The moon hung full and silver in the mountain sky, casting pale light through the stained-glass dome of the Moon Chamber. Glyphs etched into the stone floor pulsed softly, responding to its glow. Priestess Aelin knelt at the center, her brown long hair fallen behind her back, robes trailing like water, chanting in the old tongue.
Tonight was sacred. Dangerous. The Full Moon Rite wasn't just a ceremony—it was the barrier between control and chaos. Between the young duke and what lived inside him.
Kael was late. He was never late.
When the great doors finally opened, he entered shirtless, barefoot, the muscles of his chest slick with sweat. He looked like he was already mid-transformation—jaw clenched, golden eyes glowing, veins raised beneath his skin like roots. The moment he crossed the threshold, the glyphs flared.
"You're burning up," Aelin said, rising. "You should have come earlier."
"Couldn't." His voice was gravel. "Something's wrong with the pull. It's stronger this time."
He dropped to his knees at the edge of the circle. She began the ritual, voice steady, movements precise, drawing down the moon's calming light. She opened a sealed vial—a concentrated dose of moon essence, distilled under sacred rites. Meant to be used drop by drop.
Her hands shook. She poured too much. The silver liquid spilled out in a thick stream instead of the careful measure.
The air changed immediately. A heavy sweetness filled the chamber. The glyphs pulsed wildly, then blazed.
Kael's breath hitched. His hands dug into the stone. Aelin stepped back, suddenly lightheaded.
"Aelin," he said, his voice warping. "You... you used too much."
The atmosphere thickened. The light from the glyphs turned syrupy and slow. Aelin blinked, trying to focus. The world softened at the edges.
She felt warmth on her skin—an invisible touch that slid over her arms, down her thighs. Her knees buckled. She hit the floor with a soft gasp.
Kael groaned beside her, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts. He was on his hands and knees, swaying, eyes glassy.
"Don't... move," she whispered. "It's in the air."
Too late. The excess moon essence had diffused into the atmosphere, weaving through their minds like a drug. Aelin closed her eyes and felt phantom hands on her skin, her lips, between her legs. Her breath came in shallow moans. Her own fingers traced her inner thigh without her willing it.
Kael's body tensed as he sat back on his heels, groaning as if under a spell. His hand gripped his thigh, then moved upward. He tilted his head back, mouth parted.
They were inches apart, surrounded by magic that made flesh irrelevant. It was touch without touch. Pleasure without control.
She thought she heard him speak her name, low and ragged.
Her vision blurred, filled with flashes of heat. His body on hers. Her hands on his chest. Her hips arching.
But none of it was real.
It built toward the edge—almost too much—and then, suddenly, it was gone.
The magic snapped like a broken string. The glyphs dimmed to a soft pulse.
Aelin blinked, chest heaving, limbs limp. Sweat beaded along her neck. She was sprawled on the floor, half-conscious.
Kael lay nearby, eyes wide, expression blank.
They lay in silence. The doors creaked open slowly.
Neither moved.
Finally, Kael spoke, voice dry. "You measured wrong."
Aelin stared up at the moonlit dome. "I know."
He turned his head, looked at her. "We didn't..."
"No," she said quickly. "We didn't."
His voice was quiet. "Felt like we did."
"That was the effect of the moon essence. It manipulates perception."
A pause. Then he laughed, short and low.
She groaned. "Don't."
"Next time," he said, "I measure, you watch."
She rolled over to her side, glaring at him. But her cheeks were burning.
She wasn't sure if it was shame or disappointment.
The next full moon was only a month away.