She wasn’t listening to him, but he could hear her heartbeat—steady, then quickening, a quiet betrayal he couldn’t ignore. Her pulse hammered in his ears, louder than the soft rustle of the wind, mocking him in ways he couldn’t escape. Even without seeing her eyes, he could feel the weight of her gaze, heavy in the dark, like an impossible hope he couldn’t chase. Above them, the stars hung like distant witnesses, flickering in and out, whispering secrets neither of them dared to speak.

This was wrong—every part of it. Her, here, in this kingdom that should have devoured her whole. Him, sitting beside her when he should have been dragging her back. He wasn’t even meant to exist like this—torn between duty and a longing that felt like betrayal. And yet, here he was, staring into the face of the one person he should never have cared for, the silver moonlight making her seem almost unreal, too beautiful for a world like this.

“Either you’re contemplating whether to put a dagger in my heart,” Luna mused, her voice laced with something playful that only made the ache worse, “or you have something to say.”

Damon’s lips twisted into a smile—slow, reluctant, a shadow of a smirk that barely touched the emptiness inside him. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” His voice was raw, jagged with emotions he couldn’t name, wouldn’t name. He was thankful she couldn’t see the mess he was becoming. Some things were better left unsaid. Some things were only meant to break in the dark.

“Maybe I’m plotting to smash a rock into your skull,” he said, the words empty, but still, he couldn’t help the tug of bitterness that followed them.

She laughed then—a sound that should have been light but felt like a weight pressing down on him. Soft, unguarded, it curled through him like ivy, wrapping around his ribs, tightening, making him ache in places he didn’t know still could. Gods, he wanted to drown in that sound, to bury himself in it, to feel it against him until everything else disappeared.

Luna tilted her head, her voice just as sweet as before. “And I could be plotting to put a dagger in _your_ own heart.”

Damon huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’d like to see you try.” Luna smiled softly—goodness, that smile.

_Stop_.

He couldn’t have her. She wasn’t his to keep. She was a fugitive, a runaway bride, the one he was supposed to bring back. She belonged to the prince—not to him. Not to the man who was already losing himself in thoughts of her.

“I knew you wanted to,” she teased, nudging him as they walked. Then, without warning, she dropped to the ground, folding into the dirt with a grace that made it seem deliberate. Her face tilted toward the sky, a quiet kind of defiance in her stillness. “If you do, just make sure it’s under the stars.”

He sat beside her without thinking, his gaze caught in the curve of her jaw, the softness of her lips. There was something unreadable in her expression, something he couldn’t name. “You take things too literally.”

“I prefer _poetic_,” she said, hands folding in her lap as she looked up at the sky. Then, after a breath, quieter, “Well? No more stalling. Take me back.”

His heart twisted. His eyes lingered on her hands, palms open as if waiting—offering. One flicker of resolve, one breath, and it could all end. But his fingers curled into fists, the earth beneath him grounding him in place.

Luna’s expression softened, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across her face—a hesitation, a catch in her breath, there and gone in an instant. He told himself he imagined it.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe she had already made her choice.

“You can’t, can you?” she whispered.

No, he couldn’t. The truth crashed through him, a weight heavier than any blade.

“I can’t,” he croaked, and the word tasted like surrender, like defeat. He hated how it felt—how weak it sounded. He had been trained for this. He wasn’t supposed to care. But here he was, unraveling before her, losing himself piece by piece.

She sighed, her head dropping back against the night, her voice small. “I don’t want to marry an old hag.”

He laughed—a quiet sound, sadder than he meant it to be. “Understandable.”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “You—the brooding, soulless guard—understand?”

“Don’t get used to it, Lu.” He traced patterns in the dirt with his fingers, the motion automatic, like it was the only thing left he could control. “Or do. It doesn’t matter.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then Luna moved—closer, too close, close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath, the subtle warmth of her skin against his. Her lips parted, amber eyes searching his with a tenderness he didn’t deserve.

For a second—a fleeting, fragile second—her lashes lowered, and her breath hitched. Just barely.

Her fingers twitched—then stilled.

It was nothing. It was everything.

Gods. Everything about her screamed his, but that was a lie. He was never meant to have this. But still, she was undeniable, inevitably his—all his.

“Is my face really that charming?” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he could shake off the pull between them with humor.

She exhaled a laugh, the sound so soft it almost broke him. “No. I just regret not doing this sooner.”

And then she closed the distance.

Her lips met his, and it was all fire and ice—desire, guilt, longing, the haunting knowledge that this was all wrong, and yet, for a moment, it felt like everything was finally right. Damon’s hands found her hair, tangled in it like a lifeline, while his other hand cupped her jaw, as if she could slip away at any second.

But her fingers twitched again. A flicker of hesitation. A breath too long. As if she was waiting.

And then—cold metal plunged deep.

The dagger slid between his ribs, cruelly intimate. A _perfect_ betrayal.

Pain—hot, searing—ripped through him, chased by the cold bite of realization. His breath stuttered. His grip on her faltered.

A whisper of memory, a fleeting echo of words spoken in jest.

_And I could be plotting to put a dagger in your heart_.

_She told me. _He thought in those final moments.

A shuddering breath left him, something between a laugh and a sob. He had laughed it off, dismissed it as another of her playful remarks.

Gods, he should have known.

She pulled away, her voice light as air, a cruel mockery of what they had.

“I told you I wouldn’t marry a hag.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek—or was it his blood?

Then she wiped it away with a bloody hand.

His world, once so full of longing, now darkened—forever.

And the stars above flickered—indifferent to the tragedy below.