Beneath a Midnight Moon

Selene sat beside her father, listening to his labored breathing. She offered him a cup of cool water, holding his head while he drank. Months of hiding out, of finding shelter in dank caves, of trying to eke a living out of the barren land of the Mouldourian desert had left him weak and disheartened.

Gently, she lowered him down to the blanket once more. Gently, she covered him. He reached for her hand, his long, thin fingers wrapping around her own, and then he closed his eyes.

Selene glanced at the dismal cave that had been her home for the past six months. Once, she'd lived in luxury. She'd had numerous servants to wait upon her, dresses of the latest fashion, the best victuals and the finest wines the land had to offer.

She stared at the tattered hem of her gown, quietly cursing her uncle Bourke's treachery. When she was again in a position of power, she'd see him drawn and quartered for the misery he had caused her. The swine. He'd had a castle that was as big as Castle Mouldour, servants to do his every bidding, enough wealth to last two lifetimes. He'd been Carrick's chief advisor, heir to the throne, Master of the Treasury. He'd had everything a man could want, except the throne and the power that went with it.

Power. She knew how her uncle felt; she could understand why he had done what he'd done. Almost, she could forgive him for what he'd done. Almost.

Day passed into night and she stayed at her father's side, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He was dying, of that she had no doubt. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Soon she would be free, free to pursue the destiny intended for Carrick's seventh daughter.

She wondered absently what Hardane of Argone looked like, if he was kind or cruel, if the blood of the Wolffan truly flowed in his veins. But none of that mattered. She wanted to share his throne. To bear his children. To know, at last, the security that came from belonging to a man who possessed power and strength and knew how to use both wisely.

She stared down at her father, her expression cold. He had always been a kind man, a fair-minded man, but he had been weak and foolish and it had cost him the throne of Mouldour.

Rising, she cast a last glance at the man who had sired her. There was nothing she could do for him now. It was time to look forward, time to go to Castle Argone and claim the prize that she had coveted for as long as she could remember.