The Lord Who Waited Beneath the Moon

The sound of footsteps fell softly against the marble path, muffled by the night breeze that drifted through the garden. Julia walked ahead, her composure precise and unhurried, the folds of her uniform moving like ink strokes over the moonlit stone. Behind her, Victor and Sasha followed without a word. The faint rustle of leaves above, the chirp of hidden crickets, and the echo of distant music from the banquet were the only sounds that dared to fill the silence between them.

Sasha's expression was calm, but her eyes flickered from time to time toward Victor—searching, measuring, perhaps wondering what kind of conversation awaited them at the end of this path. Victor walked beside her, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable. The moonlight skimmed his features, cold and sharp, yet his mind stirred restlessly beneath that calm.

Why Lord Suncrest now? The question kept circling his thoughts. There were too many unknowns already—too many threads woven into this night.

They passed through the last archway of the garden, where the fragrant air gave way to the cooler scent of stone and distant water. As they stepped out into the open courtyard, Victor's gaze lifted. Several guards stood lined along the path—men from the palace, identifiable by the lion sigil engraved on their silver breastplates. Some were familiar faces. Others were missing.

A flicker of unease passed through his eyes.

When the guards saw him, every one of them straightened. Armor shifted, boots snapped together. Then, in unison, they bowed deeply. "Prince Victor," the lead guard said, voice steady despite the tension that seemed to hang in the air.

Victor nodded once, acknowledging them. "At ease."

Before he could ask anything further, one of the men—a tall, broad-shouldered knight with a scar along his jaw—stepped forward. "My prince, Captain Walton has gone ahead with the princess as per Lord Suncrest's request. He is stationed near the pavilion with her now."

Victor's brow furrowed slightly. He had not given that order. Still, he caught himself before the question left his lips. So Walton's there too... good.

"I see," Victor said after a short silence. His tone remained level, but there was something heavier behind it—thought, calculation. Then he added quietly, "Before you resume your post, send a runner to Captain Walton. Tell him to stay close to Princess Ania. No matter the reason for this meeting, her safety comes first."

The guard nodded firmly. "Understood, my prince."

Victor's eyes softened. "Good. Now, stand down."

As the men returned to their positions, Julia paused ahead and glanced back, her expression calm as ever. "Prince Victor, Lady Sasha," she said, her voice smooth as silk, "this way, please."

Victor gave a small nod and gestured to the guards behind him. "Wait here."

They obeyed immediately, forming a line along the garden's exit while he and Sasha continued after Julia.

The path turned away from the banquet hall. Faint laughter and orchestral notes drifted from the distance—the noble "matchmaking" event still alive and glittering somewhere behind them. But Julia led them along a quieter route, one veined with stone bridges and lanterns shaped like floating orbs. The sound of the party faded until it became nothing more than an echo of another world.

Neither Victor nor Sasha spoke. Yet their silence wasn't empty—it pulsed with unspoken words. Every so often, their eyes would meet. A brief glance. A shared breath. A silent understanding that neither wanted to break.

Sasha's fingers brushed lightly against her own sleeve, the faintest nervous tell. Victor noticed it but said nothing. Instead, he breathed in the night—the heavy perfume of the flowers, the soft shimmer of moonlight against the water, the distant hum of power that seemed to cradle the Suncrest estate itself. It was a beautiful place, he thought, but beauty often hid sharper truths.

Lord Suncrest… what game are you playing tonight?

Julia guided them through a turn, then another. The garden gave way to a vast courtyard spread beneath the stars—a masterpiece of marble and light. A circular fountain stood at its center, spilling water that glowed faintly with magic. The tiles shimmered with embedded runes, tracing soft golden veins through the stone. Trees lined the edges, their branches hung with hanging lamps that swayed gently in the night breeze.

Victor slowed slightly, his gaze sweeping across the open expanse. The courtyard was quiet, yet alive—the sort of quiet that felt watched. Even the air seemed aware of their presence.

Sasha's lips parted softly as she looked around. "It's… beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

"It is," Victor murmured, his tone low, thoughtful. "Almost too much."

Her eyes flicked toward him, faint amusement glinting for a second. "You mean 'too perfect,' don't you?"

He didn't deny it. "Perfection hides purpose."

Julia led them onward, her heels clicking lightly against the polished stone. "Lord Suncrest is waiting ahead," she said as they approached the far end of the courtyard.

At the edge of the courtyard stood an open pavilion—carved wood, polished marble, draped curtains caught in the faint night wind. Warm light spilled from inside, golden and soft. The faint scent of tea drifted toward them.

Standing at the pavilion's entrance was Captain Walton, his posture rigid and alert. When his eyes caught Victor's, he straightened instantly, right fist crossing his chest in salute. "My prince."

Victor nodded in return. "At ease, Walton."

He gestured slightly toward the guards who had followed him up to this point. "Stay here," he said firmly. "No one enters unless I call for you."

"Yes, my prince."

Julia turned slightly toward Victor, her expression polite but with a trace of insistence. "Please, Prince Victor, Lady Sasha. This way."

Victor exchanged a brief glance with Sasha. She met his gaze quietly, her composure steady despite the uncertainty that flickered just behind her eyes. Together, they followed Julia into the pavilion while the guards remained outside.

The interior of the pavilion was a portrait of refined luxury. A low table rested in the center, carved from blackwood and inlaid with threads of gold. Around it were cushioned chairs draped in fine fabric. Soft magical lamps floated near the ceiling, glowing like captured starlight. The air smelled faintly of tea and sandalwood, a calm, grounded fragrance that seemed designed to soothe the mind.

And there—seated on one side of the table—was Lord Suncrest.

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