His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 1

PROLOGUE: THE BIRTH OF THE UNSPOKEN ONE

The queen’s anguished cries shattered the stillness of the night, echoing through the palace like thunder rolling across a sky without storms.

Beyond the towering walls of Valcaryn, the kingdom lay in tranquil slumber, bathed in the unsettling crimson hue of a rare blood moon—a celestial sign that old seers whispered of in fearful tones. They spoke of imbalance, death, and a power that challenged even the gods themselves. Yet, within the palace chambers, the only concern was the safe arrival of the royal heir.

Queen Avaline’s golden skin was slick with sweat, her lips raw and trembling from biting down hard to stifle the screams tearing from her throat. Her normally calm and composed visage was now contorted in pain, strands of raven-black hair plastered to her temples. The air was thick with the mingled scents of blood, cold steel, and pungent herbs, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic chants of the palace healers.

“She’s losing too much blood,” whispered a midwife, her voice barely audible but filled with worry.

“Push, Your Majesty,” urged the head midwife, her hands steady but her voice betraying a tremor. “One more time. You must.”

With a tortured arch of her back, Avaline summoned every ounce of strength as the final contraction ripped through her body. In moments like these, royalty shed all pretense—there was no grace, no dignity—only the raw will to survive.

At the far end of the room, King Charles Valcaryn stood silently, fists clenched behind him, his gaze fixed on the cold stone floor beneath his feet. He was no man of prayers, but tonight, beneath the ominous glow of the blood moon, he silently implored the Moon Goddess for a single blessing:

A son.

Or at least, a healthy child.

At last, with a piercing wail, the first child entered the world.

A daughter.

Dark-haired and crying out with the fierce strength of a tempest, a faint crescent moon mark shimmered on her skin—the sacred blessing of the Moon Goddess. Her eyes, a striking shade of green, stared wide and unblinking. The midwife exhaled deeply, relief washing over her features as she turned to the exhausted queen with a proud smile.

“She is strong,” she declared. “A true Valcaryn.”

Cradling the bloodied bundle, she announced, “A girl. Moon-blessed. Strong lungs.”

Avaline reached feebly toward her newborn, lips quivering with a mixture of exhaustion and joy. But before she could hold her daughter close, her body tensed once more.

Silence fell, heavy and expectant.

Another contraction seized her.

Another cry pierced the air.

A second child.

A twin.

Gasps of disbelief rippled through the room. No seer had predicted this second birth.

King Charles, who had stood motionless by the tall windows, snapped his head toward the new cry, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The midwife lifted the second infant, but her face drained of color almost immediately. The baby’s skin was cool, an unnatural chill that sent a shiver through the room. Her eyes lay wide open—unusual for a newborn—and glowed with an eerie violet light. A silver streak ran through her dark hair like a brushstroke painted by moonlight itself.

But she did not cry.

She simply stared.

Silent.

Worse, there was no pulse of magic within her. No wolf spirit stirring beneath her skin. No bond.

“She is…” the midwife faltered, struggling to find words. “She is… wolf-less.”

Whispers spread like wildfire through the chamber. “A twin without a wolf?” “The Moon has cursed her.” “An ornen… it’s the blood moon…”

The high priestess stepped forward, her pale eyes flashing fiercely beneath her veil. She did not touch the child, only hovered her hands above the fragile body. Her face twisted in horror, as if a cold dread had climbed her spine.

“There is… darkness,” she murmured, voice trembling with fear. “A void where light should be. A power not born of the Moon, but something far older. Something… waiting.”

Chaos erupted—maids gasped, healers crossed themselves, attendants hurried backward.

King Charles clenched his jaw, knuckles whitening as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

“We cannot reveal this child to the kingdom,” he declared, his tone hard and unyielding. “She will be seen as a threat. A disgrace. Her existence could unravel everything we have built.”

“She is my child!” Queen Avaline sobbed, struggling to sit upright. “You cannot cast her aside because she is different!”

For a fleeting moment, the king’s stern mask faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes. But then he looked back at the violet-eyed infant, whose gaze held an unsettling wisdom beyond her years, and his resolve hardened.

“She shall remain unnamed. Unknown. No word of this birth will ever be spoken.”

“She is your daughter!” Avaline screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“She is a mistake,” the king replied coldly, his voice final.

The high priestess bowed her head in grim acceptance.

Avaline, trembling with fatigue, reached desperately for her children. “No… give them to me.”

But the king raised a hand to silence her. “Only one will be acknowledged. The Moon Goddess has decreed it.”

Turning to the captain of the guard, he ordered, “No word of this twin leaves this chamber. Anyone who witnessed this birth is to be eliminated.”

The queen’s sobs filled the room as her arms stretched out in vain toward the second child. “She is mine.”

“She is a curse,” the king answered without mercy. “And curses do not belong to queens.”

The seer lowered her gaze. “If you bury this darkness, it will poison our land. It must not be destroyed.”

“Then let it grow far from my throne,” he said, voice as cold and unbreakable as steel. “Prepare the old tower. That is where she will be kept.”

“Spare one,” the king commanded. “One servant. One soul to tend to her needs—in silence.”

The guards moved swiftly, beginning the grim purge. Midwives, attendants—any who had witnessed the second birth—were dragged away under royal orders to be executed.

All but one.

A young maid named Grace, trembling, eyes wide and hands stained with birth’s blood, was spared.

“You will serve her,” the king instructed. “Feed her. Clothe her. But she will not speak—I doubt she even can. She will not be taught. And if word of her existence escapes these walls, I will personally see to your silence.”

Grace swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Thus, the second daughter was hidden away in a stone tower behind the palace’s eastern wing. No window low enough to glimpse the world beyond. No mirrors. No books. No lessons. Only cold stone, shadows, and silence.

She was given no name.

But in the darkness, the maid whispered softly to her.

“Verity.”

Truth.

A name the kingdom would never know.

Raised in shadows, deprived of moonlight, sunlight, and warmth, the darkness seeped into her very being.

Not once did she cry.

Not once did she scream.

The world believed her dead.

But the Moon?

The Moon never forgets.

And neither would she.

—

CHAPTER ONE: A LIFE IN SILENCE

From Verity’s perspective, the walls that surround her remain utterly silent.

They offer no secrets.

They never shout.

They absorb every whisper, every breath, every hidden thought.

And over countless years, I have learned to do the same—to listen without a sound, to exist without a voice.

This place has been relentless for as long as I can remember—cold, gray, and motionless. The air hangs heavy with moisture, carrying a faint, unpleasant odor of dust mingled with something sour and sickly, a scent I can never quite name. The only light I have ever known is a narrow sliver of sunlight that slips through a tiny window high near the ceiling. Each day, that thin beam travels slowly across the cold stone floor, as if reaching out to me, but it never quite touches where I sit.

Just like everything else in this silent world.

Now, I sit in the corner of my tower, the rough stones beneath me offering a strange comfort. I know every crack, every patch of moss and dampness by heart. Sometimes, I hum softly—a low, tuneless sound—just to fill the crushing silence.

But tonight is different.

Because Grace spoke to me.

Not with her usual birthday whisper. Not with the cold counting of years.

Actual words.

She came in crying.

I stood up, confused, stepping back. But she dropped the tray and moved toward me. Her arms wrapped around me, and I flinched hard—no one has touched me in years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trembling. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Her body shook against mine. I didn’t move. Didn’t know how to respond.

“You’ll be eighteen tomorrow,” she said. “And soon, you’ll feel the pull of your mate.”

Mate.

She said the word as though it were sacred, as if it held some powerful magic.

I tilted my head, curious and unsure.

She pulled away and looked me in the eyes for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Everyone has a mate,” she whispered. “Someone chosen by the Moon Goddess. When you turn eighteen, you’ll sense them. Your other half. The one meant for you.”

My heart clenched painfully. I didn’t know what a goddess was. But I understood what it was to want something—anything—to belong to.

“You may never meet yours,” Grace said, her voice breaking. “They won’t let you leave. And even if you did… he wouldn’t want a girl like you.”

Her words were harsh, but her tone was gentle. Apologetic. Honest.

That night, I could not sleep.

I sat by the cold stone wall, watching a single ray of moonlight inch slowly across the floor. I pressed my hand into the faint glow, imagining what the world beyond these walls might feel like.

What if I left?

What if I saw the sky?

Even once.

Grace had mentioned a ball. For Felicity.

I don’t know what a ball is, but in my mind, I picture music, bright lights, people laughing, faces full of life.

I want to see the world that made me. The world that forgot me.

Even if it breaks me.

So I made a decision.

Tomorrow, on my eighteenth birthday… I will leave this tower.

I don’t know what awaits outside.

But I need to see it.

Even if it’s only for one night.

Even if it kills me.

—

Verity’s journey through silence and isolation reveals a heart aching for connection and understanding. The harshness of her confinement, the cruelty of Felicity’s visits, and the cold indifference of those around her have shaped a fragile yet resilient spirit. Though she has never learned to speak or fully grasp the world beyond her tower, her yearning to belong and to experience life pulses quietly but powerfully within her.

As she contemplates the unknown beyond her prison walls, her decision to leave on her eighteenth birthday marks a poignant turning point. Fueled by hope, curiosity, and a desperate need to claim her own story, Verity stands on the brink of change. Fear and uncertainty loom, but her determination to seek the world that has forgotten her speaks to the indomitable human spirit’s desire for freedom and belonging.

The next chapter will draw Verity from the shadows of her silent prison into a world bursting with colors, sounds, and emotions she has only dared to imagine. As her eighteenth birthday arrives, the fragile hope she clings to will be tested by the harsh realities beyond the tower walls. The anticipation of meeting her mate—a concept both mysterious and daunting—stirs a complex mix of fear and longing, setting the stage for a journey that could transform her life forever.

Yet, the path ahead is fraught with danger. Felicity’s cruel presence looms like a dark cloud, and the stark contrast between the sisters’ worlds—one of privilege and power, the other of silence and isolation—threatens to ignite tensions that challenge Verity’s fragile sense of self. As she steps into the unknown, questions of identity, belonging, and true strength will come to the fore, promising an emotional and gripping continuation of her story.