Prays to the Moon Goddess

The next dawn, The day Prince Reynand went to the war

Reynand sat at the edge of the bed, his head heavy and throbbing. The royal wine from last night clung to his veins, far stronger than he'd anticipated, leaving even his seasoned body unsteady. 

He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, then shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the fog clouding his mind.

His clothes lay in disarray across the floor. Nothing clung to him now but the cool satin blanket draped carelessly over his waist. 

His gaze drifted to Elara, still asleep, her face soft yet shadowed by a faint furrow between her brows.

'She must be exhausted…'

Reynand rose slowly, still lightheaded from both the wine and the passion, his body stiff as he reached for his tunic. 

As the fabric brushed his skin, a sharp sting tore through his right shoulder. His hand instinctively found the shallow scratches etched there.

The memory struck hard—Elara's hands gripped him with desperate strength, nails sinking in, dragging across his skin as she unraveled in his arms.

'How much pain did I cause her for her to scratch me like that?'

The thought settled like a stone in his chest. He sighed, low and rough.

Then his eyes fell to the bed. The satin blanket twisted around Elara's bare form, but it was the faint red stain beneath her that held his gaze.

'At least she didn't bleed much.' 

On the bed, Elara shifted under the covers, slowly, her eyes fluttered open. She squinted, searching the room, and her breath hitched when she spotted Prince Reynand fully dressed, his gaze locked on hers. 

The shock of seeing him there made her want to jump up, but the moment she tried to sit, a sharp wince betrayed her.

Heat radiated from between her thighs, and a dull, persistent pulsing ache throbbed through her groin. The pain locked her tongue, leaving only confusion in its wake. 

She never imagined it could feel like her lower abdomen was being torn apart, not when last night the pain had been so sweetly tangled with the pleasure she'd surrendered to.

Prince Reynand moved toward her and helped her sit. His touch was warm against her back skin, steadying her as if she were fragile. 

As she settled, the blanket shifted lower, almost revealing more of her than she could bear. Elara's heart raced, the sudden exposure making her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

It wasn't just the feeling of vulnerability that tightened her chest. She glanced down, and the marks on her chest and stomach—a trail of love bites from Prince Reynand's fervent kisses—made her throat tighten with a rush of shame.

"Forgive me, Your Grace."

Reynand furrowed his brow, his gaze locked on hers. "What for?"

"I... I should not have slept so much. And... let you see me like this."

Reynand could sense the embarrassment radiating off Elara, but he didn't care for how she looked.

"You shouldn't be moving at all," his tone softened slightly. "Your body must be aching everywhere right now. I told your maid to prepare a warm bath with herbs and sea salt to ease the soreness."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Ah… you… I mean, has my maid already been here?"

"Hm," Reynand hummed. "She came in earlier while we were still asleep. It woke me."

"Oh..." Elara's voice dipped, a tremor of worry creeping in. "So... she knows..."

"Yes, she knows." He snapped. "Which means you're in trouble now. I suppose the Head Maid's already heard, and no doubt she'll scold you for days if you're lucky." His words were sharper than he'd intended.

Elara flinched at the chill in his tone. "Th—that is…"

"And I won't be here when that happens."

Her grip tightened on the blanket, swallowing down the sting of his words. She didn't want to be a burden.

"That's fine, Your Grace. You… have a duty to fight this war. And this… this is part of my duty too. So… I'm fine with it..."

'Duty?' Reynand's jaw tensed, a flicker of something dark flashing in his eyes.

"Why are you so naive?" His voice sharpened. "How do you expect to survive in this castle, surrounded by liars, traitors, and two-faced snakes, without me? No! You also shouldn't have trusted me to begin with."

Her breath caught. "Wh—what—"

"All of this started as a mistake. I never should've come here last night when—"

A heavy knock rattled the door. "Your Grace, it is time for your departure."

The Head Maid's voice cut through the air, loud and commanding. The repeated pounding made Reynand curse under his breath.

He didn't have time.

"Listen to me." His eyes burned into hers. "If you hear I've been killed and the war reaches our border, run. Get to Igniswood. As far as your legs will carry you. And forget this mistake ever happened."

"Y–Your Grace..." Elara's voice broke, her fingers curling tighter into the blanket. Shame burned through her, leaving her small and powerless.

'He's right. This is a mistake… my mistake.'

She should've rejected him.

Her mind spiraled. 'What if the Head Maid was right too?' Perhaps she was nothing more than a bad omen for Prince Reynand. And now, in the middle of a war, that weight crushed her.

Reynand adjusted his boots, ready to leave. Yet, he hesitated, looking back at Elara who lost in thought.

"I must go now. Remember what I told you!"

Elara didn't answer. Her mind was trapped in that storm of regret.

That silence made Reynand stride back to her. His hand cupped her chin, firm yet gentle, tilting her face toward him.

"Did you hear me?" His voice dropped low, demanding. "Which forest will you run to if the war reaches here?"

Her glassy eyes blinked, her voice barely a whisper. "Ig—Igniswood..."

A flicker of approval crossed his face.

"Good." His thumb brushed against her cheek briefly. "Take care of yourself, wife."

And with that, he turned, leaving Elara alone, dwelling on the weight of that single word. 'Wife.'

That was the second time he called her that. The first time, the word had sent a shiver through her, awakening a passion she hadn't expected. 

But this time, the shiver was different. It made her wonder—would she ever hear that word again? 

Despite the way it stirred something in her when he said it, the mistake he referred to haunted her now. 

If something were to happen to him, she might never forgive herself. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had become his bad omen.

She never wanted to become a burden to the savior of her life. But what if this mistake led him into danger? 

What if her very existence in his life had been the mistake all along? 

She could only sob quietly as the maids bustled around her. Even the Head Maid's nagging became a distant blur, her words fading as Elara's mind remained trapped in the prince's shadow. 

Elara yelled at her mind, praying that the Moon Goddess wouldn't let her become the ill fate that threatened the prince's life.

Along the way to the main gate, Reynand's mind churned with restlessness. He knew he shouldn't have said that word 'mistake' to Elara earlier, but he couldn't justify his actions. 

No matter how he looked at it, everything he'd done since last night felt wrong. Even though he tried to rationalize it, nothing seemed to make sense. 

He shouldn't have engaged in the marital act under the influence of alcohol, especially not on their first night.

But… what was the point of explaining further? He was on his way to the battlefield, uncertain whether he'd make it out alive. 

And if he died out there, perhaps it was better for Elara to hate him, to think of him as a bastard.

Reynand let out a chuckle. 'Yes, Bastard!' For the first time in his life, he somewhat agreed with all the ministers and noblemen in Valloria Kingdom who mocked him as the Bastard Prince, the nickname he got because he was the son of an illegitimate concubine. 

For all his life, he had lived in the shadows in Valloria, and perhaps this was the right way for him to die, as the shadow prince.

'Huh? The right way?' He wasn't sure what was right or wrong anymore. The only thing he knew for certain was, that what had happened last night was a mistake he would never regret, and he prayed to the Moon Goddess for a chance to tell Elara that.

***

End of Flashback