Chapter 187: Chicago - Hard To Say I’m Sorry
Luna exhaled in quiet relief. Her heartbeat steadied. Her mate was safe.
The temple ladies beside her gave her a regretful glance. One of them whispered, "Forgive us," before they lowered her to crouch again. Another cushion was brought for the prince, and he knelt beside her—close enough that their shoulders brushed, their breaths mingled—but there was a distance that had nothing to do with space.
"I’m sorry I’m late," Damien whispered to her.
"It’s okay, you are here now," Luna replied softly, her hand instinctively reaching for his. But the instant her fingers touched his palm, she noticed it—the chill in his skin, the tension in his posture, the way he didn’t fold his fingers into hers as he normally would. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, trying to coax warmth back into him. It wasn’t just the coolness of vampire skin. It was emotional frost.
Her brows knit. "Are you okay?" she asked gently, eyes searching his face.
His eyes were fixed ahead, on the altar, as though whatever had detained him still held his mind hostage. His jaw ticked.
She didn’t know what it was. A fight? A threat?
"Yeah, sure," Damien nodded quickly, the words barely scraping past the tightness in his throat.
"Shall we begin?" Luciver’s voice rang out from the throne.
The temple priest stepped forward solemnly. Incense trailed from a small brazier at his side, the smoke coiling upward as he approached the king. Ancient rites passed down through generations began, murmured in a tongue older than the kingdom itself. He touched Luciver’s shoulders, chest, and forehead with sacred oils meant to sever spiritual ties to power, to cleanse the soul of duty and burden.
With each word, Luna watched in silence. This was the end of one era, and the beginning of a future her child would be born into. Her mate was about to become king, for however long, she had no idea.
Luciver was finally asked to rise.