Discover Novels Library Profile

My Luna's Revenge - Chapter 39


Chapter 39


Lilah POV

I watched the goblet being poured before I saw the hand that tampered with it. Quick. Precise. A slight shimmer of silver dust—nothing more than a breath—fell into the ceremonial wine. Not enough to cloud the liquid. Just enough to kill slowly.

The maid didn't notice. She poured, smiled, and stepped back. I did nothing. Not out of fear. Not even out of loyalty. I simply waited. Because the truth always reveals itself when chaos dances. And chaos came swiftly.

The nanny—always so dutiful, always a step ahead of her young miss—did what she always did: tasted the wine first. She pressed the goblet to her lips, took a delicate sip, and smiled. For a heartbeat.

Then the blood came. Bright. Suddenly. Violent. She collapsed against the polished floor with a loud thud, hands clawing at her throat, blood foaming past her lips. The hall fell silent. A single second of stunned disbelief.

Then—screams.

Flora's face crumpled before the shock could even reach the back of the hall. She cried out, stumbled toward her nanny, and Nicholas moved. He didn't hesitate. He pushed past the startled nobles, the guards, the servants, and gathered Flora into his arms like she was the last thing tethering him to the earth. He held her too tightly, chin bent low, shielding her from everything and everyone.

The room didn't breathe.

And I? I didn't blink. I remained at the corner of the hall, cloaked in shadows, watching them all burn in their own panic.

The Royals were the first to recover. Their eyes turned sharp. Accusations clung to the air like smoke.

  • "Levite treachery."
  • "They poisoned a royal child."
  • "She was the intended target!"

And just like that, the celebration bled into suspicion. Foolish. Predictable. The Levites had no motive to harm the girl. Flora was too insignificant in the grand game. Barely even a piece on the board. A sweet, harmless child that had nothing to offer—except, of course, that Nicholas seemed to care for her. Too much. And now, everyone has seen it.

I scanned the crowd, noting every widened eye, every half-whispered name. "They say he held her like a mate." "But he's already bonded to the Levite girl. Viona, isn't it?" "Maybe that's why... maybe the Levites wanted the girl out of the way."

A ripple of poison far more potent than the one in the wine spread across the hall. And Viona... was nowhere. I had seen her during the opening dance. Graceful. Composed. That fire hidden beneath layers of silk and protocol. Her absence now was a knife against the Levites' pride. At the worst possible moment.

I wondered if Nicolas noticed. If he had enough room in his golden heart to spare a thought for his actual mate while he cradled the wrong girl against his chest like she was his moon-bound destiny. It was the kind of moment people would remember. And gossip would not be kind.

He stood with Flora in his arms even as the nanny was taken away, her body limp and pale. He whispered something into Flora's hair—something I could not hear, but read in the way her sobs quieted.

The party was declared over within minutes. The Royal delegation pulled back, faces stiff, as though being under our roof now offended them. As though we had invited them here only to spill blood and shame.

I exhaled slowly, turning away from the scene as it unraveled further. The Levite guards shifted into a defensive stance. The elders argued in hushed tones. And Nicholas... not with rage. With disdain. Like we were filth beneath his boots. He didn't even look back. Not at Viona. Not the elders. Just walked out with the girl still trembling in his arms.

I remained at the edge of the hall even after the music died and the light dimmed. My gaze lingered on the stained goblet still resting on the table. Silvervine and brokenmint. Rare. Untraceable by most. Deadly only in high doses. And yet... it was never meant to kill instantly. That's what bothered me.

Flora's nanny took the first sip. She collapsed. But if Flora had sipped first, she wouldn't have dropped immediately. No—she would've suffered slowly. It would've taken hours before symptoms showed.

So then... Why? Why use such a substance at all? It wasn't designed for spectacle. It was designed for secrecy. A quiet death, away from prying eyes. Something meant to be dismissed as illness. Something timed.

Which meant the nanny had not only died protecting the girl... but disrupted the entire plan. So, who was the intended victim? Flora? Or the nanny?

I ran the scene through my mind again. The maid—one I had never seen before tonight—had moved with purpose. No hesitation. She poured only one goblet. No rotation. No confusion. Which meant she had a target in mind. And she did not expect the nanny to drink first.

A flicker of memory returned to me. The maid's gaze—cold, unfeeling—watching the nanny drink with no sign of alarm. Her expression only changed when Flora began to cry. That's when she slipped out of the hall. I narrowed my eyes.

The poison was meant for the nanny. Why? Who would target a servant whose sole purpose was to protect a child? Unless she had seen something. Or heard something. Perhaps she had known too much. Perhaps her loyalty to Flora was the threat itself.

In this court, kindness is weakness. And loyalty? Dangerous currency.

As the hall emptied and silence returned like a ghost to the room, I stepped closer to the goblet. I reached out, picked it up, and inhaled. The scent was faint now, masked by wine and blood. But I could still taste the truth beneath it.

Someone wanted the old wolf dead. Someone knew she stood between Flora and whoever was trying to reach her. And someone knew tonight would provide the perfect distraction.

I turned and made my way toward the eastern wing. There were questions to ask. Servants to interrogate. Secrets waiting to crawl out from behind silk curtains. And I would find them. Because chaos is just the first breath of war. And I've always been better in the aftermath. Here I thought that the battle was over only to realize it is just beginning.




Chapter 40


Flora POV

Four Days Later

The walls were too quiet now. The sunlight no longer felt warm. It spilled through the sheer curtains like faded memories, brushing gently against the carpeted floor, but I couldn't feel it. I just sat there—knees pulled to my chest, arms around them—as if curling into myself could make the guilt disappear.

It didn't.

It's been four days. Four days since Nanny bled on marble floors. Four days since I screamed so loud the chandeliers shook. Four days since Nicolas carried me out of that cursed hall and held me as I trembled.

And four days since I last spoke to anyone... except Lysa.

I hadn't cried again. Not because I didn't want to, but because the tears had dried into something heavier. Guilt had a way of hardening inside your chest until it pressed against every breath.

The last words I ever said to her—my nanny, my guardian, the only person who ever truly knew me—were laced in anger.

"Let me go. Just for once. Stop treating me like a child. Nicolas cares about me, even if no one else does."

She had looked at me with those tired, knowing eyes. The ones that always saw too much. "It is because he cares that he must stay away, Flora. You will not understand now, but one day—"

I cut her off. Told her she was wrong. Told her I hated her hovering, her rules, her fear.

And now...

Now, she is gone. Because she drank from the cup meant for me.

Confrontation with Lysa

Lysa knocked gently, her soft voice threading through the door. "Miss Flora? You should eat something. I made that tea you like."

I didn't answer. I stared at the empty spot across the room. Where my nanny used to sit when I had nightmares. Where she'd hum old lullabies while brushing out my hair. The silence there was the worst.

The door creaked open. Lysa stepped in, carrying a silver tray, her movements delicate. She had a kind face—round, freckled, with eyes the color of wet ash—and her hands were always warm. Gentle. She sat beside me on the edge of the bed and placed the tray down without a word.

"I know it hurts," she murmured, stroking my hair. "You loved her." I didn't reply. My throat burned.

"She loved you too," Lysa continued, her voice hushed and careful, like she knew my walls were made of cracked glass. "She died protecting you, Flora. But she wouldn't want you to waste away in guilt."

I blinked, staring at the untouched tea.

"She told me to stay away from Nicolas," I whispered.

Lysa nodded slowly. "She was worried. Most caretakers are. But that doesn't make your feelings wrong."

My gaze finally lifted to meet hers. "He hasn't come."

Lysa hesitated. Then said gently, "He has. Every morning since the attack." My breath caught.

She nodded again. "He waits at the gates, hoping you'll allow him in. But you don't. You ask me to turn him away."

I looked down, ashamed. "I thought he'd stop trying."

"He hasn't," Lysa whispered. "Because he cares. And maybe, if you see him—just once—it'll help you start healing." I have to admit, she always knew what to say to calm me down.

I didn't reply. But something inside me cracked.

The Garden

The garden smelled like rain even though the skies were dry. I walked barefoot, the cold stones grounding me. Lysa stood just a few paces behind, watching silently as Nicolas approached.

He looked tired. There were shadows beneath his eyes, the kind that didn't come from lack of sleep but from too many things left unsaid. He didn't wear the elaborate robes of his rank. Just black—simple and unadorned.

When his eyes met mine, he paused. "Flora," he said softly.

My heart stuttered.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

I didn't know what I expected—grand words, flowery apologies, or anger, perhaps—but not this. Not this raw, stripped-down version of him.

"You shouldn't be here," I muttered.

"I had to see you."

I turned my face away. "You came too late."

He stepped closer. "I wanted to come sooner, but your maid said you weren't ready." Lysa. Always the gatekeeper of my solitude.

"She said you needed time, and I gave it. But I missed you."

I said nothing.

He reached for my hand. I didn't pull away. It was warm—familiar in a way that made everything inside me ache. He squeezed it gently, like he knew he had no right but still wanted to try.

"I miss her too," he said, voice thick. "She didn't deserve that."

I swallowed. "I said awful things to her before she died."

"I think she knew you didn't mean them."

"But I did." My voice broke. "And now I can't take them back."

He stepped closer. "Then live in a way that honors her. Don't let grief chain you to silence." His hand touched my cheek, brushing away a tear I didn't realize had fallen.

Something shifted. I leaned into him, just a little. Enough for my head to rest against his shoulder. His arms folded around me like a memory, careful and unsure.

A quiet sob escaped me, muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "For pushing you away." His breath caught. "I never left."

"What about Viona?"

"I don't feel anything when I'm with her. I'm not even certain she's my mate. I'll talk to my dad about it; he once had a mate. I'm sure he'll understand."

And when I looked up, our faces were close. Too close. I don't know who leaned in first. Maybe we both did.

But our lips met—soft, trembling. A kiss born from sorrow and need. Not passion. Not yet. Just a desperate longing for something human in the middle of pain.

Neither of us noticed the faint rustle in the hedge behind us. Or the shimmer of light reflecting off a camera lens. Lysa, unseen, lowered the device in her hand, her expression unreadable. She stepped back into the shadows and tapped on her screen. Photo sent. No name. No words. Just coordinates. And we—young, foolish, and aching—continued down a path we didn't know was being watched.


Please Log In or Sign Up to continue reading.

No account? Sign Up

Unlock all Chapters with 3$

Proceed to payment to unlock all chapters and continue reading.

Tags:
Previous Post Next Post

You Might Like 😎

See All