Page 6 of Of Shadow and Moon

In the distance, the peaks of the volcanoes rise, beautiful as they are deadly. They would almost seem like serene mountains if not for the constant reminder of their destructive potential. Yet the people of Tepetl move through their lives as if the threat doesn’t exist, trusting in the ancient spells that hold back the volcanoes’ wrath. It’s a delicate balance, fire and life coexisting, a beauty born from the brink of annihilation.

The streets are wide here, lined with lanterns with flames of enchanted blue. Vendors with carts of fruit and goods have long since disappeared, replaced by carriages and finely dressed figures walking arm-in-arm. The people of Tepetl are as striking as their city—bronzed skin kissed by the relentless heat of the kingdom, hair woven with threads of gold and crimson, and garments that shimmer like liquid fire. Nobles, mainly Tonalacas, pass by with regal ease, their laughter ringing out like silver bells, with no care in the world. Naguals are always on alert. It’s their inner animal, their inner predator.

Alexander sits opposite me, silent but watchful. I can feel his gaze on me but I refuse to look back. He doesn’t care about the beauty of Tepetl or the splendor of its people. His focus is singular. I glance at his hands, relaxed on his lap, though I know they’re anything but idle.

As the carriage rolls deeper into the noble district, the air changes. It’s richer here, tinged with the scent of jasmine and burning incense, carried on a breeze. The buildings grow even grander, their windows of stained glass catching the fading light and splashing rainbows ontothe polished streets. Balconies overflow with vibrant flowers imported from Xochitlalpan, since not much grows here.

The carriage slows, the clatter of wheels giving way to the crunch of gravel as we approach the grand palace where the masquerade will be held. Its silhouette rises before us, a masterpiece of firestone and obsidian, its spires reaching toward the darkening sky. Lanterns light the entrance, their flames dancing in the breeze.

As we come to a stop, Alexander moves first, as always. His hand rests lightly on my shoulder as I step out beside him, a subtle reminder of the control he wields. I take a deep breath, the scent of the jasmine mingling with a light trace of ash, and steel myself for what’s to come.

The masquerade may be a celebration for some, but for me, and I’m sure many others, it’s a political battlefield. And like the volcanoes that surround Tepetl, the fire inside me burns just as fiercely, wishing for a moment to erupt.

Eyes turn towards us, whispers spreading like wildfire. I feel the weight of their gazes, their curiosity, their fear, but I remain calm, my mask firmly in place, both literally and figuratively.

“Remember your place,” Alexander murmurs in my ear, his voice a dark promise. “Tonight, you aremine.”

Chapter 3

Selestina

The interior of the palace is a masterpiece of architecture, like all the palaces. There’s a blend of volcanic stone and intricate metalwork that glimmers in the warm light from thousands of candles. There are tall, arched windows that frame views of the surrounding deserts. The grand ballroom is dominated by a massive chandelier with crystals catching the light and casting a thousand tiny rainbows across the room.

The guests are cloaked in elaborate costumes and masks, moving like phantoms through the room, their identities hidden behind feathers, jewels, and expensive masks.

I have attended these balls for five years now, each time blending into the background or by Alexander's side.

Alexander stands across from me, every inch of him exuding control. His black hair, sleek and perfectly in place, seems untouched by time, as though not a single strand dares to defy him. His blue eyes are the sharpest thing about him against his tanned skin—a cruel contrast to the fire he wields soeffortlessly.

He’s handsome, objectively speaking. The kind of face that could charm entire courts if he ever bothered to try. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, a body that moves with the precision of someone who knows how to weaponize their appearance. I don’t see beauty when I look at him, though. I see a cage.

He looks no older than his mid-thirties, his agelessness a testament to the centuries of power coursing through his veins. Yet his true age lingers in the way he carries himself—every step calculated, every glance a reminder of how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of his plans.

The man who I used to look at with such fondness, to grow up and realize he’s not my hero. His attractiveness is meaningless, a hollow facade, because behind it lies nothing but control, cruelty, and a man who will always see me as his property, never as a person. I don’t know the exact moment I stopped looking at him with love.

Alexander is, as usual, the center of attention. His mask, a fierce creation of gold and black. He moves through the crowd with ease, engaging in conversations with every royal in attendance. This year I am to stand in the shadows and remain unseen. The princes from each kingdom are here, except for Príncipe Nazriel from Atlacoya. His absence is a common occurrence, a mystery that no one seems eager to solve. Except me.

My focus remains fixed on four figures who also command the room without even trying. Each of them—Los Príncipes de Tonalli—radiates an energy that’s impossible to ignore, and no matter how much I try to blend into the shadows, I find myself drawn to them. It’s an ache I can’t explain, a pull that returns every year, each time leaving me more intrigued, more unsettled.

My gaze settles first on Príncipe Matheus,towering and intense. His height alone makes him stand out, over six and a half feet tall, and his presence radiates a heat that seems almost tangible. His fiery red hair falls in wild waves, alive with the energy of the very volcanoes that dominate his homeland of Tepetl. His mask, adorned with red and gold flames, shimmers with each movement. Though his mask hides much of his face, his eyes, deep and brooding. He doesn’t speak; he never does.

In stark contrast is Príncipe Tomas, a beacon of light and liveliness who moves through the crowd with a grace that’s almost ethereal. His pale skin catches the light, making him appear ghostly, especially when paired with his silver curls that gleam under the chandeliers. His mask, a delicate creation of silver encrusted with diamonds, catches and reflects every glint of light, casting tiny stars that seem to follow him as he moves. He laughs freely, wrapping around everyone he meets as if he’s known them forever. His red eyes are sharp, vibrant, and sparkle with mischief. Every so often, I notice him absently run his tongue over his fangs, leaving a trail of red that only adds to his charm.

Then my eyes drift to Príncipe Kaelion, and the room seems to darken around him. Where Tomas is inviting, Kaelion is distant, his presence cloaked in disdain for everyone around him. His sleek black hair falls perfectly around his face, framing features so sharp and flawless they seem carved from stone. His mask is dark, its black horns blending seamlessly with his own... His tattoos wind across his neck and hands, marks of his demonio heritage that pulse with power.

Then there’s Príncipe Rhyker, the only one who dares to look back at me, unflinching and bold. His shaggy brown hair frames his face while his bright green eyes glow withan inner fire that feels almost feral. His mask is adorned with vines and leaves, and appears to grow from his skin, as if he himself were part of the earth, embodying the wild, untamed spirit of his home, Xochitlalpan. His ears taper into a sharp point, a subtle yet unmistakable marker of his Fae lineage. His green tattoos snake along his neck, down his arms, and across his hands. Rhyker doesn’t hesitate to hold my gaze, as if daring me to look away first. There’s an unrestrained wildness to him and I can’t shake the feeling that he knows the effect he has on me, that he relishes.

Men don’t intimidate me. Not anymore. I’ve had some experience with men, but not enough to claim any sort of expertise. My experience has always been… complicated. Alexander made it very clear, etched it into me that I am under no circumstances allowed to let another man touch me. My body, like my skills, belongs to him, a tool for his purposes and nothing more.

Of course, rules like that are made to be broken, even if breaking them comes with consequences. Diego was the first. He was barely older than me at the time, and before his loyalty to Alexander solidified into something unshakable, we ended up in bed together one drunken night. I’ve always suspected that lapse in judgment is why Diego relishes punishing me now, why there’s always an extra edge of satisfaction in his voice when he delivers Alexander’s discipline. Maybe he’s trying to make up for his own failure, to erase the memory of that night by forcing me to suffer for it.

Still, I think Diego is the one who covers for me. When I slip into the night, searching for fleeting moments of peace in the arms of unlikely men—Tonolacas and humans alike—it’s him who ensures Alexander never finds out.

It’s my one act of rebellion. My small andselfish defiance. A way to remind myself that I’m still human beneath the layers of blood and control. I know it’s a risk, a dangerous game where the stakes are my very life. Alexander has eyes everywhere. Yet somehow, I’ve never been caught.

But I know the truth. It’s only a matter of time. When Alexander finds out, and he will find out, it’ll be disastrous. His wrath is slow and methodical, a storm that builds until it crushes everything in its path. And when it comes for me, I know there won’t be anywhere to hide.

I shake my head to get back into focus. I think of the princes. Even with all four of them here, my mind drifts to the one prince who isn’t. The one who has never been here. Príncipe Nazriel. The whispers have reached even me, that the Príncipe de Atlacoya refuses to attend the masquerade every year. His absence is as notable yet no one ever comments on it. He remains a mystery, but always present in my thoughts, especially at events like this. I imagine him, wonder what he might look like, wonder if he’s as striking and magnetic as the other princes.

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