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“Y ou didn’t eat enough earlier,” Javier said as he fastened his pants, his overprotectiveness comforting rather than frustrating now that we’d had a chance to hash things out, so to speak. “I’ll bring you something.”

I drew my bottom lip between my teeth, reluctant to be apart from him, even briefly, after his recent revelations about how the bond felt from his end. “I’m fine,” I insisted, though my body disagreed, my stomach growling in betrayal.

Javier’s lips curved into that gentle smile that had always made me feel safe. He leaned in and kissed me, unnaturally still as he did so. The sensual tenderness made my head swim. “Allow me to do this for you, my Luna,” he murmured against my lips. “Please.”

That blend of command and supplication, so uniquely Javier, made arguing impossible. I nodded.

He smoothed my hair back, his thumb tracing my pulse point on my neck, then stepped away with predatory grace and slipped from the room.

I sensed my other consorts out in the hallway, each allowing me space while staying close enough for me to feel the full force of our bonds. My awareness of them was comforting. And overwhelming.

When was the last time I’d truly been alone? Between binding myself to immortals and fighting destiny, quiet moments had become incredibly rare, when just a few days ago, they had been my status quo.

My attention wandered to the door leading to the High Queen’s study and the bedchamber beyond. My mother’s sanctum. Mine now. The thought made me feel like a little girl playing dress up in her mommy’s clothes.

But the pull toward those rooms was impossible to ignore. I hadn’t been in there since…well, honestly, I couldn’t remember ever having been in my mother’s bedroom, though I had a vague mental image of what it was like. Had Amaya and I been welcomed there? Or had we snuck in? My few clear memories of my mother were from the night of the massacre, when she had fled with me into Amaya’s room.

I crossed the sitting room and the study beyond, faltering as I approached the bedroom door. Silver and moonstone inlays traced lunar phases across the carved wood, centered on a majestic eclipse. Even in the dim light, the moonstone pulsed with an ethereal glow.

My hand trembled on the handle, and I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. I pushed the door open, half-expecting to find my mother at her vanity.

Instead, memories of my mom slammed into me. Her , kneeling at the moon altar before the arched window, her voice resonant with ancient power as she prayed to Selene. Huddling together on her huge four-poster bed when I fled into her room during a thunderstorm, her arms wrapped tight around me. Midnight garden walks, silvery moon flowers greeting the stars. The whisper of her footsteps as she crossed my bedroom to kiss my forehead each night when she thought I was already asleep. And yes, sneaking into my mother’s study with Amaya and attempting to peek through the keyhole to find out exactly what a queen did when she communed with her consorts—and Javier finding us and shooing us away.

I pressed a hand to my chest, tears streaming down my cheeks, and attempted to keep it together. I could feel the concern from my consorts two rooms away, responding to my reaction to the sudden tsunami of memories. Needing a moment, I entered the bedroom fully and eased the door shut.

The room looked different from what I remembered, but it felt the same. New linens draped the four-poster bed. Bare surfaces stripped of my mom’s personal items—the seashells, her silver hand mirror, our photos—waited for treasures I didn’t have after decades of running.

My mom’s presence lingered, embedded in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the air. The room remembered her, and through her, it felt like it knew me.

I crossed to the moon altar, where my mom had appealed to our patron goddess. My fingers trailed over the worn wooden surface, tracing around the amethyst athame. The empty polished silver bowl at the center of the narrow table reflected a woman caught between worlds—too changed to be Sophie Matthews, not quite Luna Sofia, High Queen of the House of the Moon.

A small silver box shaped like a crescent moon sat in the corner of the altar table, tarnished to near black. Everything else in the bedroom was freshly dusted and polished—except for this. Almost like it had been overlooked. Almost like it hadn’t been visible to anyone but me. Something about the tiny box pulled at me, a whisper I couldn’t quite hear that somehow echoed in my bones.

I picked up the box, and when I lifted the lid, my breath caught.

A silver ring lay on the faded black velvet lining within, its band a dainty strip connecting to a triple moon. Within the full moon at the symbol’s center, a moonstone shifted between silver and blue as if alive.

My fingers hovered over the ring, hesitant yet drawn to it. When I touched the cool metal, energy surged up my fingers and into my arm, and I sucked in a breath. A flash of blindingly bright light pulsed from the stone, and an image of my mother appeared, like the negative of a photograph. I saw her warding this crescent moon box and placing it on the altar for someone to find.

“ My shining girl ,” she whispered, her words reaching me across decades.

Not for someone to find. For me to find.

The vision faded, leaving me gasping, fresh tears streaming from my eyes. My certainty that she knew I would return was absolute. She had known I would need this connection to her.

I slipped the ring on, not surprised when it fit my finger perfectly. The band settled against my skin like it belonged there, the moonstone pulsing once before quieting to merely reflect the late afternoon light from the stormy sky through the window.

I stared down at the ring, but my focus shifted past it to the polished surface of the bowl, where my skewed reflection bore a closer resemblance to my mom than to me. “What were you thinking?” I whispered. “Did you know? Did you see what would happen? Did you let it happen?”

A soft knock preceded the door creaking open. I spun around as Javier entered with a tray of food—pizza—his dark eyes taking in the sight of me at the window, his expression guarded. “It’s leftovers from earlier,” he said quietly, setting the tray on the foot of the bed. “It’s been so long since I prepared food for anyone. I’m not sure I remember how.”

I smiled and shook my head. “This is perfect.” The domesticity felt surreal. My consort bringing me food in my mother’s bedchamber. My mother’s sanctuary becoming mine.

“I can almost feel her in here,” he said, looking around the room.

“I know what you mean.” I glanced down at the ring, twisting it on my finger, drawing comfort from its weight. “She left this for me,” I said, holding up my hand so the moonstone caught the light. “Like she knew I’d return someday.”

Javier’s eyes widened, recognition flickering across his features. “Diana’s ring,” he said, his voice hushed. “She used it during rituals. It helped her focus her magic. I never saw her take it off—not even once.”

A shiver ran through me. “I don’t know if I can do this, Javi,” I admitted, curling my fingers into a fist and tucking my hand against my chest. “Be what she was. What everyone needs me to be.”

“We don’t need you to be Diana,” he said steadily. “Simply be yourself, my Luna.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle, suddenly feeling small. “And if that’s not enough?”

Javier’s weak reflection appeared behind mine in the window, his expression grave but unwavering. “It will be more than enough. Your mother was extraordinary, but you are—you’re something else entirely.”

I turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

His jaw worked like he was weighing his words. “Your power manifests differently than hers did—than any queen I’ve encountered.”

My pulse quickened. “Is that bad?”

He shook his head, but I saw the reservation in his eyes. Felt it across our bond. “I’ve long thought you were destined for something greater than simply maintaining the balance.”

“What does that mean?” My voice barely above a whisper. His explanations only bred more questions.

Javier’s gaze drifted to the window, to the angry sky. “I’m not sure.” The admission seemed to cost him. Javier had always been the one with answers. It had always been, “ I’ll tell you when you’re older ,” and never, “ I don’t know .”

“Come,” Javier said, capturing my hand and guiding me toward the bed and the tray of pizza. “You must eat before your training with Isador.”