Reborn Luna (Hope and Keith) novel Chapter 61

34 Seat 1

Keith

The heavy oak door creaks open as Clinton and I enter the room, and Hope is the first to glance up from the hearth where she is nursing a cup of tea. Her eyes scan my face, and I can’t find it in myself to hide the

weariness from my face.

Go to mate, my be- no, my hybrid urges me.

Part of my mind reels with that information. With what I am. With what he is.

My hybrid snorts. Always late, Don’t trust instincts yet.

I ignore him for now, walking around Ben and Tessa, sitting across from them. The seat closest to Hope.

Tessa and Ben straighten in anticipation.

Clinton clears his throat, his gaze sweeping over us. “The meeting with the king was… enlightening,” he begins, settling into his chair.

“The king is willing to support Tessa publicly,” Papa continues, “but there’s a condition. He wants both the Blue Rock pack and the Lotus pack to declare their support for Prince Camille when the time comes.”

Tessa’s brows knit together. “Support for Camille? Why? Isn’t the crown typically passed from father to

son?”

I interject. “Typically, you’re right. However, the queen/reacted oddly when the king suggested it. Almost…

unsettled.”

Clinton nods. “I noticed that, too. And the fact that he feels the need to rally support makes me wonder if

the rumors are true.”

Hope leans forward, curiosity piqued. “What rumors?”

It’s Ben who answers her. “There are whispers that the king found his true mate after he was already married to the queen. It was a political marriage, after all. They say he had a child with her-a son he took in when she died tragically. Princess Lilith was conceived by the queen sometime after.”

A hush falls over the room as the implications sink in.

“If that’s true,” Hope asks slowly, “what does it mean?”

Clinton focuses on his youngest daughter, then looks at his eldest. “It means we would have to pick a side because a war for the crown is brewing.”

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting golden patterns on the wooden floor. With no obligations pressing, I decide to head out and grab a couple of coffees and see if I can convince Hope to have breakfast with me. Something told me Clinton’s assessment of the situation isn’t sitting right with

her and want to put a pin in this situation before it gets out of hand

Prince Camille is more interesting than I originally gave him credit for. The wayward prince isn’t seen much, and most assume that he is skirting duties and spending hours of his time whoring and bullshitting his way through life. The more I think about it, the more twisted and intentional that opinion seems.

Is the Queen responsible for it? Or is it Camille himself?

If the tumors are true, then that means the king’s lineage is truly under attack, only it is not coming from us as he has always been suspected of, it’s coming from the people right at his table.

As I step out into the hallway, I spot Hope carefully closing the door to her own foom. She is dressed in a simple pale yellow sundress with white sneakers on her feet. Her dark hair is in two braids, and there are thin, delicate chains around her neck.

She’s beautiful.

Perfect, my beast practically purrs.

“Heading somewhere?” I ask, a teasing lilt in my voice.

“Just… exploring,” she replies evasively.

I raise an eyebrow. “Wow, I would have never pegged you for a shit liar. And here I was starting to think you were good at everything.”

She scowls at me, but there is no real heat behind it.

I stalk towards her, my beast getting excited when she locks onto my movement and takes a step back.

“Where could you possibly be sneaking off to. Should I guess?”

Her wide blue eyes dart around the hallway, and she looks like she’s weighing something. After a moment, footsteps sound behind her door, and she whispers, “Fine. You win. But let’s not do this here.”

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34.Seer 2

Hope maneuvers around me and faces down the hall. I follow her like a pup.

When we’re outside, she spins abruptly, and I halt.

“Do you remember yesterday, Prince Camille?” she whispers.

Okay, not what I’m expecting. “Yes.”

“I wanted to see if I could collect some facts about his lineage, you know, to help Tessa when the time comes. I mean, if we’re going to be dragged into a war, we need to know why”

She’s so matter-of-fact. Part of me can’t help but respect her ambition, but the other part knows what they do to anybody they think is going against the crown. If Hope is caught looking for afrswers, the royals would rather keep it buried; it won’t end well for her.

“You can’t just ask people about the crown prince without drawing suspicion,” warn.

She grabs my hand and pulls me into the alley of the hotel. My instinct starts to prickle. She’s taking us out

of earshot.

Taking a deep breath, she says the last thing I expect to hear.

“I’ve inherited some gifts from my mother’s side,” she says. “Magic. She was a seer, and recently, my powers have awakened.”

I recognize this admission for what it is, a sign of trust. Hope is letting me in.

I process this silently, then ask, “How will you get the information?”

“I’ve learned a small truth spell. It reveals the true information associated with people’s memories to me.”

I step closer, my voice low. “That doesn’t sound like the powers of a seer.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” she admits, the first true face of worry dusting across her cheeks. “The gift I’ve inherited is much rarer.”

I nod slowly. There are a few rare gifts the goddess blessed certain family lines of shifters with.

Sheets, truth speakers, healers, to name a few. But I can’t recall anything else.

“I have waking memory,” she says, letting the words fall like stones.

I file the term away as something to look into later, but for now, my priority is to keep Hope safe.

I hate that she is right and knowing the truth of Prince Camille will give us an advantage, but there is nothing I can do about it except stay by her side to help.

“Alright. You can question people, but I’m coming with you-for protection.”

She smiles, both hesitant and grateful. “Deal.”

We spend the day visiting local taverns and shops, places wirare the palace staff often unwind. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter and the clinking of mugs.

We are stopping at a tavern called The Workhorse, to grab a quick lunch when an older woman catches my

eye.

Her eyes, though clouded with age, hold a sharpness that suggests the clarity of her mind. She meets my eyes and smiles, a movement so subtle it makes me pause.

She waits for us, my beast says.

“Hope,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “I think we found who we were looking for.”

Hope focuses on the woman. “I have a feeling I won’t need my spelt for this one.”

I agree.

Approaching her, I keep myself positioned between her and Hope.

“Good afternoon. I’m-”

“The great Lycan and his waking bride.” Her scratchy voice is warm like a crackling fire. “I wondered if I’d have to sit here all day for you to find me.”

“May we sit?” Hope asks.

Her tone is light, but I can see her cautiousness.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” the woman replies.

I take the seat closest to the woman, and she smirks at my actions.

“Forgive me, but we have yet to get your name.”

“Does it matter? Call me what you must.” She stirs her tea and takes a sip. “Now then. What have you come for?”

Hope’s dark brows rise in disbelief. “You want me to believe you don’t already know.”

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34 Seer 3

“Not as dull as I suspected. Now, if only you asked the right questions, we might get somewhere”

“Is it safe to talk here?” I ask, checking our surroundings.

The patrons seem to be ignoring us, but you never know.

The woman waves off my concern. “They know better than to get in my business.”

“And why should we trust you?” Hope challenges.

“You shouldn’t. But the simple fact is, I have the answers you seek. Now it’s up to you to take it.”

Hope and I look at each other, our bond vibrating lowly like a root reaching for the sun. Her blue eyes flare and darken with determination.

I guess we’re doing this.

“Tell me about the prince. Are the rumors of his legitimacy true?” Hope asks.

“Mmm.” The old woman’s nails scrape on the table like she’s scratching the head of a cat. “Close, but still not right. I’ll tell you a story instead.”

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