His Rogue Luna is a Princess

ELENA

I shouldn’t have asked him to mark me.

The moment the words had left my mouth, I’d known they were too much. Too soon. I’d asked again, even after he told me no the first time—gentle, but firm. And still, I’d pressed.

Because I’d wanted to believe this fluttering, electric feeling between us meant something permanent. Something we could seal with teeth and blood and fate.

But he was right.

I stared at the ceiling now, the silence between us heavy but not uncomfortable. I could feel his presence behind me, the warmth of his body, the tension in the air slowly bleeding away. Still, I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t crossed a line.

I rolled onto my side and looked at him. His eyes were half-lidded, and exhaustion pulled at the angles of his face, but he met my gaze as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He blinked, a little confused. “For what?”

“For what I said.” I let the words come slowly. Deliberately. I wanted him to know I meant every syllable. “I asked you to mark me. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I wasn’t thinking about what that might mean for you. I just… I was caught up in the moment. And I know that doesn’t make it okay.”

He didn’t speak right away, and that made me rush to fill the silence.

“I’ve been feeling all these things, and I don’t know where they’re coming from half the time. Maybe they’re memories, or instincts, or maybe it’s just being close to you. But I should have listened when you said no. You were right. It’s too soon. And I shouldn’t have made it your responsibility to hold the line.”

He exhaled a long, slow breath. Not angry. Just tired.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a grand speech. But the way he looked at me, like he saw straight into my chest, made my heart squeeze.

And then he yawned.

I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. “I bored you to sleep with that, didn’t I?”

He tried to shake his head, already half asleep. “No. It was… beautiful. Just tired.”

I reached over and brushed his hair from his forehead. “Go to sleep, Derek.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

I watched his breathing even out. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and within a minute, he was out cold. It struck me then just how much he must be carrying.

The weight of his pack. The politics. And me—whatever I was to him.

I slipped out of bed quietly and padded to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with soft shadows and faint confusion. I looked the same, but I didn’t feel the same. This whole trip had stirred something inside me—something wild, something familiar.

When I came back, he was still asleep. Sprawled on his side now, one arm slung over the empty space I’d left behind. There was a crease between his brows that hadn’t gone away even in sleep. I stood there watching him for far too long, letting the quiet press in around me.

I should go back to my room.

He needed rest. And I needed space to think.

But my feet didn’t move.

Instead, I slid back into bed, careful not to jostle him. His body warmed the sheets. The familiar scent of his skin wrapped around me, and I melted into the quiet, breathing him in like it might anchor me.

I shut my eyes and thought about everything.

The date. The northern lights. The way his hand fit in mine. The way he looked at me like I was the beginning and end of something sacred.

And the way I felt around him. Like I was becoming someone I used to be.

Sleep pulled at me slowly. Softly.

And I let it.

I woke to the scent of roses.

The first thing I saw was the blush-colored bloom resting on the pillow beside me. Delicate, perfect, and wrapped with a short ribbon.

The second was the folded note beneath it.

My name. In his handwriting.

I picked it up, heart already thudding. Unfolded the paper.

Elena,

You looked too peaceful to wake, but I wanted to leave you with something beautiful. Thank you for last night. For your honesty. For everything._

You make me feel like we can do anything. At our own pace. No pressure.

I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.

D

I held the note for a long moment, rereading it twice. Three times. My fingers skimmed the edges of the paper like I could absorb the words better through my skin.

Then I rose, washed up, and dressed.

The breakfast room was bright with morning sun by the time I made it down. The scent of strong coffee and fresh bread hung in the air. Long tables were set with linens and clean china, the soft clink of utensils echoing off the windows.

Caroline sat near the far end of the table. Her posture was stiff, almost formal, and across from her sat another woman—elegant, tall, dressed in shades of ash and pearl. Her hair was white-blonde, braided down her back. Her expression was unreadable.

They both turned as I entered.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice calm.

Caroline nodded curtly. The other woman didn’t move.

I sat down carefully. The tension in the room was a third presence, coiled and ready to strike.

"Elena," Caroline said, her tone carefully neutral. "This is Yrsa. She’s from the Icelandic council."

"Pleasure to meet you," I said.

Yrsa tilted her chin, eyes raking over me like she was taking my measure. She didn’t offer a greeting.

Caroline bristled beside me. It was subtle, but I saw it—the stiffening of her shoulders, the way her fingers curled around her teacup.

I smiled lightly. "I hope we’re not interrupting."

Caroline glanced at Yrsa. "We were just discussing the summit."

Yrsa sniffed delicately. "Among other things."

I let the moment sit. Then reached for a slice of bread, broke it, and said casually, "I find that things go better with food. Maybe that’s just the Moonstone in me."

Caroline made a sound almost like a laugh.

Yrsa raised a pale brow. "And yet, you’re here. With Derek. The King of Silverclaw."

I tilted my head. “We have diplomatic ties. Shared interests.”

“Mmm,” Yrsa said. “Diplomacy. That explains all the articles, I suppose.”

Something prickled along my spine.

"Articles?"

Yrsa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The news has been quite thorough. Your on-again, off-again entanglement with Derek King has been rather sensational. It’s rare that Silverclaw and Moonstone get this... intimate."

Caroline growled.

The sound was low, dangerous.

Yrsa turned to her, clearly unimpressed. "I meant no offense. Simply observing."

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

Derek.

Ex.

My ex?

The word struck something deep inside. A fissure. A seam that began to tear.

Ex.

My fork clattered against the plate. A sharp stab of pain shot through my skull.

I gasped and grabbed my head, fingers curling against my temples. The world spun, twisted.

Caroline stood. "Elena?”

Yrsa said something I couldn’t hear.

The room tilted. My breath caught.

Ex. Derek. Wedding. Pain. Betrayal. A woman in white. Blood. Screaming.

My vision exploded in white.

And then everything went black.