When it was over, he collapsed on top of her. His lips pressed to her temple.
Luna wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, her tears hot against his skin.
He pulled her closer, cradling her. His hand slid down her body. His thumb stroked her skin.
And though her heart broke at the absence of his voice, her body knew, her soul knew—he was still hers. Every thrust, every kiss, every trembling touch had told her what his lips could not.
*****
Luna was up before Damien the next morning. She slid from their bed quietly, careful not to wake him. She showered and dressed up quickly. Before leaving, she stole into the nursery. Her son lay in deep sleep. She bent over him, inhaled his baby-sweet scent, and kissed his forehead.
"Be good for Leora," she whispered, then turned to give Leora instructions.
As she walked the long stretch of stone corridor leading out of the castle, regret trailed after her. She had made a terrible mistake. She had doubted Damien.
