Moonlit Vows Of Vengeance

Chapter 116: Questioning The Prisoner

Kieran’s pov

The dungeons beneath the palace reeked of iron and fear.

It was colder here—darker, too—like the walls themselves drank light. I walked with purpose, each step echoing in the silence. Behind me, the two guards carried the would-be assassin by the arms, dragging his bloodied body through the corridor. His mask had been ripped off. His face... young. Too young for hands that moved like death itself.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look afraid. And that made me furious.

They’d tried to kill her.

Athena.

And if I’d been one minute slower—

No. I wasn’t going to think about that.

I pushed the iron door open with a bang. The interrogation chamber was plain—stone, chains, one torch flickering on the wall. I motioned for the guards to shackle him to the back wall.

Then I dismissed them.

He grunted as the manacles clicked into place, but still said nothing. I stared at him from across the room, arms folded.

"You’re brave," I said. "Or stupid."

Nothing.

I stepped closer. "You nearly killed a goddess. That’s not bravery. That’s suicide."

Still, nothing. He watched me with flat eyes, the way snakes watch things they might still bite.

I leaned in.

"But you failed."

He spat at my boots.

I backhanded him across the face.

Hard.

He coughed blood and looked up with a smirk.

"I’ve been tortured before," he said, voice hoarse but steady.

I nodded. "I’m not going to torture you."

That surprised him.

"I’m going to take your silence and turn it into fire," I whispered. "I’m going to burn down every person you ever worked with. Your masters. Your brothers-in-shadow. Your codes and secrets."

I grabbed the chain around his neck and yanked him forward. "Do you think you’re the only one trained for war?"

A flicker of doubt in his eyes. Not fear. Just... calculation.

Good. It meant something I said was getting through.

I let him go. "Who sent you?"

He chuckled, blood coating his teeth. "You wouldn’t believe me."

"Try me."

He looked up at me, eyes gleaming. "The order was signed in silver. Marked with the old moon seal. She’s been betrayed."

The words hit me like a blade through the ribs.

"What do you mean ’old moon seal’?"

His smile widened. "I told you. You won’t believe me."

I wanted to hit him again.

Instead, I turned for the door, muscles coiled, fury boiling in my veins.

If what he said was true... someone from inside the old lunar court—or someone with access to the ancient rites—wanted Athena dead.

And that meant this wasn’t just political.

This was legacy.

This was divine treason.

Athena’s POV (brief transition)

The mirror trembled in its frame as I wiped blood from my arm. My face looked pale. Hollowed. Tired. But not broken.

Kieran will get answers, I thought. And I will get stronger.

But in my gut, something twisted.

The feeling I’d had in the chamber when the blade missed my throat—it hadn’t just been fear.

It had been recognition.

Something... familiar.

It was hunting me.

I paced the length of the chamber, the silver stitching on my robe catching torchlight like it meant something. It didn’t. Not anymore. Symbols didn’t protect you. Names didn’t scare blades away.

I had nearly died.

Not in battle. Not in a storm of divine fire.

No—by a knife in the dark.

And not just any knife.

A moon-marked blade.

Only someone with knowledge of the Lunar Writ could have summoned that kind of weapon. Only someone who had once served me—or the gods above me—could’ve forged it.

The very magic I bled from was being turned against me.

My fists clenched.

I was still bleeding from the cut on my arm.

A knock came at the chamber doors. It was too precise to be a servant.

"Kieran," I said.

He stepped in quietly, the door shutting behind him like a vault sealing us in. His shoulders were stiff, his expression sharper than I’d ever seen it.

"We traced the markings on his blade."

"And?"

"They match the Old Lunar Creed—the symbol used by the Moon Clerics who served under the court, before the fall."

My stomach sank.

I had been worshipped by them once. Protected. Guarded. Revered.

Now they sent blades.

"There’s more," he added. "When pressed... the assassin said the order was delivered in a wax seal etched with your sigil."

"My sigil?"

He nodded.

"They’re using your own legacy against you. Someone wants to undo you in your name."

My knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.

Not a rebellion.

A desecration.

"They’re seriously trying to erase me," I whispered.

Kieran stepped forward, his jaw tight. "There’s something else. I found a scrap of parchment sewn into the lining of his tunic. It wasn’t just an order."

He handed it to me, and I read it aloud, barely breathing.

"Let her blood fall beneath the last moon. Let the wolfless goddess kneel to no star. Let the divine light go out, so the new world may begin."

Treason.

Not just against me—but against everything I stood for.

"Kieran..." I whispered, the parchment trembling in my hands. "They won’t stop."

"Then neither will we."

His voice was steel. Certain.

But I could see it in his eyes—the truth we hadn’t said aloud.

This wasn’t just a mortal enemy. This was a divine insurgency.

My past was bleeding into my present. And my future would be built from its ashes.

The parchment felt heavier than steel as I rolled it between my fingers.

A prayer to erase me. A weapon of faith turned blade.

"Kieran," I said quietly, pacing to the window. The moon was veiled behind thin clouds, as though watching in secrecy.

He stood alert behind me. "Yes?"

"Gather the nobles," I said. "And bring only the most trusted of your soldiers to stand watch."

"You’re calling the court?"

"No." I turned, fire creeping beneath my ribs. "I’m baiting it."

He blinked. "You’re going to draw them out."

"If they want me to fall, they’ll want to see it."

He hesitated. "What if they don’t come to kill you? What if they come for something else?"

"Then we’ll know who they are," I said.

He nodded slowly, but I caught the flicker of fear in his gaze. Not fear of the enemy—but of me. Of what I might do.

That night, the hall was prepared.

Not the throne room—too obvious.

The old sanctuary, tucked behind the eastern garden, forgotten by most.

We dressed it simply: one table, one torch, one chair. I wore white again—fitting, ironic, and bold. Not my goddess robes, but something that still whispered divinity.

I didn’t bring guards. Only Kieran stood nearby, half-shrouded in the shadows. noveldrama

And I waited.

The silence stretched so long it started to fray.

Then they arrived.

Six wolves. Five nobles, and one priest.

I recognized them all. Lords who once bowed to the king, who had so easily shifted loyalty after his fall. They wore regal masks, humility dripping like honey over sharpened teeth.

"My Lady," said Lord Tyvar, the scarred elder with a silver signet on his belt. "You summoned us."

"I did."

They bowed. I didn’t invite them to rise.

I stayed seated, eyes calm, hands folded.

"I wanted to thank you," I said. "For your loyalty during the rebuilding."

They shifted. They hadn’t expected that.

"I know there were... doubts, after the ritual," I added.

Lord Merek—the youngest—swallowed. "We’ve heard rumors, my lady. But nothing more."

"Rumors like what?" I asked sweetly.

He flinched. "That your power—"

"—is waning?"

None answered.

I stood slowly.

"You don’t need to whisper," I said, stepping away from the table. "Let’s speak clearly."

The priest, old and wiry, narrowed his eyes. "If the moon no longer answers you... should you still lead the wolves?"

Silence.

And then I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was finally out.

"I see," I said. "You came to challenge a goddess with torches and pretty words."

Lord Tyvar stepped forward. "We come not with rebellion, but concern. This kingdom bled under your absence once before."

The priest raised his hand. "Perhaps the gods are no longer with us."

The room shifted. A small movement in the far shadows.

Kieran.

Watching, ready.

I stepped toward the priest. "Then test me."

He blinked. "What?"

"You said the gods are gone," I whispered. "Then strike me down if you believe I’ve lost them."

He hesitated.

"Do it," I snapped. "Take your blade and try."

He didn’t move.

"I didn’t think so."

In the hush that followed, Kieran stepped forward from the dark. He dropped a bloodied cloak onto the table.

The nobles flinched.

Lord Merek paled. "What is that?"

"The cloak worn by your assassin," Kieran said calmly. "Found with a note written in your hand, Merek."

Panic rippled across the faces around the room.

"You were sloppy," I told him. "And now you’ll hang."

Lord Merek turned and bolted—only for Kieran to seize him midstep and slam him into the floor.

I watched it happen. Cold. Controlled.

A goddess doesn’t flinch.

Lord Tyvar stepped back. "We didn’t know—"

"Save it," I said. "All of you. Every man in this room will be stripped of command and locked in chains. Until we sort who followed, and who planned."