For twelve years, Lunafreya dreams.
She dreams of a king. It may never be the same dream, but it is always the same king. His attire is heavy and dark, more wood than cloth. As though carved from ebony. And his flesh is white granite. Solid, elegant, and veined in silver. The king wears no gold. There is silver in his hair and silver in his eyes. In his teeth and along the line of his jaw. Silver in the ornaments on his hands. But he wears no gold.
He does not need to.
There is gold in his blood. It is just as red her own, she knows. But light knows better than the human eye. And if it were ever to be spilled, it would pull gold out of that muddy colour.
Lunafreya knows this because she knows that he has swallowed a sun. And she knows this because she has seen it bleed its radiance out from inside him.
She has seen it emerge along the edge of his lower eyelid. In the bend of his knee. Every joint in his hands. Has seen its glow in the sweep of his arms around his son. Watched as sunlight pushed against the solid things of his being and further.
Lunafreya dreams of his son. A child prince woven from moonlight. His is the face of the moon. Not hers, she knows, despite her name. His is a face that changes. A shadow moving across it, and back again. At first, Lunafreya thought she saw this shadow in his hair. How his bangs dripped down and meshed with his dark eyelashes. But she found it elsewhere. In the way his smile waned and waxed. And waned again. And in how his eyelids shut under the weight of shadows she could not yet see.
Now, she believes she sees them too.
In her dreams, the prince does not age. He is the same age as when he first came to Tenebrae; the same age as when he left. She wonders how he is. Hopes that, in their time apart, his smile has become an easier thing to keep. Knows that, in her dreams, the world rotates and casts its shadow across him. And casts his smile even further from him.
For twelve years, Lunafreya has dreamed of a king. As has Ravus. But he dreams of false kings. Monarchs formed by blood, lent solidity by want. By need. Their bones but splinters of memories. Ravus does not tell her this. He does not need to. She can see the shadows of these kings in his face. Hears echoes of their voices in the terseness of his own; in the brevity of his words to her. He is desperate. To this day, it makes her shiver to see him so starved for sunlight.
When he was younger and not so hungry, Ravus might have seen what she saw. He might have looked upon that man and known him to be a true king. Perhaps even glimpsed light along the curve of his brow, or in the shape of his smile. But now all Ravus sees are their backs. Hers when she had made to run with the king and his son. Their mother's run through. Maybe he still dreams of that day. Lunafreya knows that she does. But she knows that there is nothing she can do for him.
That does not mean she does not try. But he only narrows his eyes at her. Furrows his brow. Lowers his lips in contempt and pauses. As though trying to find the words. Or hold them back. She can see the flames there between his teeth. Can almost feel their heat. And she knows what he dreams of.
Lunafreya dreams of a planet locked in orbit. There are other worlds and pieces of worlds that move with her. But they never touch. Shards of old planets burn up when they come too close to her skin. But under her skin, things live. They are organisms designed for survival. Their destiny is bred into their bodies. Only, something seizes them. Something that defies design. Defies destiny. These organisms turn and stretch toward the sun. And she wakes with a tear in each eye.
A tear builds in her eye now. Today has changed everything. Just as completely as that day had. Now she stands in his throne room. Raises her eyes up the wide staircase. And does not find a king sitting on the throne.
Lunafreya sees a man. It must be a man. Knows it by the way his eyes hold moisture like her own. Like any other human eye does.
In this moment, she can feel a shard of a planet in her eye. Feels it burn. But not completely. A part of it drops to the planet in her mind. And when she touches it, she sees what dreaming does. What time, distance and need does. How destiny sees children fashion saviours from nothing but the weight of shadows and the ashes of a memory. The salt in her eye burns. Her build feels almost hollow. And the ceiling seems so very far away.
Looking out over the curve of a welling tear, Lunafreya sees the gold of his metallic leg brace. And she knows now that he has never swallowed a sun. He is mortal. But she can see the sun in his bones. Feel its warmth. Knows what it is.
For the first time in twelve years, her smile is easy.