When The Luna Broke Her Chains novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87 If It Meant Nothing

[XENA]

If Prince Knox wanted me gone, he should have said it himself.

The thought loops in my head like a curse as I drag open the trunk and begin throwing things into it with far more force than necessary.

My clothes go in first–the four sets I brought with me from Frostfang. Folded once, then shoved in without care. The books follow–stacked, then dropped with a purposeful thud. Loose pages scatter, my notes slipping from between them, and I don’t bother to fix them.

Everything irritates me.

The heaving of my chest and the ragged, frustrated breaths that leave me. The vastness and delicate beauty of this room that I’d begun considering a place of my own. The memory of him standing there by the bed while I lay on it broken and hurt, looking at me like I mattered–and then vanishing like it meant nothing at all.

I force out a sharp breath and grab the bundle of sheets.

If it meant nothing, why look at me that way in a hall full of people? If it meant something, why send someone else to dismiss me?

Coward.

The word comes uninvited, bitter on my tongue, and then suddenly my hands don’t move.

No. That isn’t fair. But the anger doesn’t care about fairness. It builds anyway, pressing against my ribs until I can’t breathe properly.

I turn toward the bed where the clothes Princess Aria gifted me are laid out. Silks with inlaid gems. Fine stitching with shiny threads. Colors I would have never dared to touch before–a deep blue, a bright pink, a soothing green…

My gaze lands on the golden set. I pick it up slowly, the fabric slipping like water through my fingers. For a moment, I remember the mirror. The way I had stood before it and–foolishly-. let myself think I looked…

Beautiful.

My grip tightens on the fabric. A sharp, furious growl tears out of me before I can stop it. I snatch the nearest thing within reach–a heavy metal bust from the table–and hurl it across

the room.

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Chapter 87 If it Meant Nothing

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It strikes the mirror with a crack that rings out sharp and violent, startling me. Glass fractures instantly, splintering outward. A few shards fall, scattering across the floor, but most of it holds despite being distorted and shattered.

I stand there, chest heaving, and stare. My split, jagged reflection stares back at me. Tears burn hot down my cheeks before I realize they’ve started falling.

I look like a stranger. Maybe that’s what I am now.

Cursed. Wolfless. Unloved. And now… a stranger to myself.

Something in the mirror suddenly catches my eye, urging me to step closer. There–through the fractured lines of glass–is a mark I’ve seen before.

My throat grows thick with a lump. “No…” I whisper.

This is the wolf head mark I saw on Knox’s wrist. First, at the temple, when I thought he was a beggar and offered him the bread. And then again by the lake. And inexplicably, as a reflection in the bowl when I was resting in the Healers‘ quarters in Frostfang.

What does it mean, Goddess? Why are you tormenting me, confusing me?

I lift my hand slowly, staring at it, afraid it might disappear if I blink.

“What is this?” I breathe out the words, moving closer to the mirror, drawn to it despite the shards. My fingers lift, hovering, then press lightly against the cracked surface.

For a moment, the reflection holds, becoming clearer somehow. There’s a ringing in my head, a pain behind my eyes, and a fullness in my chest.

Am I going crazy?

“Xena-?”

Astrid’s voice cuts through whatever has gotten hold of me.

I flinch back sharply, hissing as pain lances through my hand. Blood drips from the dark red gash across my palm onto the polished floor, forming a small puddle.

Astrid is beside me in seconds, kneeling carefully to avoid the broken shards. “What happened?” she asks, grabbing my wrist before I can pull away.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, shaking my head.

She doesn’t look convinced. Her gaze flicks to the mirror, then to the scattered glass.

“How did the mirror break like that? You’re bleeding,” she mutters, already looking around for a

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Chapter 87 If It Meant Nothing

cloth. Her eyes catch on the open trunk–the mess and the half–packed things. She stills. “What’s going on?” she asks. “Where are you taking all of this?”

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I pull my hand back from her grip and turn away, wiping the blood absently against my skirt. The pain is nothing against the anger and confusion still bubbling inside me. “We’re moving, Astrid,” I say. “You must pack your things, too.”

Her brows draw together. “Moving?”

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