The great hall within the palace was full of nobles, as well as all other dignitaries, in session upon the court. Sure enough, a sight to behold it was indeed kingly in splendor-the hall being full of rich tapestries and complex patterns. King Tristan had sat on his towering throne, full of authority and commanding attention.
Standing here in this dim corner of the hall, bound and racing with heartbeats, Lucy stood completely out of place amidst this overindulgence. She started to hear murmurs of the court, the rustling of costly materials, while inside her mind was turbulently confused and anxious. What could Tristan have in store for her here? Why would he bring her, a prisoner, into such a grand setting?
She listened to Tristan's speech, but all that time her mind was preoccupied with other things. It couldn't feel more unbelievable that she was a star of this surrealist show. In the court, there was a climate of tension; many present in the courtroom changed curious glances with each other. Then, suddenly, she caught the pronunciation of her name.
"Lucy Wood," Tristan's voice cut through the noise of the courtroom like a hot knife through butter and jerked her attention towards him. She stood frozen, her heart cold as ice. The very outcast that had been shunned to the bottom of everything before was being pushed into the spotlight. Why did he bring her up? Her belly quivered with anxiety.
Noting her confusion, Tristan riveted his unnerving stare on her. He rose then from his chair, and at that moment, there was dead silence. The closer he came near her, it seemed that even the room held its breath. Reaching out, he wrapped her hands in his-firm yet strangely gentle.
"Come with me, my Luna," he said, surprising in the tenderness of his tone.
But the name "Luna" was somehow the one that stuck with her, reverberating in her mind. Lucy's head spun as she tried to wrap her brain around why he would have called her that. She knew Luna was some type of rank-queen, a partner of the Alpha among werewolves-but couldn't fathom any possible reason Tristan might be picking her. Was this some kind of sick joke, some sort of warped punishment?
She lay paralyzed, staring at him with frank incredulity. Her heart ran a mile a minute while fear and confusion fought for dominance. Why her? Why would he exalt her to such a position when she had been nothing but a prisoner?
Tristan's face gentled as he awaited her response. When she did nothing, he leaned forward and took her hand, his fingers curling sweetly around hers as he led her from the great hall. The gossip of the court fell behind them as they moved through the corridors of the palace. Lucy's head spun. This couldn't be happening. The gilt of the palace, the grandeur of the court-it all seemed to be laughing at her.
The more she thought about it, the more she was beginning to feel as though she were caught up in some sort of dream-a very terrifying dream, at that.
Then, a figure brought itself into view with whom she was all too familiar. Lucy's breath caught in her throat as she set her eyes on Zara-her stepsister from another mother. Zara had been one of the foremost vanguards for Lucy's fall from grace and thusly a constant reminder of the life that once had been and which she'd lost. She was standing among flowers now, her stare fixed at Lucy with utter distaste.
Her eyes, afire with malice, slammed into Zara's glare-cold, cutting, a wordless message of contempt it seemed to say. Lucy wanted to go to her, question at least or just tell her off, but there was just something in this anger inside Zara's eyes which kept her back. Images of their fights exploded into her head, and Lucy could almost feel the heft of her sister's hostility bearing down on her.
But as Tristan drew the girl closer still, Zara's face set in an even grimmer mold. Wheeling on her heel, she strode away; in every step of her going was all her dignity and disdain. An act final, disdainful-the memory of it wedged deeper the bitterness between them.
She stood, defeated, against a face that once was known and now an enemy to her, full of everything she lost. The fact that Zara had only just been here observing her increased the alienation and confusion.
Still trying to get her wits together, Tristan turned to her with inquiring eyes, yet with something unreadable besides. "Don't let her bug you," he said softly, firmly. "This is your new reality, and you must learn to adjust to it.
She looked at him, her eyes begging silently for even the tiniest hint as to what he actually wanted from her. "What is this about, Tristan?" she asked, shaking. "Why am I being treated like this? Why am I your Luna?
Serious, Tristan's face turned grave. "You will know in due time," he said. "For now, I have to take your trust in me into consideration. There is so much that goes on here that is beyond what you presently can grasp."
"Trust? How can I trust you when I was your prisoner a few days ago?"
Lucy looked deeply into his eyes as the weight of uncertainty crushed her.
I have enemies everywhere,plotting to take over the throne of the lycan king
"If you want to stay alive,then you must trust me."
His words hung heavy in the air, weighted by the insinuation of uncertainty. Now Lucy had more questions than answers, and the weight of her new title was cruelly ironic: from prisoner to Luna, it should have sounded glamorous, but in reality, it was quite the opposite of anything special.
It wasn't until much further into the gardens that her mind could really take a whirling spiral of possibilities in what Tristan had in store for her and how she was connected with the court-and what place was supposed to be hers in this strange new world.
It was then that she looked out of the window to the grounds below the palace, and a wave of trepidation washed over her in regard to what had happened that day, placing her inside a trap and making her future go dark. Indefinite lay the path ahead of her, and so were the secrets Tristan had kept from her.