Night found Lucien again.
Not asleep.
Not awake.
He lay tangled in sheets, body heavy with exhaustion, mind restless—Valor Drakaryn’s fire still burning behind his eyes, shadow itching beneath his skin. Hunger gnawed at him, dull and insistent, but he hadn’t gone to dinner.
The knock came softly.
Once.
Lucien Noctyrr turned his head toward the door.
“…You can come in,” he said.
The door opened.
Luna Sangrelle stepped inside.
For a heartbeat, Lucien forgot how to breathe.
She wore silk the color of spilled wine—thin, clinging, cut too short at the thigh and too daring at the chest. Her hair spilled loose down her back, pale against her skin, her scent reaching him a moment later: something sweet, calming, dangerous. Moonflower and iron.
She carried a tray of food.
Lucien didn’t notice it.
He noticed her.
She noticed that he noticed.
A small, satisfied smile curved her lips.
“I heard you missed dinner,” Luna Sangrelle said softly, closing the door behind her.
Lucien swallowed and forced his gaze away, staring instead at the wall. He reminded himself of Mira. Of restraint. Of the way temptation always came wrapped in something beautiful.
“Thanks,” he said, voice hoarse. “You didn’t have to—”
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She crossed the room before he could finish.
The scent grew stronger.
She set the tray down on the table, then stepped closer—close enough that Lucien felt warmth brush his knee.
“I wanted to,” she said.
He reached for the plate.
Her hand caught his.
She didn’t pull away.
Instead, she guided his hand upward—slowly—until his palm rested against her chest through the silk.
Lucien froze.
He could feel her heartbeat.
Steady.
Unafraid.
When he looked up, her face was inches from his, crimson eyes watching him carefully, curiously—as if she were the one being tested.
“May I ask you for a favor?” Luna Sangrelle murmured.
His throat was dry. “…Yes.”
Her smile softened—genuine for once.
“Come into the city with me tomorrow,” she said. “I need new clothes. And I thought… you could use some help too.”
He blinked. “Clothes? For me?”
She nodded. “You can’t fight destiny dressed like that forever, Lucien Noctyrr.”
Despite himself, he smiled.
He gently pulled his hand back.
“Of course,” he said. “You didn’t have to come all this way just to ask.”
“I wanted to see you,” Luna admitted lightly. “I heard about your fight with Valor Drakaryn.”
Lucien snorted. “Is he still alive?”
“Oh yes,” she laughed. “He’s devouring the kitchens as we speak. Won’t stop talking about ‘the dragon and the shadow.’ It’s… almost endearing.”
She gestured to the tray. “I saved you some. Even dessert.”
Lucien frowned. “I don’t see any dessert.”
Luna rolled her eyes.
Then leaned in.
Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, low and playful—
“I’m the dessert.”
Lucien jolted upright in pure shock.
In one smooth motion, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She blinked up at him, startled.
“I appreciate the gesture,” he said honestly, eyes lingering just a second longer than he meant to—on her hair, her skin, the dangerous curve of her smile. “I really do.”
Her smile faltered.
“But this isn’t the right time.”
For a moment, Luna Sangrelle looked… disappointed.
“And if it were Alicia Helior?” she asked quietly.
Lucien met her gaze, steady. “I’d say the same thing.”
Something eased in her expression.
“…Good,” she murmured, surprising herself.
She stepped toward the door, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
Lucien nodded, already attacking the food. “Tomorrow.”
She laughed softly. “Goodnight, Lucien Noctyrr.”
The door closed.
Lucien chewed slowly.
Only then did he notice—
Every dish on the tray was exactly what he always chose. His favorite cuts. The greens he liked best. Even the seasoning was right.
She’s been watching me.
A small, conflicted smile tugged at his lips.
“Thanks, Luna,” he murmured to the empty room.
And for the first time since Mira’s death—
Lucien Noctyrr slept with the thought of another woman.
