Or rather, she’s only half of me. All sun, all the father I’m trying not to become. Where is the moon? Where is the daughter who learned to heal in a small cottage, who was raised by a woman who chose service over power?
The more I look, the more wrong it feels. Beautiful, yes. Impressive, certainly. But incomplete.
A knock sounds at the door. Astrid slips back in, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Stars above,” she breathes. “You look...”
She studies me for a moment, noticing my unease, then nods slowly. “I have just the thing.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small bundle wrapped in faded silk. “I was going to give this to you before you left for the Conclave, but the guards came too quickly. I’ve been carrying it around, waiting for the right moment.”
She unwraps the bundle to reveal a silver crescent moon pendant. Tiny diamonds dot its surface, and when it catches the light, it glows with soft luminescence.
I recognize it immediately from Astrid’s box of mementos. “That’s your mother’s.”
“It was.” Astrid’s voice is soft. “Now it’s yours.”
“Astrid, I can’t?—”
“Youcan. You need it more than I do.” She moves behind me, lifting the pendant to fasten it around my neck. “You’re walking into that ball carrying the weight of the Sun King’s legacy. You need something to remind you that you’re also Liora’s daughter.”
The crescent settles at the base of my throat, cool against my skin. The silver provides perfect balance to all the solar imagery – where the dress and styling speak of power and command, the pendant whispers of wisdom and service. Together, they create harmony. Sun and moon, strength and compassion, the ruler I want to be rather than the tyrant I could become.
I meet Astrid’s eyes in the mirror. “Thank you.”
She squeezes my shoulders. “Be safe tonight, sister.”
“I will.”
She slips out quietly, leaving me with Isolde and the styling team.
Isolde studies my reflection, taking in the addition of the moon pendant. A slow smile spreads across her face.
“Now you’re ready,” she says. “Now you look like someone who could change everything.”
Evening arrives faster than expected, the day’s conversations and preparations blending into a haze of anticipation and nerves. I sit before my mirror, hands trembling slightly as I apply a final touch of rose gold to my lips. The withdrawal symptoms have been manageable today, dulled by the excitement and support of unexpected allies, but I know tonight’s masquerade will test that fragile stability.
A knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. This time I know exactly who it is before I answer.
Zevran stands in the corridor, and the sight of him stops me. He’s traded his usual attire for formal evening wear – deep red velvet coat over black silk, his mask a simple band of bronze that emphasizes his grey eyes. He looks like a prince from an ancient fairy tale, dangerous and beautiful in equal measure.
“You look...” he starts, then stops.
“Nervous?”
“Like a queen.” His voice is rough. “Like someone worth fighting for.”
The compliment draws a small smile from me, but it fades when I see his expression shift. There’s something in his eyes – concern mixed with heat, protectiveness edged with want.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, but he’s not talking about the ball. He’s talking about walking into that garden full of potential enemies and allies, all wearing masks, all watching to see if the Sun King’s daughter will survive another night.
“No. But I’ll do it anyway.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the familiar scent of him, leather and sandalwood. His hand lifts to touch the crescent moon pendant at my throat.
“Sun and moon. That’s what you are, isn’t it? Both halves, trying to find balance.”
“Trying,” I echo. “Not always succeeding.”
“You’re doing better than you think.” His hand moves up my neck and jaw, thumb brushing across my cheekbone, and the tenderness of the gesture makes my throat tight. “The maze proved that. You chosetruth when you could have chosen power. You made yourself vulnerable when you could have stayed protected.”
