The words were probably meant to sound generous, but they landed like glass on tile.
Luna studied Winta, trying to gauge her sincerity. “It’s fine. Thank you.” She offered her a polite smile, hoping it was enough to smooth over the awkwardness. Not because she suddenly cared—she didn’t—but because it was easier. Less effort to nod along than to push back.
Damien sipped his tea, his eyes glancing to the door over his cup. “I assume Marion and Corey are babysitting Nina at the temple.”
Luna’s head snapped towards him. “I thought Nina would be here?”
“Here? No, not anymore,” Winta replied, her lips curling slightly as she spoke. Her voice was measured, but there was a faint satisfaction behind her words. “The woman was too much trouble to host—even injured, she was quite a pain. Now that she’s healed . . . Well, let’s just say it’s safer for everyone that she’s at the temple.”
Something cold settled in Luna’s chest. She’d been counting on seeing her mother—just once—before she ran. A part of her had needed that. Now, it was slipping away.
“I’ll take you to her tomorrow,” Damien said too quickly, like a line he’d rehearsed.
Luna didn’t know what unnerved her more: the news itself, or the sense that he’d planned for this moment.
He set down his teacup. “I should go check on Gregory. He’s been gone for a while.”
“That man might as well bury himself beside that empty grave,” Felix grunted. “All he does is pout about and lay down swan feathers.”
So, Clydehadbeen right. Swans mattered to unicorns. Luna recalled something about Gregory’s fiancée passing. That’s probably whose grave he was visiting right now.
“He’s mourning, not pouting,” Damien corrected, rising to his feet. “It’s barely been a year.”
Felix grumbled some incoherent reply, but Winta smoothly intervened. “Did you have enough tea?”
Luna looked down at her mostly untouched cup. “I suppose so,” she said, bobbing her head. “Thank you.”
Smiling graciously, Winta collected the cups and set them on the tray. “It was our pleasure. Let me show you to your room.”
As Damien left through the back of the kitchen, promising to return, Winta led Luna up the grand staircase.
Roses climbed on top of the glass ceiling spread above them, twinkling stars peeking through their petals.
They moved in silence, passing painting after painting of unicorns galloping through meadows, bowing in ceremony, and rearing in battle.
Luna’s steps slowed as they passed a painting with the sky split clean down the middle—one half burning with gold sunlight, the other cloaked in starless black.
“Long ago,” Winta said from behind her, “the unicorn kings turned their horns upon each other, and the Sunveil was torn. One half of the unicorn territory now burns in eternal daylight, the other sinks beneath endless night.”
Luna didn’t respond. The words drifted over her like the wind, leaving no mark.
Statues stood between the frames, more ancient figures whose names she didn’t care to know.
“They’ve spent eons trying to end the curse,” Winta went on, undeterred, “and the search has truly torn the once great kingdoms apart.”
At the end of the hall hung the largest painting: a still, glimmering lake. Peaceful, and yet beneath the surface felt wrong. Luna stared at it for a moment, then walked past.
Her room was just beyond.
As expected, every surface and corner inside was filled with plants—tiny shrubs on shelves, leafy bundles in the corners, flowers spilling from pots. Tucked among the greenery sat a massive bed draped in a sheer white canopy, cascading from the ceiling like a veil.
Graceful as ever—practically floating—Winta crossed to the nightstand and touched the blue-belled flower resting on top. It instantly lit up, bathing the room in a vibrant blue hue.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Winta said.
Luna stepped towards the bed, running her fingers across the bedsheets. They were the softest things she’d ever touched in her life. Normally, she would have flopped into sheets this nice and relished in the comfort they brought, but she wouldn’t now. She didn’t deserve anything nice. William may have been cruel, but he had been right—she was at least partially responsible for Diera’s and Venita’s deaths. She didn’t deserve comfort. No, she deserved to sleep on rocks for the rest of her life.
“I mean it,” Winta said again, her voice softer. “You’ll find me just down the hall should you require anything. I don’t rest easily when things are out of order.”
