Nolan's POV
"If you agree to marry and cease bedding every female subject of mine who throws themselves at you, I may yet reconsider stripping your title and granting it to someone more deserving."
I said this to Ian Stark, Duke of my kingdom.
Well. Not officially the Duke. Not yet.
I had not formally ordained him, though the title had belonged to his bloodline for generations. His father had held it. His grandfather before him. Their entire lineage had served the crown faithfully. They had been loyal, capable, and above all, restraint. None of them had been particularly troublesome.
Ian, on the other hand, had been insufferable since he learned to walk.
When he was still a toddler, I caught him sitting upon my throne after finishing his play in the mud by the lake. Mud still clung to his hands when he grinned at me.
I told myself he would grow out of it, but he did not.
I told myself again when he reached adolescence. Surely then he would learn respect.
He did not.
And when he reached adulthood, I had hoped, foolishly, that responsibility would finally take root.
Guess who I found engaged in an indecent gathering with three of my maids.
You guessed correctly.
I could not even bring myself to blame him entirely.
Every Stark bore an allure. I had shaped it so myself, long ago. It was meant to draw out Moon-blooded scents, whether through proximity or intimacy. It was a tool. A duty. One to be used with discretion and command.
Ian, however, treated it as entertainment.
Before being formally proclaimed Duke, despite it being his birthright, he had already begun announcing it himself. He wielded the title as freely as he did his charm, abusing both without restraint.
So now, I've decided to tame him by marrying him off.
"Uncle Nolan, I will consider your request. If there is nothing else, I would like to take my leave."
He bowed as he spoke, already stepping backward.
"Take one more step," I said calmly, "and I will have your leg removed."
He froze mid-step, then carefully moved forward instead.
"Uncle Nolan," he whined.
"That was not a request," I continued, ignoring him. "You will meet your intended bride today."
I rose from my throne just as one of my maids entered.
"Your Majesty," she said, lowering her head, "your meal is prepared."
I began to make my way towards the exit of my throne room, then halted.
Leaving Ian alone with a woman was a lapse in judgment.
I turned sharply.
As expected, his hands were already upon the maid, squeezing her chest through her clothing. Her face had turned crimson.
"Ian," I thundered.
He let go of her as he jumped. "I was helping her fix her dress."
"Ian," I warned.
His shoulders slumped as he lowered his head and muttered, "I am coming."
I waited until he walked ahead of me before following.
Now I would have to replace another maid.
Just wonderful.
"You know, Uncle Nolan," he said as we walked, "you could simply grant me my own estate and my own maids. Then I would not trouble you."
The guards opened the dining hall doors for us. I took my usual seat at the long table. Ian sat to my left.
"Will I be permitted to live alone in my own house?" he asked again as the meal was served by the maids.
I ignored him.
"Will I be permitted to live alone once I am married?"
My head struck the table with enough force that the cutlery rattled and several servants startled back.
Ian flinched.
"You could have simply said no," he muttered.
I lifted my head slowly. "No."
He clutched his chest. "Cruel."
"No," I repeated.
He sighed. "I heard you the first time."
I turned on him. "No. I did not do that."
"Do what?" he asked, confused. "Say no to letting me live alone?"
"Yes. That is a permanent no. But I meant…"
I glanced around the table.
The maids and guards understood at once and withdrew.
"I did not strike my head," I said flatly.
His brow furrowed. "You did. I saw it."
I exhaled sharply. "Yes, but I did not strike it on…"
A hand smacked my face.
I opened my eyes slowly and turned to him, fury burning hot in my chest.
"How dare you."
His face drained of color. "How dare I what?"
"How dare you strike your king?" I growled. The sound carried across the table, making the dishes tremble.
"Uncle," he said quickly, already panicking, "I did not touch you."
I bared my teeth as the sting from the slap fully registered. Ian immediately placed a hand over his chest, the other lifting in surrender.
"I swear it on my dignity, I did not touch you."
"You have none," I shot back.
"Then I swear it on my Cock!" Realizing his inappropriate words, he immediately bowed his head.
As crude as it was, the boy loved his cock more than he loved his own life.
So I took his words for it and reined my wolf back, forcing the tension to ease.
"If it was not you, then who—" I was going to ask when my head struck the table again.
A growl tore from my chest, reverberating through the palace walls.
I turned sharply to Ian. His hair lifted from the force of the sound alone, his eyes wide with terror. That settled it. It had not been him.
"Uncle…" he said slowly, "Your face… there's a mark on your face."
"What?"
He did not answer at once. His gaze fixed, unmoving, as though he were watching something unfold in real time.
"Blood," he said. Then again, softer. "Blood."
I snorted. "Do not speak nonsense. I am immortal. I do not bleed."
The words died when something warm traced a line down the bridge of my nose.
I lifted my hand to touch it and my eyes widened on seeing blood.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
I shoved my chair back and exited the dinning in long strides, ignoring Ian as he scrambled after me. I did not slow until I reached my room. I made straight for the mirror.
There it was. A small wound at my temple. Shallow, but real. Blood had trickled down from it.
I stepped back, stunned.
"Ian," I said without turning. "Your blade."
"What?"
"Give it to me now."
Steel rang as he drew it. I took the weapon from his hands and dragged the edge across my forearm.
The wounds closed immediately without spilling blood, proving I was still immortal.
I turned back to the mirror. The wound on my head remained.
"Maybe it's a sign you shouldn't marry me off without my consent," Ian said.
I met his eyes through the reflection. Whatever expression crossed my face made him bow his head at once.
But the words lingered.
"Maybe that is it," I said slowly. "Maybe those cursed moon-blooded creatures are trying to stop me from attending your engagement, because they are there."
"Uncle," Ian said carefully, "I really do not think that is—"
I turned to silence him with a warning when something struck me across the face.
The force sent me crashing into the corner of the room. I hit the wall hard and dropped to the floor.
I growled, the sound rolling through my room as I searched the air. But there was nothing. No figure or hidden presence around.
"Go," I said, rising. "Go to your bride's house. Now."
"Yes, Uncle," Ian said, and fled at once.
I pushed myself upright, my mind racing as I tried to understand how this was even possible.
That bloody Moon Goddess.
She must have devised a scheme to bring me down. After all, there was only one of her descendants left. Once I take her life, the Moon Goddess would be erased completely, reduced to nothing more than a forgotten name.
She knew this. That was why she resisted so fiercely.
I turned toward the bed, intent on taking my cloak. Before I reached it, I tripped causing me to fall forward, and my head hit the floor.
"Wait until I get my hands on you," I snarled through clenched teeth before getting up once more.
I seized my cloak from the bed and strode out of my room.
***
Ian was gone by the time I stepped out.
So I simply motioned to my soldiers to follow me as I entered my personal carriage.
Normally, I did not bring them along when leaving the palace. I trusted my own steps and strength. But not today. Today, I did not know which force had set itself against me, and I would not be caught unaware.
We arrived at the gates of the Ashwood estate swiftly. Luciana Ashwood, noblewoman of the realm, and by arrangement, her daughter would become Ian's bride.
As the carriage rolled through the gates, the air shifted. Subtle at first, then unmistakable.
Moon blood.
I exhaled sharply. I was right after all.
A Moon-blood lived here. That was why I had been attacked—to draw me away from this place.
The carriage stopped, and after a moment the door opened and I stepped out. My soldiers already formed a wall in front me.
I began forward, and they parted, clearing the path to the estate's entrance. Each step pulled me deeper into the scent. It was close. Too close. My senses sharpened with every pace.
The doors of the estate entrance opened.
Luciana appeared first, composed and regal, followed by her daughter. Ian stood behind them, bewildered, taking in the number of soldiers I had brought.
The scent grew stronger still. Neither Luciana nor her daughter bore the Moon mark, yet the scent clung to them, as though they had brushed against a moon blood not long ago.
I fixed my gaze, tracing the invisible thread of power and blood only I could perceive.
As I focused on the source of the scent, I saw a figure sprinting away. The long strands of her hair and the way the scent gradually faded as she moved told me it was her.
The last moon blood.
Without hesitation, I took off after her.