That night, the moon replaced the golden glow of the sun; it hung pale and hollow above the palace, casting cold silver light across Darius's chambers. He lay in bed, eyes open, thoughts knotted like chains around his mind.
Rowan had been late.
Again.
His tardiness wasn't consistent, but it was enough that it was notable.
And Lenore's scent…
It had clung to him like a secret.
Darius turned over, restless, growling softly to himself. It wasn't anger he felt, no. Not exactly. Something closer to unease, to a jealousy he couldn't name. Why had Rowan gone near her? She was filth. A traitor. And Rowan of all people should be aware of that. The stain of her crime should have erased her from memory. A forgotten pebble on the road of time. But somehow, she still lingered—in whispers, in passing glances, in her faint scent of vanilla and honey.
His mind drifted.
To the night of her sentencing.
The Moonstone Courtyard had been silent, reverent, the crowd of nobles gathered in tight-lipped rows beneath the terrible crimson eye of the Blood Moon. The stone glistened with frost, catching red light and turning the ground into a gleaming battlefield.
Lenore had been dragged into the courtyard in iron cuffs, her crimson gown dark from the blood of her kin, her aunt Lady Viranna. Her ivory skin glowed something beautiful and tempting, under the light of the Blood Moon. She didn't speak. Not when the judgement was read aloud, not when her sentence was declared—imprisonment and lashes for the murder of Lady Viranna. Only looked to Rowan. To them with a look Darius couldn't name.
She sat there, trembling, yet her spine straightened as though she held no shame as Severin read the decree. Then the first lash fell.
Darius remembered the sound.
Not the cracking of the whip.
But her breath catching.
Not a scream. Nor a cry.
She had taken it in silence, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.
The second lash crashed through the air like thunder.
The third brought blood.
And still, she did not beg.
The nobles had whispered and gasped. Some turned away.
But not Darius.
He had stared, unblinking. Trying to find a monster in her pain. Something vicious and cruel. And yet, all he saw was a girl.
Young, betrayal written on her face, in her eyes, and bleeding under the eye of the moon.
Guilt bloomed then. Brief, ugly, unwanted.
He crushed it.
She had killed Lady Viranna. A respected member of the court. His mother's very dear friend. The woman he looked up to and cherished as though she were a member of the royal family. A woman of grace and firm kindness who had tutored Darius in swordplay when he was still too small to ever wield a blade.
Lenore had destroyed something sacred.
He should hate her.
He did hate her.
Didn't he?
Darius sat up in bed.
His body moved before his thoughts caught up. Barefoot, still half-dressed, he stalked out of his chambers, ignoring the flicker of torchlight in the hallways.
He knew where to go.
To the gallows.
To the girl whose scent clung to a man who condemned her.
To the girl who refused to die quietly. To die properly.
He needed answers.
And she would give them to him.