Page 28 of Of Shadow and Moon

I remember Rhyker’s bark of laughter as he tripped over a root, the way Tomas’s silver hair shone in the sun like some enchanted thread, Matheus’s booming voice as he dared us to jump off a rock like it was the edge of the world. Even Nazriel, who was quiet and carefree then, found a place among us, his sharp eyes catching every flicker of movement, a silent observer who seemed more at peace than I’d ever seen him. I was laughing, too. How strange it feels now to remember that I could.

We were found, of course. Hauled back into the council hall, red faced and panting, dirt smudged on our cheeks, our fine clothes torn and covered in grass stains. The looks on our fathers’ faces… I’ll never forget that.

My father’s eyes were cold, flashing with something beyond anger, something that promised retribution. Henever said I couldn’t talk to the other princes, but now I know my mistake. I didn’t dare look straight at the other kings, but under the mess of my hair, I caught glimpses of their faces—hard, furious, the weight of their disapproval. I knew what waited for me when I got home, the punishment I would face for daring to play with the enemy.

He taught me well that day, driving it home with every lash, every hissed word of contempt. My scars are a testament to my father’s rage. My father made sure I understood. There would be no more laughter, no more foolish notions of friendship.

And yet, as I stood in line beside the other princes, heads lowered, I saw it in their eyes too. I wouldn't be the only one who’d pay for that little rebellion. I wondered if their fathers were as merciless as mine, if they too would feel the sting of discipline for simply being children.

A dull ache stirs in my chest, but I shove it down. That was a lifetime ago. Whatever camaraderie we might’ve shared then was crushed beneath the weight of our crowns. Now, we’re strangers, bound only by ancient feuds and grudges that go back centuries.

It’s better that way.

I move toward the buffet table, grabbing a plate and piling it high with food I have no intention of enjoying. I stalk my way through the dining hall, finding a table that I have marked as mine. Growling when anyone comes too close.

My fingers wrap around a silver knife, the cold metal pressing into my skin, grounding me as I cut through a thick slice of dark bread. That’s when I feel it, a ripple, like the shift in air just before a storm breaks.

The human, Selestina, walks in, and even from across the hall, I can feel the weight of her presence.

Her name echoes in my mind, clinging to every corner of my thoughts like it’s branded there. When she said it in class, it was like my brain short circuited. For a moment, I swear time itself stopped; the world narrowing down to just her voice and the way it hung in the air, heavy and electric.

She doesn’t try to hide the exhaustion that drapes over her shoulders, doesn’t conceal the bruises that shadow her skin like dark clouds. Her hair is wild, falling loose around her face, framing eyes that seem to pierce the very fabric of this place.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to breathe as I watch her.

She moves with a quiet, lethal grace, her every step careful but unwavering, as if she’s navigating a battlefield rather than a dining hall. There’s defiance in the set of her shoulders, a challenge in the tilt of her head, and it makes something dark and angry coil in my chest. I don’t know what it is about her, but every fiber of my being resents it, resents her for stirring something in me I’d rather leave buried.

I angle myself so I can see her without appearing to watch. She takes a place at one of the far tables, and I can feel her attention, as if she’s scanning the room for threats, sizing up everyone she sees. Her eyes flick to me for a split second, and it’s like a spark catching, a flare of heat that sends a jolt down my spine. I don’t look away. I stare, letting her feel the weight of my gaze, the simmering disdain that I don’t bother to mask.

Everything about her makes me mad. Those bruises, the way they mar her skin—gods, it’s too much. Ilikeit too much. It makes me think of what she would look likepinned beneath me. How I would mark her skin and make her mine.

My fingers tighten around the knife, my gaze never leaving her as she begins to eat. She doesn’t glance up, doesn’t acknowledge the glances that others send her way, the whispers that follow her every movement, but I can tell she is fully aware of everything being said around her. She just eats slowly, as if she’s taking in her surroundings with every bite, assessing, calculating.

Etzli plops down at my table, all bright smiles and relentless energy. He’s Metztli’s general in training, though I can’t for the life of me understand why. The guy’s a royal pain in my ass.

“Hey,” he chirps, grinning like we’re best friends. He’s always trying to worm his way into my good graces, as if I’d ever let that happen.

I don’t bother acknowledging him. Instead, I stab at my food, letting the silence do the work for me. Etzli doesn’t take the hint, of course. He never does.

Across the room,hergaze finds mine. The little human. Her eyes, full of venom, lock on me for half a heartbeat before sliding to Etzli, then scanning the rest of the dining hall.

Gods, why does this nobody human captivate me so much? There’s nothing special about her. And yet, she draws me in, her presence a pull I can’t quite resist. It’s irritating. Maddening.

Etzli keeps talking, his voice a persistent drone in the background. Something about the girls at the academy, the upcoming party after the first Dark Forest trial, how everyone’s going to be there. I tune him out, the sound of his voice grating against my patience.

When Selestina rises from her seat and strides out ofthe hall, I stand before I even realize it. Etzli pauses mid sentence, looking up at me in confusion.

“Where are you going?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I don’t owe him an explanation.

I head for the door, my mind set. If the little human is leaving, then so am I.

Chapter 16

Selestina

The morning comes too quickly, dragging me from a restless sleep. I sit up, already aware of what awaits me, combat class, bright and early. The mere thought of it sends a ripple of unease through my chest. Not because I’m unprepared, but because I’m too prepared. And here, in a place teeming with Tonalocas who would leap at any excuse to challenge me, standing out is the last thing I want.

I shove the blanket aside and dress quickly, pulling on black leggings and a fitted long sleeve top. I throw my hair up in a high ponytail, securing it tightly in place. I need to blend in, be unnoticed. But that won’t happen if I walk into combat at full strength. No, I need to dull my edges.

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