The first Emperor had been the first to bear the name Warwick, having been granted it by the combined gods and goddesses of the sentient races after he conquered the entire continent, though of course, whoever had created humans kept themselves hidden. There was more to the story, as all respectable noblewomen, and even most respectable noblemen, knew, but this was the only part that Luna cared about right now.
Well, that and one more thing.
Those who bore the name Warwick, aside from there not being a possibility to get that name other than being descended from the Emperor directly, were the strongest among that generation, determined by an annual test.
So if Luna hadn't been clued in by his frame and the way he made her feel as though she could be killed by accident, his name was certainly enough. This of course meant that the face behind the mask he wore would be one of the most exquisite in the world. So then, why was he wearing the mask?
Whatever the reason was, the sight of it had captivated her beyond her ability to admit that it was so in the moment. But now, with where she was, she had to be honest with herself. She had no other recourse.
"Lukas."
The name stirred her tongue without her permission, and she felt its effect in the shiver running through the massive frame supporting her. It was yet another layer of intoxicating, having so much power over him with her voice alone.
Just one more way that this man ran parallel to her childhood dreams.
Something wasn't right here. And until she figured out what it was, she would act... Well, she would act however he wanted her to. Even if it meant losing her virginity.
Luna had never placed much stock in being a virgin. She had never intended to be some noble's prize, so she hadn't ever had to worry about it.
Good time to start worrying, then. When it actually might be endangered. Luna thought sarcastically, withholding a snort.
She just had to figure out what he wanted with her, then figure out what everyone else expected of her, then...
Then she would take on the mysteries of this place. All of them.
Luna had never been the type of gal to leave a stone unturned or a question unanswered. Four of her tutors had quit because she would constantly wake them at night to ask them about something she had been considering, and not everything was completely logical.
Luna's line of thought was brought to a jarring halt when she was unceremoniously dropped onto a soft mattress. Instinctively, she reached up and grabbed Lukas's arm. She already missed his warmth.
She felt a low growl run through her, then the mattress around her shifted.
He was coming.
As soon as his face came into her view, Luna was starstruck.
The perfectly sculpted features could be said to rival even her own beauty in their masculinity, and the deep black hair that fell around her head like a curtain rippled in the gentle wind that passed between her body and his, sliding in the darkness like ink on black slate.
The only light came from the window that she deduced to be above their heads by the way the rays hit his face. She could have looked around and tried to get a feel for the room. That likely would be the smartest thing to do.
But she couldn't.
She told herself that he wouldn't expect her to. That she couldn't fail in her attempt to blend in so soon after setting the goal for herself.
But she just wanted to keep looking at his face.
Every line was sharp, built in an angular way, like a killer, a hunter. He seemed almost like a wolf or snake Beastfolk, the way that his face evoked thoughts of a predator.
Then there were the eyes.
Luna couldn't bring herself to even think of them as his. No mortal could have eyes so profoundly wrong, yet so utterly beautiful.
They were dark, but in them was gold, silver, and moonlight. Like everything she had ever wanted pushed together. To be as free as the moon, to be hidden in darkness, to hunt with arrows of silver and reap golden rewards.
Perfection.
Utter, absolute perfection.
No wonder he covered them.
Not even an arrogant fool would leave eyes like that uncovered.
This was the stuff of legends, myths, like those of a race of shape shifters that refined their bodies over the years, until they were so perfect that to even look up on them caused insanity.
It was like the stories of the first Emperor.
"Who is your father?" Luna found herself saying. She couldn't control it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. But she needed answers.
He could be anyone. Anyone at all. There was no guarantee that it really was him, and if it was, why would he ever come to Alaxia? He was supposed to be gone, campaigning against...
"My father's name was Lukas Warwick."