Page 135 of Magical Moonbeam

I stared at him, trying to see past the charm and the cruelty. Trying to glimpse whatever truth might lie beneath it all, whatever unbroken shard might still exist in the man who cursed a village just to prove a point.

“Why her?” I asked again, softer now.

He looked at the café across the street. “Because you’ll never give up while she’s in play. And I need your whole heart in this, Maeve.”

“And if I don’t play?”

He smiled faintly. “You’re already playing.”

I closed my eyes for a moment.

The fog pressed close, brushing my skin like silk made of ash. I could feel the pull of the Moonbeam behind me, and I could sense my friends nearby in the hidden pockets of Shadowick, holding their breath.

There was no going back.

And I had never felt less prepared.

But I would not lose her.

Not my daughter.

Not my reason.

I opened my eyes and stared down Gideon with everything I had left.

“Then let’s see how well I play,” I whispered.

And he bowed his head in mock deference, the king of his own twisted stage.

The curtain hadn’t fallen yet, but I had a feeling the final act had already begun.

He watched me closely—too closely.

Gideon’s gaze had always been like a pressure point, but now it felt invasive. Clinical. As if he were dissecting me right here in the middle of his cursed kingdom, peeling apart my grief,fear, and rage with fingers that never needed to touch skin to do damage.

I couldn’t look toward the café. Couldn’t watch the silhouette of my daughter sitting inside with a boy I no longer trusted. The part of me that wanted to storm in, grab her by the hand, and flee this twisted place was screaming louder than ever, but the rest of me knew better.

Celeste would panic. Darren would react. And Gideon… well, he’d likely smile and call it entertainment.

We could be turned to dust.

Instead, I focused on the man in front of me, the monster in finely stitched wool, shadow magic woven through the lines of his coat like a second skin.

“What do you want, Gideon?” My voice cracked as I said it, not from weakness, but from the force of keeping myself contained. “Why all of this? What is it you actually want?”

His lips curled. Not smug. Patient.

“Asking the real question now, are we?”

“I’ve been asking the real questions for months. You’ve just been enjoying the pageantry.”

He chuckled at that, and the sound grated across my nerves like glass on stone.

“Fair,” he said. “I do like theatrics. But I wasn’t lying before, Maeve. I want you at your strongest. I want you at your edge. That’s where the truth lives, after all. At the very edge of the blade.”

Thetruth. Moonbeam thrives off my true self.

He stepped forward once, and I stood my ground. Barely.