Raine's POV
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I sipped my tea like nothing was wrong.
Like I hadn't woken up from a filthy dream about a faceless man who made me beg. Like I wasn't dressing up tonight to greet my husband's long-lost son.
Like my pulse wasn't still racing.
But none of that mattered now. Because I was Luna. And Lunas didn't tremble.
They hosted. They ruled beside the Alpha. They kept their head high and their lips shut—unless they were being told what to open them for.
I picked at my breakfast—eggs, smoked meat, some sliced fruit. Nara sat across from me, now calm, now busy buttering her bread like it was a delicate operation.
"You know," she said, chewing, "if the young master does arrive early, and he looks as good as I think he does, someone's going to faint. Probably not me, but definitely Millie from the kitchen."
I didn't look up. "You think of nothing else."
"Oh no, My Lady. I also think of my laundry, and your gowns, and which of the palace guards might have secret tattoos."
I gave her a look.
She grinned. "What? Life is more fun with secrets."
I didn't respond. Instead, I looked out the large glass window beside me.
The grounds were quiet this morning. No training sessions in the courtyard yet. No movement from the guards' post. The calm before the performance. Or the storm.
Because once Silas stepped through the palace gates, nothing would be calm again.
---
After breakfast, I walked through the eastern wing to begin my daily duties. Staff bowed as I passed. My heels echoed through the marble corridors.
Being Luna wasn't just a title—it was work.
I reviewed the guest list for tonight's dinner. Checked security measures. Approved the wine selection. I sent updated budgets to the council and signed off on shipment schedules for the upcoming trade route with the humans.
Then I walked through the infirmary. As always.
It was my favorite part of the job—my true profession.
Before I became Luna, I was a healer. Now I wore a crown, but my hands still remembered what it felt like to stop bleeding, to lower a fever, to give comfort where magic or medicine alone couldn't reach.
I checked in with two of the medical officers, restocked some of the salves myself, then stepped into the children's ward to greet a pair of young pups recovering from an infection.
They didn't bow to me. They never did.
They just smiled and held out their tiny hands.
That, somehow, was the only part of this life that ever felt real.
---
By noon, I was heading back to my chamber when one of the guards caught up with me.
He bowed. "My Lady. Word just came in from the front gates."
I froze. "Yes?"
"The young master's car has been spotted. He'll arrive within the hour."
Within the hour.
My stomach flipped.
I nodded slowly, calmly. "Thank you."
He bowed again and left.
I stood there for a second, heart pounding.
I didn't even know what I was feeling.
Dread?
Excitement?
Guilt?
Want?
Maybe all of them.
I turned and headed back toward my room. If I was going to face Silas Duskbane after five years… I needed to look like nothing could touch me.
Not even him.
I made my way back to my room.
Then I noticed.
The door to my chambers was slightly open.
Odd.
I hadn't left it that way.
The scent hit first—rich, familiar, and sharp like the forest after rain. Cedarwood and clove.
Damon.
I stepped inside quietly, smoothing my expression before I saw him.
He was already seated by the fire, one arm draped over the back of the chair, the other holding a glass of scotch. His posture was relaxed, but nothing about him ever truly was. Not the stillness. Not the calm.
With Damon Duskbane, danger always came dressed in velvet.
"Wife," he said without turning. His voice, low and smooth, filled the room like smoke.
"Alpha," I replied.
He smiled at that. "You only call me that when you're nervous."
I crossed the room carefully, each step deliberate. "I didn't expect you back so soon."
"I wanted to see you before tonight."
My breath caught. "Everything is in place. The dinner—"
"I'm not here to talk about the menu," he cut in, finally standing.
He approached slowly, eyes tracking me like a predator measuring distance. My fingers curled at my sides, the tension under my skin rising with each step he took.
When he reached me, his gaze dropped to the dress I hadn't changed into yet—the crimson gown Nara had laid out.
"Red," he murmured, brushing his knuckles along the fabric. "You haven't worn this since our anniversary."
"I thought it was appropriate," I said, voice too soft.
"For welcoming my son home?" His lips curled faintly. "Fitting."
I flinched. Just slightly. But he saw it.
He always saw everything.
"You two didn't get along, did you?" he asked lightly, moving to pour himself another drink. "When you were younger?"
I forced a smile. "Not really."
"No." He took a slow sip. "You were fire, he was frost. Always at odds."
Not exactly.
If only he knew the truth—if only he knew that fire and frost melted into each other behind closed doors, once upon a time.
But Damon didn't.
And that ignorance was the only thing keeping my world from shattering.
"You're quiet," he noted, walking toward me again.
I tried to meet his gaze. Failed.
"I just want everything to go well tonight," I said.
He reached me, setting the glass down. His fingers slid gently beneath my chin, lifting it.
"I want it to go well too," he murmured. "Especially now that my son is returning after five years in exile. I want the family to look whole. Strong."
His grip didn't tighten—but it didn't loosen either.
"I want him to see what power looks like, Raine."
"I understand."
"Do you?" His thumb brushed the side of my jaw. "He's not a boy anymore. I hear he's… changed."
My throat went dry.
"Let him see what a Duskbane Luna looks like," Damon said. "Mine. Flawless. Untouched."
My pulse thundered.
"Yes… Damon."
His hand slid down over my shoulder, fingers brushing the edge of my collarbone.
"You are mine," he said softly, "aren't you?"
The way he said it—it wasn't a question.
It was a warning.
I swallowed. "Of course."
He bent lower, lips brushing my ear.
"I know what people say about us," he murmured. "That you're too soft. Too quiet. Too gentle to wear the Luna's crown."
His hand wrapped slowly around my throat—not tight, not painful. Just a reminder.
"But I've seen how your eyes burn when you want something. And that fire, Raine… that belongs to me. Doesn't it?"
I nodded, barely breathing. "Yes."
He finally let go.
Then, as casually as if he hadn't just threatened me with a smile, he stepped back.
"I'll see you at the table," he said. "Don't be late."
Then he turned and walked out—calm, clean, collected.
But I was still shaking.
Because my husband believed I had nothing to hide.
And soon, I'd have to look Silas in the eyes for the first time in five years—and pretend we'd never touched. Never kissed. Never burned.
Gods help me.