I Am The Luna Queen

-Meeting The King

The sound of the door opening nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. My heart jumped to my throat, and I almost screamed—until I realized it was just the women again.

Only this time, they weren't empty-handed.

Each carried something—a tray stacked with the richest food I’d ever seen, and several glossy boxes tied with gold ribbons. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread hit me, warm and buttery, so real it made my stomach twist painfully.

But did I look like I had an appetite right now?

“Your Majesty,” the eldest woman said softly, setting the tray on the table. “We’ve brought your meal, and your nightgowns. You are to choose one for tonight.”

“Nightgowns?” I repeated, blinking. “For what?”

Her eyes flicked to the others before meeting mine again. “For the King,” she said. “You’ll be meeting him tonight. Did you forget already?”

My stomach dropped. “Meeting him?” My voice cracked. “As in—tonight? Like tonight tonight?”

“Yes, my Queen. We’ll help you prepare when it’s time.”

Prepare. As if I were some offering being dressed for sacrifice.

Before I could say another word, they bowed low and slipped out of the room, silent as ghosts.

I stared at the boxes. Then at the food.

My brain screamed don’t eat it. But my stomach growled loud enough to echo.

I sighed. “Fine. If this is a dream, at least it’s a dream with nice food.”

The first bite hit my tongue, and I nearly moaned. Whatever this was—chicken? heaven?—it melted in my mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I was scraping the plate clean.

And then, like the idiot I apparently was, I turned to the boxes.

The first one popped open with a click—and I froze.

Inside was silk. Black, thin, and scandalous enough to make a stripper blush. My face burned.

“What the actual hell is this?”

I opened the second box. Worse. The third—don’t even ask. By the fifth, I was staring at a pile of lace and regret.

They expected me to wear this… for a man who hates his queen?

I kicked the boxes off the bed and flopped backward, staring at the ceiling. “This is insane. Completely insane.”

I didn’t know when I drifted off, but the next thing I heard was a knock.

I shot upright, breath catching.

“Come in,” I said, trying to sound brave.

The women entered again, the eldest speaking first. “It’s time, my Queen.”

My throat went dry. “Time for what?”

“To prepare you,” she said simply.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. I stumbled to my feet, my mind spinning. I wanted to run, scream, anything—but instead, I found myself walking to the bathroom as they instructed.

The moment the water hit my skin, I wished I could drown in it. The steam filled the air, warm and heavy, and I pressed my hands to my face. This was really happening.

My first time. With a stranger.

A king who didn’t even want me.

I wanted to cry—but no. No.

I was Hazel Truman. And Hazel Truman did not cower.

When I stepped out, they were waiting with towels, perfume, and lotions that smelled like money. Their hands worked fast—rubbing oil into my skin, twisting my hair into something soft and elegant. Every second felt heavier, like I was being wrapped in fear.

“Perfect,” the eldest woman whispered as she tied the sash of my robe. “You look beautiful, my Queen. The King won’t be able to resist you.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. What a joy.”

They didn’t catch the sarcasm—or pretended not to.

When they finally led me through the hallways, I tried to focus on breathing. The palace was even larger than I expected, with endless corridors. The scent of burning candles and fresh roses filled the air.

My heart thudded in time with my footsteps.

Then we stopped.

Before me stood two tall brown doors—each carved with the head of a wolf. Its eyes seemed to glint in the dim light, almost alive.

“The King is waiting,” the eldest said quietly.

The guards stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

My pulse roared in my ears.

I swallowed hard and stepped inside.

The doors shut behind me with a deep, echoing thud.

The room was dim—candles flickered in corners, casting golden shadows over the walls. The air smelled like roses and something darker I couldn’t name.

Then I saw him.

A tall man stood by the window, his back to me.

Bare from the waist up. Only dark pants hung low on his hips. His hands rested in his pockets, shoulders broad and tense, muscles shifting with every breath.

For a moment, I just… stared.

The air between us was thick—like even the silence had weight.

Then, slowly, he turned.

And my world tilted.

The breath left my lungs in one violent rush. My body went still, completely frozen.

Because standing there—bathed in candlelight, eyes sharp and familiar—was a face I knew.

A face I could never mistake.

My voice came out in a whisper, barely audible.

“Professor…Nicholas?”