The Vampire's Luna-Chapter 314: You Are Here For Questioning
She turned to leave but abruptly she stopped. With only a slight tilt of her head, Luna glanced back over her shoulder. Her closing remark was delivered as a caress of poison. "And the next time you do not bow in my presence," she murmured, "I will consider it an act of disrespect to the crown. You will be flogged until your screams bleed the walls. And then I will hang you out to dry beneath the bare sun." Her smile widened, too beautiful for the cruelty of her words. "Imagine how good that will make me feel."
As the doors closed behind her, Luna exhaled, forcing composure back into her chest. She had won this round. And now, she had to prepare for her next performance. The council awaited.
She straightened her spine and allowed a slow, sly smile to curve her lips. Damien would be there. Luna had every intention of giving Damien the show of his life.
*****
Damien sat high on the throne. He leaned back, but his entire body was thrumming, alive, as his gaze fixed on the double doors at the end of the hall. The Lords filled the council chamber but he barely registered them. The moment the doors opened, a hushed ripple went through the room.
Luna stepped through, and Damien’s chest tightened with a dangerous pride. She had come prepared, transformed into the embodiment of Vampire royalty. She wore her queen regalia — a blood-red gown, its golden hems glittering. She moved with grace. Damien forced the smile from his face.
She crossed the floor toward her throne, set directly beside his.
Lord Richard stepped forward before Luna could sit. "Your Highness," he began, "you are here for questioning. You should be seated in the accused chair, not the throne." His gaze darted to Damien, searching for approval.
Luna turned, fury flashing in her eyes. "Do you want to volunteer to pick me up and drop me in there, Lord Richard?" She tilted her head, lips curving into a smile far more dangerous than a snarl. "Because I really would like to see you try."
A few Lords inhaled sharply. Luna, entirely unconcerned, flipped her gown with a flourish as she lowered herself onto her throne. She crossed one leg over the other deliberately, the slit of her dress revealing a scandalous length of skin.
Talon was dragged in then, his body battered and weak, shackles biting into his wrists and ankles.
"Your Highness," Lord Richard began, putting on his most solemn tone, "Talon here — your right-hand in Blood City — has confessed to carrying out your orders to assault Isolde, who carries a royal child."
Luna’s answer came out flat. "Yes, I gave him his orders."
Damien was startled she would claim culpability for something she had not committed. This played beautifully into the stratagem he’d been nursing — a staged fracture between crown and queen meant to provoke the council into overreaching. He wanted them to see them as divided, to push the Lords into making the wrong, loud choice.
He watched her as the council murmured. Damien had plotted for this. He needed the theatrics — Luna’s wrath. She’d walked into the lion’s den for him; even staged, that was a kind of sacrifice.
"According to Blood City’s laws," Richard intoned, lifting a hand, "this is treason against the throne."
Luna let out a small laugh that tasted of iron and resolve. "Who is the throne?" she demanded. Heads snapped toward her.
"Your Highness, this isn’t how it works. I have to— I have to ask the questions." Richard sputtered, rattled by her boldness.
"I am the throne," Luna declared. "My husband is the throne. How many times are you all going to keep accusing me for doing what is right for the throne? You all condemned my unborn child to death. Isn’t he the throne? And now when the tables are turned, it is suddenly treason. Tell me," she demanded. "Isolde and her child are a threat to the throne? I gave the order to protect the throne." Her gaze swept the council. "From the moment I stepped into Blood City, I have been accused, I have been insulted. The prince was subjected to being broken when he was just a few days old to please you! This is my throne. Mine! It belongs to my son. And I will do whatever the hell I like to protect it."
"Luna!" Damien’s voice lashed out, stern, commanding. His lips curled into the perfect scowl of a husband rebuking his reckless queen. Inside, he wanted to smile, wanted to kiss her senseless in front of the stiff-necked old men just to prove that she was his weapon and his equal. I should have trusted her. Outwardly, he let fury carve itself into his face, the cold rage of a king humiliated in his own council chamber. "You will stop talking this instant," he snarled.
Luna’s chin tilted higher. "Or what?!" She descended from the dais. She gestured to herself with the imperious grace of someone who knew her bloodline. "What else can you all do to me? You cannot kill me. You cannot put me in prison." She paused in the center of the chamber. "Do you know why?" Her smirk turned feral. "Because I am a goddamned werewolf princess! A royal warrior! Daughter to the mighty Alpha King Magnus and Queen Ravena. You touch a single hair on my head and you will have the entire werewolf kingdom at your borders faster than you can say Blood Goddess. I will say it one more time: keep Isolde and her bastard away, or she will never be found!" The chamber erupted into gasps.
"Luna!" Damien’s voice thundered again, louder, deeper, this time rolling over the gathered council. He shoved back his throne. He moved. "You have no right!" He halted before her, close enough that the tips of her breasts brushed against his chest as she refused to yield him a single inch. His nostrils flared. "No right whatsoever to threaten a royal." He gestured violently toward the council, his hand sweeping across the faces of men who dared judge them. "Threatening war is the same as treason! You have disrespected the council... and you have disrespected me! How far will you go, Luna? How far will you go because you are jealous?"
