MY LUNAThe balcony was freezing, but Demetrius didn't pull his cloak tighter. He liked the bite of the air. It reminded him he was alive. For years, he had felt like a statue carved from ice—solid, unmoving, and completely numb. They used to call him the Cold King behind his back. Sometimes, they said it to his face, thinking it was a compliment to his strength.

He looked down at his hands. They had signed death warrants. They had held heavy swords. But now, they felt different.

"You're going ...