Chapter 39. What a Luna Must Be

The sound of Mira’s chair scraping against the stone floor still echoed in the silence when Kaelen slammed his napkin down. It snapped against the polished table like a banner dropped in surrender—or declaration. He was already standing by the time the great hall’s doors had swung shut behind her, and the fury radiating off him was a living thing, barely contained beneath skin and bone.

His jaw clenched tight enough to ache. His eyes flashed with something molten.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice a whip through the stillness. He turned on Eleanor with no attempt at gentleness, no veil of diplomacy. “The gown, the jewelry, the whole performance. What were you thinking? Mira is not you.”

Eleanor blinked, her poise unshaken, though surprise flickered in the fine lines around her mouth. She folded her hands on the table in a movement so precise it felt like ritual. “I’m doing what must be done,” she said, each word measured and smooth. “She is to be Luna