Page 23 of Moonlit Desires
Lyra's private chamber burns with unspoken words.
The circular table at its center—ancient wood carved with phases of the moon and constellations long forgotten—reflects the pale blue orbs of light that hover near the ceiling like captive stars.
Four guardians orbit the room's perimeter, their bodies arranged in unconscious echo of their temperaments: Kael rigid by the door, hand never straying far from his sword; Riven slouched against the far wall, mercury eyes half-lidded but missing nothing; Thorne prowling the space between window and hearth, muscles bunched beneath clothing that seems suddenly too constrictive; Ashen perched on a stool in the corner, pale fingers arranging and rearranging sheets of parchment with methodical precision.
"Three days," Kael says, breaking the silence that has stretched since the doors closed behind them.
"Three days before they expect an answer.
" His voice carries the weight of strategy, of battles planned and fought across centuries.
"We should use that time to strengthen our borders and prepare for conflict. The emissaries' threat was clear."
He begins to pace, each step measured and precise, armor components clinking softly with his movement. The sound is oddly comforting in its martial certainty. "The Queen of Thorns has coveted the Moon Court's territory for millennia. This is merely her latest attempt to claim what was never hers."
"How delightfully straightforward," Riven drawls from his position against the wall, shadows curling around his fingers like affectionate pets.
"Prepare for war and hope we aren't overwhelmingly outnumbered?
The curse has weakened our defenses for centuries while the Thorn Court has only grown stronger.
" His mercury eyes deliberately avoid meeting Lyra's directly—the first acknowledgment, however subtle, of the tension that has existed between them since the ritual in the Midnight Court.
"I have a more elegant solution," Riven continues, pushing himself away from the wall with liquid grace.
"Let me infiltrate their court. My shadows can move between realms undetected.
I can discover their true intentions, perhaps find leverage to use against this Queen.
" A smile curves his lips, sharp with promise.
"Not all battles are won with swords, Stoneheart. "
Kael's jaw tightens at the use of his surname. "Your shadows brought back faulty intelligence before. Or have you forgotten the ambush that cost twenty Moon Court guards their lives?"
Something flickers across Riven's face—a brief crack in his sardonic mask—before his expression smooths back into practiced indifference. "Ancient history. But then, you've always excelled at living in the past."
Before Kael can respond, Thorne slams his fist onto the table, the impact sending tremors through the ancient wood.
"You both talk too much while saying nothing.
" His voice has dropped an octave, roughened by the partial transformation already claiming his features.
Golden eyes have brightened to amber, canines lengthened to points that indent his lower lip when he speaks.
"We should hunt them before they hunt us. "
He stalks the perimeter of the table, movements more wolf than man despite his mostly human appearance. "Track the emissaries, find their camp, strike first. The forest would hide our approach. They wouldn't expect aggression from a Court they believe weakened."
"And risk open war when our power is at its lowest?" Kael challenges, stopping his pacing to face Thorne directly. "We cannot match the Thorn Court in direct confrontation, not with the curse still binding our strongest magics."
"Better to die fighting than cowering behind crumbling walls," Thorne snarls, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as the beast pushes closer to the surface.
From his corner, Ashen's quill scratches against parchment, the sound delicate yet somehow cutting through the argument.
His colorless eyes remain fixed on the page, his ash-gray hair floating slightly around his face as if stirred by winds no one else can feel.
His hands tremble as he writes, but the letters form with perfect precision despite the tremors.
He slides the completed message across the table. The parchment rotates of its own accord, stopping before Lyra with a gentle whisper of movement.
*The Queen of Thorns seeks not territory but power. Your power. The mark on your back connects to something older than either Court. Dividing our efforts will ensure our failure.*
Lyra touches the parchment, feeling residual magic tingle against her fingertips. Ashen's visions, transmitted through ink and paper when his voice cannot form the words. Since her arrival at Court, his communications have grown more frequent, more urgent, though he speaks aloud less than ever.
"What do you suggest, then?" she asks him directly.
Ashen lifts his gaze to meet hers, the effort visible in the tightening around his eyes. His mouth opens, closes, opens again, but no sound emerges. Instead, his trembling fingers return to the parchment, quill moving with increasing urgency.
*United protection. No separation. The paths where guardians divide all end in darkness.*
"Convenient," Riven remarks, leaning over to read the message, "that our silent prophet's vision aligns so perfectly with Kael's strategy