When The Luna Broke Her Chains novel Chapter 5

Chapter 5 The First Pull

[KNOX]

As the Luna and her handmaid disappear into the rain, the candles on the altar gutter and die due to the wind. The storm swells, and lightning rips the sky open again.

I wait until their footsteps fade down the forest path before I move.

I rise, stretching to my full height, the patched robe tugging across my shoulders. When I drop the hood, rain catches in my hair, curling it against my face—sharp lines I’ve been told resemble a carved blade.

“I said you could pretend to be a beggar, Grandmother,” I mutter as I stride down the temple steps, “but I didn’t agree to let you sit in a storm.”

She laughs—gone is the frail tremble, the pathetic hunch. “A little rain bothers you, Your Grace?” she teases. “It cannot harm a Lycan Queen.”

My jaw tightens. “Former Lycan Queen. Right now, you’re an Elder pretending to be a beggar in a temple.”

“And you,” she shoots back cheerfully, “Knox Oberon, are the future King of the Lycans who was crouching behind a pillar to avoid attention.”

“You didn’t really think I’d let you come here alone with no one guarding you?” I ask, raising a brow.

She pats my arm. “Oh, I have the strongest protector right here.”

Everything is amusing to her. What’s amusing to me is how impossibly tiny she looks beside me. I shake my head, wondering how long this charade will last before she grows bored and returns home. If luck favors me, no suitable maid will wander into this cursed temple tonight.

“We’re done here,” she announces abruptly. “I have found the perfect bride for you.”

I stop mid-step, startled. With a flick of her hand, the rain ceases. The clouds part sluggishly, revealing a swelling full moon.

“I don’t need a bride. How many times do I have to say this?” I groan, jaw clenching—annoyed, yet… curious despite myself.

“You need something,” she says softly. “Someone who will soften that stone you call a heart.”

I lift my chin. “Who?”

My gaze drifts to the bread in my hand. To the memory of the woman who placed it there. She was strange, gentle, familiar in a way she shouldn’t be.

Grandmother thrusts a gold-threaded cloak into my arms. “The beautiful, kind woman who just left. She gave this to me, not caring that the rain would drench her.”

I scoff, studying the cloak. “That’s a ceremonial cloak, Grandmother. She’s already married.”

“She doesn’t want to stay married. Why else would she abandon her cloak? She called it useless.”

I hum noncommittally. There’s no winning with her. I help her into the carriage before climbing in after her. Age has sharpened her tongue and her wits—she has a retort for everything, and I decide silence is safer.

As the carriage pulls away, I glance at my palm. A single crumb of bread still clings there—the bread she offered me with quiet, undeserved kindness.

A strange warmth flickers in my chest. The same jolt I felt at the temple when she offered it.

I hate the feeling.

I flick the crumb away and force my jaw to relax.

She was just a woman in a storm. A stranger in a temple. A fleeting moment.

And yet long after the temple fades from view, I still see her—those soft eyes rimmed with sorrow, a gentleness that shouldn’t exist in someone so broken.

And I think, bitterly, how any woman would leap at the chance to be a Queen…

Just not my Queen.