Seraphina’s POV

I practiced the Luna smile in the mirror, the one meant to reassure others more than myself. “Perfect,” I whispered. A servant’s muffled comment bled through the hall: The first Luna was special. This one’s just… here. The glass in my hand cracked, blood slipping down my palm.

A paper slid under my door, Dmitri’s seal. Tonight. The temple. We’re out of time. I burned it in the candle flame.

The hidden passage behind the library bookcase still held the scent of dust and secrecy. I’d spent months in the temple beneath the palace, studying prophecies. That was where I’d found my own name, not as Luna, but as The Scorned One Who Opens the Gate.

Dmitri waited for me, looking so much like Kael but carrying none of his restraint. “You’re late,” he said.

“I’m on time. You’re nervous.”

He smirked. “How’s life as the consolation prize?”

“Like being the bastard son, no one claims.”

“At least we’re honest.”

I sat opposite him. “Show me.”

He spread out our collected texts, fragments of prophecy and blood magic. “Mira’s visions are escalating. She collapsed two days ago.”

“Kael?”

“Carried her himself.” Bitterness cut his voice. “You weren’t told.”

I let that settle. “The prophecy?”

He pointed at the translation. “When the True Luna is cast aside, the False Luna becomes the key. Two bloodlines must converge, the Ancient Wolf and the Bridge Royal.”

“Mira and Cyrus’s wife.”

“And here.” He tapped another line. “The Scorned One opens the gate. The Bastard claims the throne.”

“Under the Crimson Moon.”

“Three weeks,” he said.

Silence thickened between us.

“You’re not a replacement,” he added. “Being the False Luna creates a fracture in the natural order. You’re essential.”

Essential. Finally, something that mattered.

“Can you deal with Mira?” he asked. “She never intended to hurt you.”

I remembered the way rooms shifted around her, how Kael softened at the sight of her. “She has what I’ll never have,” I said. “That’s enough.”

Dmitri nodded. “Then we move to Cyrus’s wife.”

“The Bridge Royal.”

“Her magic awakens through emotional devastation,” Dmitri said. “Betrayal. Isolation.”

“So Cyrus’s treatment of her pushes her closer.”

“Exactly. We need her broken enough for the magic to surface.”

I’d seen her recently, elegant but cracking. “She’s close.”

“Then we finish it.”

The third conspirator stepped from the shadows. “Kael’s suspicious. He’s asking who might be triggering Mira’s visions.”

“Then we accelerate,” Dmitri said. “Seraphine, get close to the princess.”

“I’m the scorned wife. She is, too. It won’t be difficult.”

“I’ll approach Mira,” Dmitri said. “Gain her trust.”

The conspirator nodded. “I’ll push Kael’s paranoia outward.”

We mapped the plan: separate Cyrus and his wife, isolate Mira, feed Kael’s protectiveness until it trapped her, and orchestrate a public humiliation to shatter the princess completely.

When they left, I reread a passage I’d been avoiding:

The Scorned One opens the gate, but what passes through cannot be controlled.

The Bastard sits upon ashes.

My hands trembled. What if we succeeded?

“Too late now,” I whispered.

Kael was in my chambers when I returned, rare. “Where were you?” he asked, eyes on a report.

“Walking.”

“We have a formal dinner. Wear the blue dress.”

Not a glance. Not a softness.

“Of course.”

He moved to leave.

“Kael,” I said.

He paused. “Yes?”

The questions I wanted to ask lodged in my throat. “Nothing. Goodnight.”

He left without looking back.

I sat alone, reading the line again by moonlight: The Scorned One shall open the gate.

“If I’m going to be scorned,” I murmured, “let it be for something that matters.”

The next morning, I found Cyrus’s wife alone in the garden. Her composure was thin.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“I know who you are,” she replied.

Two women displaced by prophecy and royal convenience.

“I know what it’s like,” I said. “Being the unwanted wife.”

Her voice tightened. “I’m not,”

“Your husband can’t see past his pain. Mine can’t see past his first love.” I let my bitterness speak. “Perhaps we understand each other.”

She hesitated. “Does it get easier?”

“No. But you learn which smiles to wear.”

Her eyes glistened.

“I know what your family is planning,” I said quietly. “Things they haven’t told you.” She straightened. “What things?” “Not here. Tea tomorrow. Somewhere private.”

“Why help me?” “No one helped me,” I said simply. “And we’re both pieces in games we didn’t choose.” She nodded. “Tomorrow.” The hook set cleanly.

Across the palace, Dmitri approached Kael in the training yard. “Didn’t expect you in the capital,” Kael said coldly. “Just visiting.”

“We’re not brothers.” Dmitri let it pass. “I came to warn you. About Mira.” Kael stilled. “What about her?”

“Someone is trying to trigger her awakening. They know what she is.” Kael’s jaw locked. “If anyone touches her”

“Just be careful. Trust no one.” Dmitri paused. “Even those closest to you.” He left Kael standing in growing suspicion.

That night, three moves were made. In my chambers, I removed each Luna ornament, the crown, the rings, the necklace, and looked at my unadorned reflection. “Soon,” I whispered.

In his workshop, Dmitri mixed four vials of blood. Mira’s, the princess’s, mine, and his. The mixture turned black. He had begun transforming into something meant to consume the others.

In a distant room, the conspirator sent a message: Phase Two initiated. Three weeks until the Crimson Moon. I returned to the temple and read the warnings again:

What passes through cannot be controlled. Sits upon ashes.

Her breaking breaks the world.

For a moment, I hesitated. Then Kael’s voice echoed in my memory: Wear the blue dress. “I’ve been scorned long enough,” I said.

The candle extinguished.