Luna did not knock.

  She never did.

  Lucien felt her before he saw her—the faint pressure in the room, the way the shadows along the walls leaned inward as if something had disturbed the balance they preferred. Even half-healed, half-asleep, his body knew her presence the way prey knows when the air changes.

  The door closed softly behind her.

  She stood just inside the threshold, pale red silk clinging to her frame like spilled wine, her silver hair loose over one shoulder. Candlelight caught her skin and gave it an almost translucent glow, as if blood itself moved just beneath the surface. Her gaze lingered on him—on the bandages wrapped around his torso, on the sword resting beside the bed, on the way he sat too still, too awake.

  “You should be resting,” she said.

  “So should you,” Lucien replied.

  A smile touched her lips. Not warm. Not cruel. Measured.

  “I was worried.”

  He said nothing.

  She crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, as if testing how close she could come before he reacted. The floorboards barely creaked beneath her. She stopped close enough that Lucien could smell her—iron and night and something faintly sweet.

  “I saw the way they looked at you today,” Luna said quietly. “The whispers. The blame. They always need someone to carry it.”

  Her fingers brushed his wrist.

  Nothing happened.

  No pull. No pressure. No tightening in his veins.

  Her eyes flicked down.

  Then back up.

  Only a fraction of a second—but Lucien caught it.

  “I just wanted to see if you were alright,” she continued smoothly, adjusting without pause. “After everything.”

  Her hand slid higher, resting against his chest.

  Still nothing.

  Lucien turned his head and met her gaze. “What do you want, Luna?”

  She tilted her head slightly, studying him now—not as a weapon, not as prey, but as a puzzle.

  “They’re turning on you,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Come have dinner with me.”

  Lucien exhaled through his nose. “I already made plans.”

  Her smile thinned. “With Alicia.”

  “Yes.”

  She already knew.

  Alicia had never been subtle.

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  “You should stay away from her,” Luna said, her voice quiet but sharpened. “Light like hers doesn’t warm—it burns. She will destroy you, whether she means to or not.”

  Lucien sighed, weariness threading through the sound. “She warned me about you too.”

  He stepped closer.

  Close enough that Luna’s breath caught despite herself.

  “You should worry about yourself,” he said softly. “If you keep getting this close to me…”

  He allowed her hand to remain where it was.

  “…you’ll hurt yourself.”

  For a heartbeat, Luna forgot how to move.

  Then Lucien stepped past her, gathered the plates he’d prepared, and walked toward the door.

  It closed behind him with quiet finality.

  Luna remained where she stood, fingers curling slowly into her palm, nails pressing half-moons into her skin.

  The walk took time.

  Even for Lucien.

  The field lay far beyond the outer ring of the arena city, past the training grounds and the last watch posts, where the land dipped into gentle slopes and tall grass whispered secrets to the night. He shadow-stepped where he could, conserving strength, letting the world blur and reform until the air cooled and the scent of stone gave way to open earth.

  He emerged at the edge of the clearing.

  Moonlight washed the field in silver.

  And there she was.

  Alicia Helior stood near the center, barefoot in the grass, her shoes placed neatly beneath a low-branched tree beside her rapier. She wore a simple white sleeping gown, the fabric soft and unadorned, clinging lightly to her form as the breeze stirred it. Her silver hair was braided down her back, catching the moonlight in a way that made it seem as though stars had tangled themselves into it.

  The moon touched her.

  But it did not outshine her.

  She turned as if she’d felt him arrive.

  “You made it,” she said, smiling. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten.”

  Lucien lifted the plates. “Food.”

  She laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “I thought we’d hunt. But this is faster.”

  She reached out, fingers brushing the edge of one plate.

  Warmth bloomed beneath Lucien’s hands as soft light flowed from her touch, gentle and controlled. Steam curled upward as the food reheated, fresh and fragrant as if just prepared.

  They sat together in the grass, shoulders close but not touching at first, eating in companionable quiet. Crickets sang. The distant city lights flickered like fallen constellations.

  Lucien kept catching himself looking at her.

  At the way her expression softened when she wasn’t performing. At the quiet confidence in her movements. At how utterly, impossibly beautiful she was—so much so that it felt unreal, like staring too long at the sun reflected in glass.

  She noticed.

  “So,” Alicia said eventually, glancing sideways at him. “Why did you really come?”

  Lucien hesitated. “Because you asked.”

  She smiled wider. “If I told you to jump off a cliff?”

  He pretended to consider it. “Depends how high.”

  She laughed properly then, tipping her head back, silver braid slipping over her shoulder.

  “You want answers,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “Yes.”

  She reached into the neckline of her gown and drew out a medallion—white metal, cool and luminous, etched with delicate celestial script.

  “I asked the other royals,” she said quietly. “None of them have one like this.”

  Lucien’s breath caught.

  He drew his own from beneath his tunic.

  Black.

  Identical in shape.

  Opposite in color.

  “My mother gave me this,” he said. “She said it was my father’s.”

  Alicia’s fingers tightened around hers. “Mine was a gift from my father.”

  Silence stretched between them, heavy and thoughtful.

  “Then maybe,” Lucien said slowly, “our fathers knew each other.”

  Alicia didn’t answer.

  Instead, she leaned back into the grass, staring up at the stars as if seeking something written there.

  Lucien followed, the familiar ache in his chest stirring—memories of another night, another girl, another sky.

  “What will you do if you win?” Alicia asked.

  Lucien swallowed. “I want to be remembered,” he said. “Not as entertainment. Not as a Fallen. I want to be loved the way my mother loves me. And if I am… maybe my people will be too.”

  She turned her head to look at him.

  “That’s a rare wish,” she said softly. “And a brave one.”

  He believed her.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  She gazed back at the stars. “If I win, I’ll free the ones frozen in time. I won’t stand beside my father—I’ll become queen and wake them.”

  Lucien nodded. “I respect that.”

  She smiled, genuinely this time.

  “We should head back,” Alicia said, rising. “We’re allowed this far—but only for so long.”

  They walked together beneath the moon, talking quietly, the night wrapping around them like a secret. At the edge of the housing quarters, they stopped.

  Alicia dipped into a small, graceful bow.

  “Rest well, shadow boy.”

  “You too,” Lucien replied.

  They parted—she toward the women’s quarters, he toward the men’s.

  From above, Luna Sangrelle watched.

  Her fingers dug into the stone of the balcony until her knuckles whitened.

  “She takes everything from me,” Luna whispered.

  That night—

  Lucien slept without dreams.