she squealed, as if I’d said something brilliant. “The mystery! The less you say, the more powerful you seem. It’s perfect.”

She was insane. She was treating my personal meltdown like a PR campaign.

And don't look at me like that—like I'm some narcissist. Okay, fine, I am. But it's so obvious she wants to be me. You can see it in the way she always wants to know what I plan on wearing to school each day, how she practically vibrates with excitement when my social life is on the brink of falling apart. She’s always waiting in the wings, ready to snatch up whatever pieces of my life she can get her perfectly manicured hands on.

“There’s a bonfire this Friday,” she whispered, leaning in. “At Hampstead Heath. Everyone who’s anyone is going. You have to come.”

“I’m grounded, in case you forgot.”

“So find a way out! It’s not that hard.”

I rolled my eyes at her, she has no idea how unhinged Dave can be.

“Look, it’s the perfect chance to own this. Show up, look hot, laugh in his face. Show everyone you don’t care. It’ll be the final nail in his social coffin.”

I stared at her. She wasn’t just planning a party. She was planning a public execution for Mark, and she wanted me to swing the axe.

I know what you're thinking. I should call her out on her bullshit. But no—that’s not how you handle girls like Chloe. Confrontation is what they want. It gives them drama, a role to play. The real way to break them is to play their game better than they do. Let them think they’re winning. Let them hang themselves with the rope they so proudly handed you.

Breaking bitches isn’t just my hobby—it’s my pleasure.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, my voice sweet as poison, because it was the easiest way to make her go away while I decided exactly how to ruin her.

“Yes!” she clapped. “This is going to be iconic. We’re rebranding Selene Blackwood!” She air-kissed my cheek and tottered off, already texting the news to her entire contact list.

You’d think being grounded at seventeen felt humiliating. Try being twenty and still getting grounded.

Well I expect nothing less from my psychotic foster dad with a god complex.

When I stepped outside, Charles was already waiting by the car. He was never late.

I slid into the back seat, my toe tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor mat. The leather still smelled new, even though we’d had the car for a year. Charles closed the door quietly behind me, buttoned-up as always, and gave me that polite, waiting stare in the rearview.

“Home, miss?” he asked in that perfect British accent of his.

“Just drive, Charles.”

He didn’t flinch. Charles never flinched. He was like one of those stone statues guarding fancy estates—silent, loyal, mildly terrifying.

I glanced out the window as London rolled by, the grey October light trying its best to act like sunshine. The swim team was probably still at practice, which stung a little. Normally, I’d be in the pool by that time, slicing through water like it owed me something. But no, Dave had to go full dictator and ground me.

For what? Oh—apparently “tarnishing the Blackwood name” by being abnormal. I hadn't even pushed Mark on purpose. Which still terrified and excited me all at once. And okay, maybe I had been trying to do it again in the restroom throughout the day. But still.

Part of me considered sneaking to the pool anyway. Just a few laps—five, max. But then I pictured Dave calling Coach earlier, his calm, annoying voice politely ruining my plans: “If she shows up, do let me know.” Classic Dave.

And if I tried to stall or sneak around, Charles—the ever-loyal driver—would absolutely report back. He adored Dave. And I didn’t hate him for it; I got it. Dave had helped Charles win custody of his sons from his terrifying Russian ex-wife and got them into a fancy boarding school here in London. That had earned Dave eternal loyalty from the kingdom of Charles. Go figure.

I sighed again, watching pedestrians wrapped in coats and scarves, coffee cups steaming. Maybe I should just… stay home. Yeah, that was crazy. Me, obedient? Except—my stomach rumbled. And then it hit me.

“Charles,” I said suddenly, leaning forward. “Let’s make a detour.”

He glanced at me through the mirror. “Where to, miss?”

“Madeline’s Bakery,” I said, trying not to sound too excited.

Madeline’s was my absolute favorite place in London. The woman herself was sixty-three, shaped like a soft cloud of sugar, and made the kind of pastries that messed with your emotions. The moment the car pulled up, I could already smell melted butter and chocolate. Heaven.

Inside, the bakery was warm, bright, and smelled like happiness. Madeline spotted me instantly. “Selene, my darling!” she cooed, wiping flour off her apron.

“Hi, Madeline.” I grinned. “You already know why I’m here.”

She laughed, showing off her dimples. “Of course I do. Same as always?”

“Chocolate chip muffins,” I said proudly. “And don’t judge if I take two.”

“Sweetheart, I never judge a beautiful woman with good taste,” she said, winking.

I loved her. She packed them carefully while I sneaked a bite straight from the counter. Warm chocolate. Soft crumb. Literal perfection. “You’re a queen,” I told her.

“Flattery will get you extra frosting,” she replied.

By the time I got back in the car, my mood was miles better. Sugar fixed everything.

When we drove up the long, smooth driveway to the house, the sky had turned that lazy shade of gold. The estate looked like something out of a movie—massive iron gates, a sweep of gravel, and around it all, a ring of trees I called “the mini forest.”

The house itself gleamed, because Mrs. Carol, our housekeeper, ran it like a five-star hotel whenever Brenda and Dave were away. Inside, it was quiet. Peaceful. I almost hated it—it was too neat, too perfect, like it was holding its breath.

I headed straight for the kitchen, the muffin bag swinging from my fingers.

Kat was there, of course. She was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables with her scary fast knife skills. Kat and I had a love-hate thing going—mostly because she was loyal to Dave in a way that bordered on religious devotion.

"Kat," I announced.

“Afternoon, Miss Selene,” she said without looking up. “You are early. Your father said you would come straight home."

"You two should get a direct hotline," I said.

She finally stopped chopping and fixed her stern gaze on me.

“Smells good,” I quipped with a bright smile.

“It would smell better if you didn’t keep bringing sweets home to ruin your appetite.”

I grinned. “Relax, I’m helping spend my dad’s money. Anyway, could you please make me a strawberry smoothie? Oh, and serve these with it.” I placed the bakery bag down dramatically, like I was presenting treasure. “By the pool. It’s too pretty out to stay indoors.”

She muttered something quietly but nodded. That was us. Love and hate, all wrapped up in loyalty to Dave.

Upstairs, I kicked off my shoes, put on my shower playlist, and smiled as Kendrick Lamar’s ‘LOVE.’ blasted through the bathroom speakers. I stepped into the shower, and the hot water hit my skin, making me melt for a second as I let the steam fog the glass door. I sang along, badly, because no one was around to judge me except the loyal lineup of shampoo bottles. For a beautiful moment, with the coconut scent of my hair and the steam filling the air, life felt oddly, perfectly balanced.

When I was done, I threw on a red swimsuit, wrapped myself in a fluffy white robe, grabbed my phone, and headed down to the pool.

Outside, the air was surprisingly warm for October, with the last of the afternoon sunlight spilling across the water. The pool glittered like liquid sapphire.

Kat’s presentation was perfection, as always—my strawberry smoothie was perfectly chilled, and the two chocolate chip muffins were neatly arranged on a ceramic tray as if auditioning for a magazine cover.

I set my phone down, shrugged off my robe, and stretched, feeling the last of the day's tension in my shoulders before I dove in.

The cool water wrapped around me like silk. I swam a few easy laps, feeling every tight muscle begin to unwind. This was freedom. This was quiet.

Too quiet.

And then—I saw something.

At the edge of the woods, just beyond the fence, a shadow shifted. A man? It was hard to tell from this distance, but my pulse quickened instantly. I froze mid-lap, treading water as I wiped the chlorine from my eyes, squinting at the tree line. There was nothing there now. Maybe it was just my imagination—or maybe not.

I climbed out slowly, toweled off, and tried to pretend I hadn't just been spooked. A bird cawed somewhere deep in the trees, and a sudden breeze made the pool water ripple. I told myself to relax.

Still, I couldn't shake the crawling feeling of being watched.

“Selene?”

I whipped around. “Gosh, Mum, you scared me!”

Brenda stood a few steps away, concern written all over her face. “What is it, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I laughed quickly, forcing my heart to slow down. “It’s nothing, Mum,” I said, sitting down at the poolside table. I grabbed my smoothie and took a long sip, pretending to be completely calm. “You’re home early.”

“Yes,” she said, settling into the chair beside me. “Your father and I had a board meeting.” She still looked worried. “And I’m sorry for how he acted this morning.”

“It’s fine,” I said with a shrug. “I understand.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. I could feel her eyes on me, studying me like she was waiting for me to crack.

I wished, not for the first time, that I could just move out. I was so mentally drained by them, by everything. Even Chloe lived in her own apartment, but my parents still treated me like a child. I was twenty, not five. It wasn't about being ungrateful, just utterly exhausted. They had kept me bubble-wrapped my entire life—Brenda in a constant state of panic that something would swoop down and hurt me, Dave trying to control my every move. It hadn't always been this suffocating.

“Mum?” I said, setting the glass down with a definitive click.

“Yes, honey?”

I took a deep breath. “I want to move out.”

Her eyes widened. She actually gasped. “No.”

I blinked. “No?” Brenda had never outright refused me anything in my entire life.

“Mum, I’m twenty. I want to live on my own so you and Dave stop deciding my bedtime, my phone minutes, my life!”

She rubbed her temples. “Honey, we’re not telling you how to live your life…”

“Oh, really?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s just…” she hesitated, her gaze on her wedding ring.

“It’s just what, Mum?”

She exhaled shakily. “It’s just—I don’t want you to get hurt, okay? So no.”

“Hurt?” My irritation spiked. “What, exactly, is going to hurt me?”

She looked away, and that familiar wall went up. That was the thing about my family—so many secrets, so much they would never tell me.

“Mum, every twenty-year-old gets to live a normal life. College dorms, apartments, roommates! You and Dad keep saying you want me to have a normal life, but you won’t even let me try!”

Her voice softened into that pleading tone I knew so well. “You’re not just any twenty-year-old, Selene. You’re our princess.” She reached for my hand, but I pulled back.

Why is my life so miserable?

First, it was that ridiculous moonstone necklace she forced me to wear as a kid—“for protection,” she’d said. Yeah, right. I’d secretly tossed it out a year ago, not that she knew. What did they even want from me? What were they so afraid of?

I grabbed my robe from the chair and stood.

“Selene—”

But I was already walking away, ignoring her completely.