I Am The Luna Queen

I went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.

One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn’t. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don’t remember, and the King I’m bound to doesn’t love me—he loathes me.

They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.

Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.

I am not her.

And if this King thinks I’ll kneel, he’s about to learn what a true Queen is made of.

-Waking Up a Queen

Hazel’s Pov

I went to sleep in my dorm room.

That much I’m sure of.

My last memory is the soft hum of the radiator, the faint glow of my laptop screen casting blue across the walls, and the quiet chaos of half-finished notes scattered on my desk. I remember setting my alarm, curling under my blanket, and letting exhaustion finally drag me under.

But when I woke up…

It wasn’t my ceiling I stared at.

The air was heavy, thick with the scent of smoke and herbs, something cloying and strange. A chill pressed into my skin, though the surface beneath me was warm—too warm, like I was lying on silk sheets pulled from a fever dream. My eyes fluttered, my chest heaved, and the sound hit me first.

Crying.

Dozens of soft, choked sobs echoing around me, broken only by frantic whispers.

“My Queen—please, please open your eyes—”

“She’s breathing—oh, Moon Goddess, she’s breathing!”

“Call the doctor, now! Hurry!”

My eyes shot open, a gasp tearing through my throat.

The noise stopped instantly.

A cluster of women knelt around me, dressed in maids uniform. Faces blotched with tears, hands pressed together in prayer or desperation. Their eyes, wide and gleaming, fixed on me as if I were some miracle risen from the dead.

“Your Majesty,” one whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re awake.”

I sat up too fast, my head swimming. “What the hell—”

But the voice that came out of my mouth sounded strange.

It was higher. Softer. Wrong.

My hands trembled as I lifted them, staring at pale, delicate fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails painted blood-red. My gaze slid lower—to the silken dress draped across my body, the neckline dipping scandalously low.

“What the fuck…” The whisper scraped past my lips.

The women surrounding me exchanged alarmed glances, but none corrected me. Instead, they shuffled closer, like moths drawn to a flame.

“Do you need water, my Queen?” one asked, her trembling hands already reaching for a crystal glass from the bedside table.

“My Queen.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Our Queen.”