Celine felt the shift the moment she sat down. Conversations didn’t quite stop, but they dipped, just enough to make her hyperaware of every glance thrown her way.
And then there was Leon.
His attention was heavier than the fabric of her dress, tracking her movements as if waiting for something—some reaction, some sign of unease. Heat crawled up her neck, not from embarrassment, but from the way he looked at her, like he was unraveling her layer by layer. She forced herself to focus on the table, on the meal in front of her, but it was impossible to ignore the presence seated across from her, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long.
Sasha, seated right beside Leon, noticed. Of course she did.
“You clean up well,” Sasha said, her smile pleasant, her words anything but. She let her eyes sweep over Celine’s dress, her braided hair. “Though I wonder if you’ll be able to keep up appearances. A Luna is expected to maintain a certain… standard.”
Celine took a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down with measured precision. “I suppose learning to dress the part is easier than learning to lead.”
Silence. Then a few chuckles from around the table. Someone smothered a grin behind a napkin.
Sasha’s lips thinned, her fingers tightening on the stem of her goblet. Leon, still watching, smirked slightly before taking a drink, as if entertained.
The conversation shifted, and Celine allowed herself to breathe again. But not for long.
Leon leaned forward, elbows resting on the long oak table, fingers laced loosely in front of him. The firelight behind him cast sharp shadows across his face. “I’d like each of you to tell me,” he said, voice calm but unmistakably direct, “why do you want to be my Luna?”
The room went still. One by one, the nominees answered, their voices smooth and practiced.
“For the good of the pack.”
“To serve with honor.”
“To strengthen alliances.”
Each one spoke like they were reading from the same script, changing only the tone, not the meaning. Celine heard them, but none of it landed. Her pulse was too loud, her thoughts spinning too fast.
Then the last voice fell quiet. And all eyes turned to her. Silence settled like fog. Thick. Expectant.
Celine’s spine stiffened. Her hands curled in her lap beneath the table. The flicker of candlelight blurred at the edges of her vision as she felt the weight of a dozen stares—and Leon’s most of all.
His gaze was steady. Waiting.
Her mouth went dry. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
And before she could think better of it—before she could stop herself—the words came out.
“I liked our kiss.”
Leon grinned. A slow, knowing thing that sent something sharp curling through her stomach. He tilted his head, considering. And then—
“Honest,” he mused. “I like that.”
Sasha didn’t speak for the rest of the meal. While Celine wasn’t sure if she had just made her boldest move or her worst mistake.