His Silent Luna (Verity and Felicity) novel Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Verity’s Perspective

The first sensation that greeted me was warmth—gentle, enveloping, like a soft blanket cocooning my body. It was the kind of heat that made me want to sink deeper into the mattress beneath me, to linger in that comforting embrace. Yet, the last thing I clearly remembered was being in the library: cold stone floors pressing against me, shadows crowding the corners, and the persistent echo of Veyran’s name reverberating through my mind.

Slowly, my eyelids fluttered open, the fog of sleep lifting bit by bit. As my vision cleared, I found myself staring up at a ceiling unfamiliar to me. Dark wooden beams crisscrossed overhead, sturdy and elegant, their rich scent mingling faintly with cedar and a trace of smoke. I shifted slightly, and the aroma around me intensified—warm, clean, and unmistakably masculine.

A flicker of recognition stirred within me.

Cassian.

My stomach clenched as the realization settled like a stone in my chest. I was in the king’s chambers.

But why?

The bedding beneath me was far too plush, the furs draped around me far too luxurious to belong anywhere else. His scent clung to the sheets, seeping into my skin, anchoring the wild, erratic beat of my heart even as confusion tangled within me.

With great effort, I pushed myself up, my limbs heavy and sluggish. The room seemed to tilt slightly, unsteady beneath me. Then, suddenly, the memories crashed back in like a wave.

The letter. The name scrawled at the bottom.

Veyran the Hollow.

My chest tightened painfully. My hands trembled involuntarily. The shadows lurking in the corners of the room seemed to ripple and shift, as if mocking me with silent laughter.

And then the Darklands surged back into my mind.

The jagged, deep scar that carved across Veyran’s face, crossing over his left eye.

His dark, taunting voice whispered relentlessly in my ears.

“Verity, my truth…”

He said that often.

“Eyes like the night. A prize that is mine.”

“You’ll never escape me.”

I could hear the screams of the lost, endless and haunting, echoing through the eternal night. The metallic scent of blood hung thick in the air. I could see the bodies left to rot, abandoned and forgotten.

Desperately, I pressed my palms against my ears, trying to shut out the torment. My breaths came too fast, too shallow, as if I were drowning in panic. The shadows stretched their talons toward me, curling around the bed’s edges, pulling me back into the darkness.

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and forced myself to focus—to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I counted each breath deliberately, grounding myself firmly in the present moment. I was not in the Darklands. I was not trapped in that tower.

Slowly, I opened my eyes again, willing them to see only what was here and now.

The room was spacious, bathed in the soft, golden glow of a low-burning fire in the hearth. The walls were made of dark stone, heavy curtains drawn shut to block the moonlight. A table nearby was scattered with maps and scrolls, every surface carrying his unmistakable scent.

It was oddly comforting, calming me in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Just as I began to steady my racing heart, the door creaked open. My head snapped toward the sound, my heart pounding fiercely, but relief washed over me when I saw who it was.

Cassian.

His shoulders slumped slightly when our eyes met, relief evident in the way his gaze softened. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice rougher than usual. He lingered in the doorway for only a moment before adding, “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

I blinked after him, puzzled but too weary to move. True to his word, he returned within minutes carrying a tray. He set it down on the bedside table—a simple meal, but warm and fragrant—and then sat down nearby, watching me with careful eyes.

I hesitated, unsure if I should eat. My stomach was knotted with hunger, but my hands trembled slightly.

“Eat,” he urged softly, his tone gentle, coaxing.

There was something in his voice that melted the last of my hesitation. I reached out and took the bread first, biting into it slowly. One bite, then another, and gradually the tight knot of hunger began to unwind. By the time I was halfway through, a heavy silence had settled between us, thick and awkward.

My writing was still rough, so I kept the sentences short and simple.

His expression shifted immediately—from confusion to something that looked like anger, but it disappeared before I could fully register it. “Tower?”

The word hit me like a punch. My hand froze. My body stiffened.

Shit.

I told him.

Slowly, I nodded and scribbled the truth I had never spoken aloud before: I grew up in a tower.

A flicker passed through his eyes, but he didn’t press further. He must have sensed the tension radiating from me because he quickly changed the subject.

“How are you feeling now?”

Relieved, I wrote: Good.

He smiled softly at that, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, genuine curve.

But then his gaze sharpened, becoming more intense. “Have you noticed anything… strange? About yourself?”

I blinked, puzzled, tilting my head. I scribbled quickly: What do you mean?

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he raised his hand slowly, as if reaching out toward my face. My breath caught, my heart stumbling wildly in my chest.

But just before his fingers could touch my skin, he jerked his hand back and stood abruptly. His expression closed off, guarded.

“That will be all for today,” he said, voice clipped. He gathered the tray with stiff movements and walked away.

And then he left me there, confusion swirling like a storm inside my chest.

What had just happened?