Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 213

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Arya’s POVO

The next day, Lev followed me through my Luna duties. Not like a shadow. More like…

support. He didn’t take over. He didn’t speak for me. He just stayed close and watched,

sometimes leaning near my ear to murmur something that made me roll my eyes,

sometimes kissing the side of my neck when no one was looking, just enough to make

my stomach flip and my temper rise because he enjoyed doing that.

“You’re bossy,” he’d whisper.

“I’m organised.”

“You like giving orders.”

“It’s called leadership.”

He would hum like he agreed, then brush his thumb along my jaw like he couldn’t help

himself. At the orphanage, he carried a crate of supplies like it weighed nothing and

didn’t even try to act like it was beneath him. At the women’s centre, he stood quietly

while I spoke to the older women about the quilt schedule, then leaned in and

murmured,

“You look good when you’re in control.”

I elbowed him lightly in the ribs. He didn’t even flinch. Just smiled like he liked my

attitude more than sweetness.

At one point, when I was writing a quick note for a supply runner, Lev leaned over my

shoulder and kissed my cheek right there by the table. Not in front of everyone in the

room. But close enough that two women saw and went very still. My face heated at

once. Lev looked at them once, cold and calm. They looked away. Then he turned back to

me and said in that low voice of his,

“Keep writing.”

I wanted to bite him. Instead I kept writing. Ria was practically glowing inside me. We’re

breathing. I swallowed hard because it felt true. For the first time in a while, it felt like

my lungs weren’t only working through pain.

We got back to Maxwell’s house later that afternoon, Lev still beside me like he had

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decided the distance between us should stay small at all times. The second we stepped

into the main hall, something caught my eye. An envelope on the entry table. Not the

usual kind. Not pack letters or supply requests or anything ordinary. This one was

heavier. Sealed. Thick paper. Old-fashioned in a way that felt deliberate. The wax stamp

on it didn’t match Dragonclaw or Blackbirth or any Union pack I knew.

Maxwell wasn’t in the hall. David wasn’t either. It was just me and Lev for one second. I

walked to the table and picked the envelope up carefully. The seal read Briarwood.

My stomach tightened.

I had heard of Briarwood. Not the way people talked about Union packs. Briarwood

wasn’t a name thrown around in Council meetings or border disputes. It wasn’t the sort

of place that got dragged into normal politics. They were old-world. Private. The kind of

royalty that didn’t need the Union because they existed before it and would still exist

after it fell apart. Strong like Blackbirth. But quieter.

I turned the envelope over in my hands. Lev’s expression changed the moment he saw it.

“What is this?” I asked, even though I already knew the name.

“An invite,” he said. “For Maxwell and his family.”

I looked at him.

“From Briarwood?”

He nodded once. The way he did it made my skin prickle.

“I’ve heard of Briarwood,” I said slowly. “They don’t…” I searched for the right word.

“They don’t usually care about Union or Blackbirth. They’re separate.”

Lev’s mouth flattened.

“Yes.”

I turned the envelope slightly again and looked at the seal.

“Why would they invite Dragonclaw?”

Lev took the envelope from my hand without asking, his eyes moving over the front like

he already knew what it said and still wanted to confirm it.

“The countess,” he said.

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“Countess?” I repeated.

He glanced at me.

“Briarwood is led by a countess.”

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I held his gaze and waited. Lev exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to explain this

because explaining it made it real.

“The countess is very old,” he said. “No descendants.”

That caught me.

“None?”

He shook his head.

“She lost her family on a journey many years ago. She’s been alone since.”

The words should have sounded like some old story people repeated at formal

gatherings. But Lev didn’t say it like that. He said it like he knew the details. Like

Briarwood was not far from him at all. Like it was close enough to matter. I swallowed.

“Then why a party?”

His eyes darkened a little.

“If she’s calling a party, it means she may have found a successor.”

That made my stomach twist.

A successor.

An old-world countess choosing someone to inherit something that powerful, that

private, that ancient.

Lev’s grip tightened a little on the envelope.

I looked at him.

“And you’re not happy about it.”

His mouth twitched, but there was no humour in it.

“No.”

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“Why?”

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He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze slid away for one second, then came back to

mine.

“Because,” he said, his voice lower now, “she’s Mary’s godmother.”

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