Page 71 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

After a few minutes had passed, she spoke. “Nox,” she began, anxiously tapping her ring against the arm of the throne. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied distractedly, sweeping his paintbrush across the canvas like a conductor leading an orchestra. He bit his bottom lip as he worked. A smudge of ruby-red paint marred the fair skin of his cheek.

“How long have you known Lucan?” In the time she’d been in Silvergard, Nova had gathered that the connection between her uncle and his commander extended well beyond friendship.

“A hundred years or so, I suppose,” he said, glancing at her with a curious look.

“And how long have you been together?”

His hand halted. A look of apprehension flashed on his sharp features for an instant before he shook it off and let out a breathy laugh. His brush started moving again.

“A hundred years or so.”

“Is it meant to be a secret between the two of you? There are plenty of folk who enjoy others of the same gender at Court.”

Nox dropped his paintbrush into one of the little pots littering the tabletop and folded his hands in his lap.

“I suppose it’s a bit of an open secret,” he said. “My staff knows. The members of the Lunar Council know.” He paused, first tilting his head back to view the night sky through the glass ceiling, then dropping his gaze to the throne on which Nova sat.

“It’s a tricky thing when so much in this world is wrapped up in blood,” he sighed. “To outsiders, my being with Lucan could signify weakness. The end of the Elsever bloodline. Some might seek to usurp me. The Elsevers weren’t always the keepers of the Lunar Throne; our ancestors took it by force to become Orika’s favored bloodline. I’ve made too much progress for me to allow Silvergard to fall into the hands of another. The safety and prosperity of my people is worth the price of my secret.”

“Did you always know?” Nova asked timidly. “That it was love, I mean.”

One side of Nox’s mouth curled into a smile and he chuckled. “At first, it was pure attraction. This undeniable pull. Like a riptide. Like I couldn’t have stayed away from him even it meant I’d drown. As time went by, I realized it was much more. I could tell him anything. He stood beside me. Backed me fully in everything I did and encouraged me to strive for more. Never in my life had I experienced such unwavering support. In the beginning, that felt more terrifying than the prospect of drowning.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

Nova stared at the letter resting in her lap, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes at the thought of how she’d treated Callan. How she’d pushed him away. She’d been treading water. Fighting against the pull of the same relentless tide her uncle described. Her heart and mind were weary with the struggle. She longed to let go, to allow herself to be swept away by her feelings for Callan. But she didn’t know how to surrender when there was a chance she could sink beneath the surface forever.

Nox’s brows fell, his lips forming a thin, sympathetic smile as he leaned forward around the easel.

“You deserve love, Nova.” His voice was kind but firm, as if issuing the formal decree of a Noble Lord. “If it has found you, let it in.”

The doors to the throne room swung open, the sudden sound startling them both. Nova’s head snapped to the entryway to find Idrian striding purposefully into the room. The general froze when he caught sight of her. His eyes went wide for an instant, but Nova couldn’t read his expression. He could have been enchanted or horrified.

“My Lord,” Idrian said, gathering himself and bowing his head to Nox. “I’ve come to inform you that I plan to depart for Stargrave tomorrow. You have been most generous these past weeks.”

“Safe travels, General. I’ve found our conversations to be very enlightening. I’m hopeful we can continue a positive relationship going forward.”

Idrian brought his feet together and made a formal bow. Once he rose, he nodded briefly in Nova’s direction, then turned on his heel and exited through the double doors without a backward glance.

Nova was unsettled by Idrian’s reaction to her seated on the throne. Had the sight finally brought her resemblance to her father into focus? Had he pieced together the truth about her connection to Nox? To Silvergard?

Seemingly unbothered by the interaction, Nox caught her attention and beckoned for her to join him. She stood slowly, muscles tight after sitting in one position for so long. She nearly gasped when she reached the easel and beheld Nox’s creation.

Nova had never seen a likeness of herself before. Her uncle was an incredibly talented artist. Though unfinished, the portrait was remarkably lifelike and rich in detail, from the matte black of her hair to the ring of silver around her steel-gray irises. What struck her most, however, was the expression on her face. Nox had captured a genuine smile on her full lips, the warmth of it reaching all the way to her eyes.

“Is that truly what I look like?” she murmured, unnerved by the smile so unlike the stony mask she’d gone to such great pains to perfect over the years.

“Yes, my dear niece,” Nox replied. “You have a lovely smile, and I think we both know what coaxed it from you.”

Nova curled her fingers tightly around the parchment she still held in her hand. Her mind flickered to Callan and the evening they stood perched atop the stone wall surrounding the Pyralis Estate. To what he’d said about her smile as his tiger’s-eye gaze lingered on her.

It’s lovely. The world would be lucky to see more of it.

Thirty-Four

Nova woke to the taste of leather and the stifling sensation of something being pressed over her mouth. She cried out, but the sound was smothered by a gloved hand clamping down even harder against her lips. She clawed at the attached wrist, fingernails scraping against the soft material. Her breath came rapidly through her nose as her eyes adjusted in the darkened room, lit only by a sliver of daylight creeping in through a gap in the curtains.

After a few seconds, Idrian’s face came into focus, hovering above hers. Nova widened her eyes at him. His expression was grave, his mouth a grim line and his brows knitted together.