The Vampire's Luna
Chapter 187: Chicago - Hard To Say I’m Sorry

Chapter 187: Chicago - Hard To Say I’m Sorry

Luna exhaled in quiet relief. Her heartbeat steadied. Her mate was safe.

The temple ladies beside her gave her a regretful glance. One of them whispered, "Forgive us," before they lowered her to crouch again. Another cushion was brought for the prince, and he knelt beside her—close enough that their shoulders brushed, their breaths mingled—but there was a distance that had nothing to do with space.

"I’m sorry I’m late," Damien whispered to her.

"It’s okay, you are here now," Luna replied softly, her hand instinctively reaching for his. But the instant her fingers touched his palm, she noticed it—the chill in his skin, the tension in his posture, the way he didn’t fold his fingers into hers as he normally would. Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, trying to coax warmth back into him. It wasn’t just the coolness of vampire skin. It was emotional frost.

Her brows knit. "Are you okay?" she asked gently, eyes searching his face.

His eyes were fixed ahead, on the altar, as though whatever had detained him still held his mind hostage. His jaw ticked.

She didn’t know what it was. A fight? A threat?

"Yeah, sure," Damien nodded quickly, the words barely scraping past the tightness in his throat.

"Shall we begin?" Luciver’s voice rang out from the throne.

The temple priest stepped forward solemnly. Incense trailed from a small brazier at his side, the smoke coiling upward as he approached the king. Ancient rites passed down through generations began, murmured in a tongue older than the kingdom itself. He touched Luciver’s shoulders, chest, and forehead with sacred oils meant to sever spiritual ties to power, to cleanse the soul of duty and burden.

With each word, Luna watched in silence. This was the end of one era, and the beginning of a future her child would be born into. Her mate was about to become king, for however long, she had no idea.

Luciver was finally asked to rise.

He stood slowly as if the centuries of leadership clung to his bones until the very last second. Then, with a dramatic exhale, he stepped away from the throne.

"You’re it, kid!" he boomed, clapping Damien on the back with a grin, as he passed by him.

Damien laughed, stood up and embraced his father. It was a moment shared between a father who had ruled for more than two lifetimes and a son who had survived impossible trials to stand here.

Then Damien turned to the throne.

The priest beckoned him forward, and the ritual of fire commenced. A bowl of sacred flames was set at the foot of the throne, and Damien held his hands above it - a gesture symbolic of a king’s readiness to burn for his people.

The moment his fingers left the flame, the crown was presented.

Forged from steel and set with a single jewel at its center.

"I present to you, King Damien Dragos," the priest intoned, his voice echoing.

"Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!" the court roared in unison, voices rising with triumph. Even Luna, still crouched despite her discomfort, joined the chant with shining eyes, her voice filled with pride, love, and a trembling sense of awe.

The priest turned toward her then, and the temple ladies moved with haste and grace to help her up once more. She winced slightly, one hand on her belly and the other on a lady’s shoulder.

And then she stepped forward.

Every inch of movement was watched in silence as she walked to the secondary throne, just a few feet from Damien’s. When she sat down, she turned her face to Damien, her gaze locking with his.

A quiet beat passed between them. No words. Just a glance that said everything—We made it. I’m with you. I’m proud of you.

Damien got to his feet. With a deep breath, he followed the priest to Luna.

Then the queen’s crown was handed to him.

It was lighter than his own. He held it carefully as though he were holding her soul.

Luna locked eyes with him.

"I love you," he whispered.

There was something in his tone that felt... final. A sadness hidden beneath pride, as though love had suddenly become too fragile to bear. Luna’s brows creased in the smallest frown, but she didn’t speak. The entire temple watched. She merely nodded, her fingers clenched against the sides of her dress, and looked ahead, fighting the unease rising in her chest.

Damien raised the crown and gently placed it on her head, his fingers lingering in her hair just a moment longer than necessary.

"I present to you Queen Luna Dragos!" Damien’s voice rang out, stronger now, but his eyes remained on her as if seeking redemption in the midst of celebration.

The court erupted.

"Long live the queen! Long live the queen! Long live the queen!"

Their voices echoed through the temple’s arched ceilings, bouncing off marble pillars and stained glass windows that caught the sunlight and painted them all in colors of triumph.

Luna turned to face them, her new crown steady on her head.

Damien turned back toward his throne, the echo of the chants still filling the air. He sank into his seat with grace, placing his hands on the carved armrests as if they were extensions of his will.

"Long live the king! Long live the queen!" the entire court bellowed again in unison, as if the repetition would make their reign eternal.

*****

Outside the temple, Ravena stood alone. She stood unmoving, staring up at the sky.

"She did it, Magnus," she whispered. "She is queen."

Her lips trembled into a smile. Bittersweet. Proud. She imagined her late husband watching from whatever realm he now resided in, his arms crossed, a knowing grin on his face. The very thought of him made her eyes sting.

Just then, footsteps approached.

She turned swiftly, her queenly poise never failing, though her heart leapt.

It was Kyllian—and Talon a step behind.