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He wasn’t wearing his training gear; he was clad in a simple, dark tunic that fit the corded muscle of his chest, his long legs casting a shadow over the wood. His deep hazel eyes found mine, the gold flecks within them catching the amber light of the hearth.
“Is there room for another second lieutenant from the south?” Mal asked, his voice a low, melodic lilt that drew my focus straight out of the tavern noise.
He wasn’t from the south. I didn’t know where he actually hailed from, but I knew for a fact it wasn’t the south.
“Always,” Dax said, shifting over to give him space.
Mal slid into the booth right beside me. His shoulder brushed mine—a brief touch that sent a subtle warmth through my leather jacket. He smelled of black amber and vanilla, a scent that felt entirely too refined for the smoky room. He didn’t join the loud argument Dax and Aerynn were having about border patrols; instead, he turned his head slightly, his eyes tracking the line of my face before settling on my right hand.
Without a word, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, amber glass vial. He set it on the table, sliding it until it rested against my fingers.
“Winter-mint salve,” Mal murmured, his tone meant for my ears alone. “For the knuckles. The vanguard leather is rough on skin until the calluses settle.”
I studied the glass, then looked up at him, my eyes narrowing. He remembered small details—things I didn’t even think he had noticed during the spar. There was a quiet attentiveness to him that felt incredibly dangerous, like a trap hidden behind a polite gesture.
“You’re very observant, Lieutenant Varyn,” I said quietly, using his title as a barrier.
“I listen more than I speak, Princess,” he replied, a slow, calculating curve touching his mouth. “You learn more that way. For instance, I know you’ve been overthinking the Lunareth Remnikai texts for three days.”
A sudden chill hit my spine. “How could you know that?”
He was too attentive, too watchful.
“Because your fingers twitch toward your wrists every time someone mentions the silver waters,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the hidden crescent markings beneath my sleeves before returning to my eyes. “Don’t worry. The waters respond to desire, not just purity. You have plenty of the former, even if you hide it behind sarcasm.”
Before I could process his words, a heavy presence dropped onto the bench directly opposite us.
Caspian.
The High Captain leaned his broad back against the timber booth, his blue eyes instantly locking onto the small distance between Mal’s shoulder and mine. The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly, a silent tension snapping between the two males across the scarred wood. Caspian didn’t say a word to Mal, but his jaw tightened.
He grabbed a wooden tankard of dark mead from the table, taking a slow draught without breaking eye contact with me.
“We were just discussing the upcoming rotations, Cas,” Aerynn said, his eyes flashing between Caspian and Mal with a knowing look that made me want to kick him under the table. “And the fact that the LunaStiya festival is only three weeks away.”
The word landed heavy against the table, and the surrounding noise of the tavern seemed to dull. LunaStiya. The Moon Festival.
On Earth, festivals were harmless things—fireworks, cotton candy, music playing over tinny speakers while people held hands in the fog.
Here, LunaStiya meant something far more primal. When the three moons aligned, the silver light of the Mani Goddesses flooded the sky, drawing the raw, uninhibited magic straight out of everyone’s blood.
The ancient texts didn’t hide the truth: it was a night built on complete surrender. Rank was stripped away. Courtly laws ceased to exist. For one night, the realm gave itself over to desire, letting people claim whatever—and whomever—they wanted without legal consequence.
My fingers twitched near my belt out of pure habit. No rules. No consequences. To anyone else, it was freedom. To me, it was a threat. I had spent my entire life learning how to keep my instincts under tight control. Throwing away the leash for a night felt less like a celebration and more like lighting a fuse.
Although there is a certain forsworn son I wouldn’t mind lighting the fuse for…The way he threw me around my first day back…
“The court is going to be a disaster this year,” Rhea said, taking a sip of her drink, her dark eyes sharp. “With the outer provinces already plotting, a night of absolute lawlessness is exactly what the high lords want to mask their movements.”
“They won’t be looking at politics on LunaStiya,” Dax snorted, his crooked grin returning. “They’ll be too busy tracking their prey through the palace gardens. The magic is thick during the triple alignment. Even the guards drop their armor.”
I crossed my arms, the hidden chainmail shifting under my shirt. The thought of the festival made my stomach tighten. I was half-human; the wild, uninhibited nature of the Fae felt foreign, almost overwhelming compared to the careful boundaries I had spent my life constructing.
“And you, Princess?” Mal asked, his voice smooth as he leaned back, his hazel eyes catching the firelight as he looked down at me. “Who will you be surrendered to when the three moons break the dark?”
The question was entirely too intimate for a table full of vanguard officers.
Before I could offer a sharp retort, Caspian set his tankard down with a heavy thud that rattled the timber. He leaned forward, his broad frame crossing the table, his icy blue eyes burning into mine with a quiet authority that silenced the group.
