By the Light of the Moon by Laila Blake Page B

clearly overestimating her charms or her looks … how could I like such a creature?”
    Iris nodded; she hadn’t met the girl yet, only seen her from afar once or twice. It wasn’t her place to judge, she knew.
    “And therein lies the issue, my liege,” she finally answered with grave gentleness in her voice. “A potion might make her yours, but you won’t feel like you truly conquered her. It is as if you went out for a wild and trying hunt but after the first missed shot, someone handed you a dead stag for you to take home and with which to display your hunting prowess. Wouldn’t the praise sound dull, wouldn’t the meat taste stale in your mouth?”
    Deagan clearly did not like this advice; his face made that unequivocally apparent but neither did he speak up or disparage her. Instead, he mulled it over, grunted out a sigh and then went back to the table to refill his glass. This time, he gulped the wine down again. By now, his cheeks were a little redder than before and he plopped down on a chair in a manner slightly less gracefully than he usually would.
    Iris, for her part, did not move. She did not even watch her benefactor and just stood there, waiting for him to mull the situation over, to reach a conclusion by himself. She had not lied to her mother — she didn’t have any feelings for the girl. A spoilt young lady, Moira did not feel like a sister — she did not look like one, nor were they connected by memories or duty. And still, the idea of poisoning her — forcing her affections towards Deagan — made her stomach crawl. He did, in the end, even though the shift from anger to a defeated expression worried her a little.
    “So what do you suggest?” he asked, smacked his hand onto his thigh harder than he’d intended to do and then took another deep sip of his wine.
    “If it pleases you, sir, I would ask you what happened exactly this afternoon. And together we will find a way to change the next encounter. I can mingle with the staff; ask about her — her interests, her desires, her dreams. You will hunt her down, sir, I have no doubt about that.”
    Deagan allowed himself a small smile and Iris returned the gesture. She didn’t yet know how, but for a little while longer, she knew she could assuage his impatience.

Chapter Seven
    The hard wood at the edge of her bed-frame was digging into the back of Moira’s thighs. She didn’t move, though. She just stared ahead at the opposite wall, her concentration fixed on breathing. In and out. In and out.
    There was a deep exhaustion in her bones and her flesh and her heart that had nothing to do with whether she would be able to sleep. And, day by day, it was getting harder to withstand its pull, like tentacles seeking their aim and pulling her down into the depths. Moira was afraid of that place, had spent her whole life afraid of it, or so she thought. That place was dark and she didn’t know if a person could come back from it. She had seen madness before — true madness — and she knew she was always dancing on the balance.
    Her back was turned on the open windows where a beautiful harvest moon was rising over the forested mountains. It was large, with that typical orange cast of autumn and it was hard not to look. Moira had always loved the moon, her silent companion when she couldn’t stand the human ones anymore. It felt to her like she had spent years on that windowsill, staring up at the moon. It was beautiful, but apart from that, it was the sentinel of softer times. When the moon was high in the sky, the castle was quiet and Moira could breathe more easily. And the moon never judged her for it, never commented. The moon just hung in the sky, comforting.
    That night, however, she was facing away from it. Couldn’t look at its warm, orange face and its slow ascent across the firmament. It would be too tempting, would make sitting inside near unbearable. She wanted to be out there, in the fields and by the river, out there where the moon