Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 263

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Lev’s POVO

The Countess did not attend the dinner after that. Whether out of principle, exhaustion, or choice, I did not care. Her attendant Robert stepped in to oversee matters with Alpha Theodore, Mary’s father, who spent the evening smiling too much and pretending everything remained dignified.

By the time I returned to the main hall, I could smell trouble before I saw it.

The women’s side had gathered in one of Briarwood’s long reception rooms, all chandeliers, polished floors, old portraits, and soft seating arranged in clusters meant for conversation. Which really meant

places where women with titles could wound each other politely over tea and small desserts.

Tamara saw me first from across the room and almost grinned.

Almost.

Because she was too busy enjoying herself.

Arya stood near one of the central sitting groups with three older Lunas and two younger ones around her. Not cornered. Not pushed out. At the centre. Cream dress clean and elegant, back straight, expression unbothered in that way of hers that drove mean people mad because they could not get

under her skin unless she chose to let them.

Rebecca stood two groups over looking displeased. Diana was near her, face composed and cold. Mary walked towards them looking pale and brittle and angry enough to shake.

So that was the lineup.

Arya turned then and saw me.

Her face did not light up in any dramatic way. That was not her. But something in her gaze steadied when it landed on me, and something in me answered it at once.

I moved no closer than was proper.

I did not need to.

Tamara did enough moving for everyone.

She floated across the room like a woman who had never heard the word caution and reached me at

once. “Well?”

“It’s finished,” I said.

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Her eyes sharpened. “Finished good or finished badly?”

“Good.”

That delighted her.

She lowered her voice. “Excellent. We’ve been busy.”

I looked past her to Arya again. “I can see that.

Tamara’s grin widened. “Rebecca tried. Diana tried. They’re all getting tired.”

That sounded right.

I watched for a while from a respectful distance because barging into the women’s side would have created the wrong kind of spectacle, but I saw enough.

Rebecca made one cutting remark about breeding and pedigree.

Arya sipped her drink and said, “That’s funny coming from a woman whose manners never evolved

past insult.”

Diana tried the old angle, asking whether Arya truly imagined herself fit to become Luna of Blackbirth.

Arya shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes me.”

It was such a simple answer, but it landed. It landed because it did not beg. It did not declare. It did not try too hard. It carried the kind of confidence women like Diana hated most, the kind that did not need

permission from the room.

Mary attempted one bitter jab about discarded women.

Arya smiled like she was half-bored. “You should worry about getting his attention first.”

Tamara nearly choked trying not to laugh.

One of the older Lunas, a sharp-faced woman in deep bronze silk, leaned toward Arya and asked bluntly whether she truly intended to be Luna of Blackbirth.

Arya tilted her head. “I intend to be exactly where life throws me and survive it.”

That made the woman laugh.

Another older Luna, broader and softer in body but keen in the eyes, looked openly fascinated. “You

are bold.”

Arya gave a small shrug. “I’m tired.”

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That got her even more laughter.

And that was how she won them.

Not by begging. Not by polishing herself into something false. By being exactly what she was. Blunt

Sharp. Alive. The kind of woman older Lunas respected because she had clearly bled somewhere real and survived it without turning simpering and desperate for rank.

By the time the desserts had been half-cleared, two of those older women had openly offered support.

“You have mine,” the bronze-silk one said. “Whatever comes.”

“And mine,” the other said. “You are more interesting than half this room already.”

Arya smiled then, genuinely, and that did something dangerous to my ribs.

Rebecca saw it. Diana saw it. Mary definitely saw it.

And one by one, forced by embarrassment more than grace, they had to withdraw from that section of the room because the current had shifted and they no longer controlled it.

Tamara came to stand beside Arya after they left, looking victorious,

I should not have enjoyed that as much as I did.

I did anyway.

Echo was deeply satisfied.

Mine, he said again, this time not only about Arya. About the whole scene. The way she stood. The way the room bent around her when it had set out to dismiss her.

I watched her too long again.

Maybe because Briarwood’s lights made the cream dress glow against her skin.

Maybe because she laughed at something one of the older Lunas said and touched Tamara’s arm like they had known each other for years.

Maybe because tonight had begun with people trying to close doors on her and now she stood in the middle of that room with support gathering around her like fate correcting itself.

Or maybe because I was already too far gone where she was concerned and tonight only proved it.

When at last the crowd shifted enough and the room broke into looser groups, Arya’s eyes found mine again. This time she held my gaze longer.

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Tamara, noticing everything as usual, looked between us and then smiled to herself like the devil

I moved toward them then, because enough distance had been kept and enough watching done.

When I reached them, Tamara folded her arms and looked smug.

“You missed a good show,” she said.

“So I hear.”

Arya looked at me steadily. “Did it go well?”

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