Page 132 of Magical Moonbeam

He knew my truth before I did. He knew precisely which I’d pick.

I turned to Gideon, whose eyes glittered with triumph.

"You…" I choked. “You planned this.”

He lifted a brow. “Oh no, Maeve. I wouldn’t dream of taking credit for fate. Or family. Your daughter’s arrival? That was a gift. One, I intend to treat with care.”

“You stay away from her,” I snapped. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“She haseverythingto do with this,” Gideon said, spreading his arms as if to indicate the cursed village around us. “Legacy, lineage, magic passed down. And what stronger spell is there than blood?”

Celeste stepped back slightly, confused. Her gaze flicked from me to Gideon. “Wait, what’s going on?”

I forced a smile onto my face, brittle as ice. “Nothing. Nothing, sweetheart. We’re just… we’re in the middle of something complicated. This place isn’t what it seems.”

“Of course it’s not,” Gideon said smoothly. “It’s more.”

“Mom?” Her voice was quieter now. “Why are you acting weird?”

Because I’m terrified. Because I have no idea how I’m going to protect you from him. Because I came here knowing I might lose everything—me.

But not you. Never you.

“I just didn’t expect you here,” I managed. “It’s not safe.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re here.”

“I’m trained for this. I know what this place is.”

“Then explain it,” she said, a bit of steel entering her tone.

She was her mother’s daughter, after all.

I looked at Gideon again, rage sparking behind my ribcage. “Let her go.”

“Oh, she’s not a prisoner,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “She walked in under the Moonbeam, of her own volition. The Veil accepted her. That makes her part of this now.”

“No,” I said, my voice shaking, “she didn’t know what she was walking into.”

“But shewantedto walk into it. That’s the thing about magic, Maeve. It thrives off of decisions.”

“Mom, what is he talking about?” Celeste’s voice quivered now, a thread of fear finally worming in.

I reached for her again. “I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.”

She hesitated. “Am I in danger?”

I looked at Gideon.

He smiled.

“Yes,” I said. “But not in the way you think.”

And that was when the shadows began to stir from the alleyways and the corners.

The shadow dancers glided silently now, limbs too long, faces hidden behind smoke and shimmer. They slid between stone walls and lantern-lit stoops, forming a slow, deliberate circle around the building. The village held its breath.

Gideon tilted his head, studying me.