Twilight of the Gods

by Heywhatever45

Summary:

The language she spoke was foreign to him and nothing like he’d ever heard before. With her coloring and pretty features, he would have assumed the Spring Court, but perhaps she was from the continent?
“Enough,” Nyx ordered, in a tone he hoped conveyed his meaning.
It seemed to, as the female paused, tilting her head to the side like a predator inspecting her prey.
She said something quietly in her language.
He didn’t reply, instead going for her mind. Her shields were impressive, yet seemed rudimentary, as if she’d never actually practiced against a daemanti.
Her green eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, but before she could respond, Nyx had knocked her out.
She slumped into his arms, eyes fluttering slightly.

----

Evalin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius had been born with a crown waiting for her, yet the weight of it pressed heavier with every passing year. The court saw only the queen she was meant to become, but in the quiet hours, when the halls of Orynth fell silent, a restless whisper curled through her chest. A promise. That her destiny was not her mother’s.

Then she falls into another world and she begin to feel a strange connection with the male who found her.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

For the first time in her life, Evalin Galathynius dreaded the Summer Solstice. She found herself unable to picture the dazzling dresses she would wear, to salivate at the thought of sweet almond cakes and spiced wine, or to lose herself in daydreams of dancing under golden fireworks. Every time she tried, a single nagging thought invaded her mind: this Solstice would not just be a celebration of summer or her 117th birthday. It would also be the day that Evalin was expected to choose an eligible suitor.

Her parents had promised her that if she found everyone so distasteful that she couldn't bear to be in the same room with them, she could postpone marriage for another year. They wouldn’t force her into a union, after all. The male she chose would be the future consort of Terrasen, and such a position could not be decided lightly. However, Evalin was aware that the lord's council's patience and that of her people were wearing thin. Some Fae had returned to Terrasen after the war over a century ago, but many of her citizens remained human and wanted to see her wed, securing the throne before they passed away.

Her mother had invited every notable lord, warrior, and prince to the palace for the week-long celebrations. With each passing day, more guests arrived, filling the streets of Orynth with long processions of gilded carriages, sleek horses, and extensive entourages. Even the minor lords seemed to have brought along their entire households—families, servants, pets, and personal guards.
Of course, it was all for show. Each noble wished to display their wealth, power, and importance, all while dreading going unnoticed.

Thankfully, Evalin could observe this spectacle from the safety of her window and was not expected to greet them at the gates—an honor reserved solely for royalty. All the foreign royals would not arrive until later in the day. Normally, she would not miss the chance to dress up and dazzle the crowds; after all, it was her duty as a princess to be an object of fascination. But today, she barely had the energy to watch.

“I heard a rumor that Lord Corbin is incredibly handsome, which is why he spends so little time at court. He is suffocated by all the ladies eager to marry him,” Elentiya announced confidently. Despite being only eight years old, Evalin’s youngest sister was a force of nature. Their father often remarked that Ellie was too much like their mother.

“I’m sure that is an exaggeration,” Lyria replied gently, in her usual placating manner. Lyria was one of the few people who could calm Elentiya when she grew upset or excited, and she had that effect on everyone. Their mother often wondered how someone so gentle and kind had ended up being born into their family.

Elentiya huffed, crossing her arms over her chest before dropping them and rushing over to Evalin, eager to peer out the window. Evalin shifted to make space for her little sister, already tired of looking outside.

Lyria sat on the floor, her pale green skirts arranged around her, offering Evalin a small smile of solidarity and support.

“I heard that Lord Corbin is so ugly he can’t bear to leave his estate and face the ridicule that follows him everywhere,” Dalia chimed in, their Ashryver cousin and a notorious gossip who often indulged Elentiya in such talk.

“I heard that he was so plain and uninteresting that no one ever remembered to invite him anywhere,” Evalin replied. She’d heard nothing of the sort, but she also wanted to end the discussion before Dalia began listing the qualities that would make him a good match.

She didn’t want to know about his grace while dancing or skill during the hunt, she wanted him to go home. She wanted them all to go home so she could enjoy her birthday in peace.

“There are so many people,” Ellie exclaimed. “Look at Lord Crest! He’s brought so many servants they fill up three carts! And Lord Andus seems to have transported his entire wardrobe. Oh– is that an
Asterion mare Lord Knox is riding? How fine it is!”

Evalin attempted to block out her sister's excited ramblings. She needed a distraction, but unfortunately, her usual choices for companionship all seemed entranced by the suitors. Even Lyria, who cared little for any sort of court affairs, had dragged herself from her gardens to bear witness. She wished she could mount her own Asterion mare, Roswell, but her absence would be noted and missed. Evalin had sworn to her parents she would not ride off into the sunset today, and even if she wanted to, she guessed that the stable hands were given strict instructions not to let her. They might not have forced her to marry, but her parents refused to allow her to not even try.

Evalin was the future queen, and future queens did not simply up and leave when duty called.

The life of a princess was one to envy, but it came with its sacrifices. Her life was not entirely in her own hands, and it never would be. For the sake of her people and her country, it never could be. Evalin watched her mother struggle with this for a long time. Aelin Galathynius’s first instinct was to take matters into her own hands, but as a Queen, she could not. Her life was too precious, too vital to the state of the world to be risked on a whim.

“What are you wearing to dinner, Lyria?” Dalia asked, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her head in her hands.

Lyria glanced up to the ginormous four-poster bed Dalia currently occupied. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Dalia raised an eyebrow. “Tonight is the start of the biggest event of the century! How do you not know?” There was an exasperation in Dalia’s tone that was common when she talked with Lyria. The two were best friends and confidants, yet they couldn’t be more different. Dalia adored life at court. The dresses and dancing and gossip were of utmost importance to her. Lyria barely noticed any of it, stuck in her world. She often spent her days in the garden. Not the grand gardens with their sculpted topiaries and blooming rose bushes, but the small one outside the kitchens, which was little more than a wild patch of flowers left unattended by the staff and trampled on by the servant’s children who played there.

“Some of us don’t even get to come,” Elentiya pouted, turning her attention back to her sisters and cousin.

The three older girls shared a look. At eight, Ellie was too young to participate in court events, especially formal, hours-long dinners. This was a fact she mopped about endlessly.

“Don’t worry,” Evalin said, “the dinner will be boring, and the only good thing will be the food, which you’ll get to eat anyway.”

“In my nursery. With Gavriel, who eats like a pig.”

“Ress will have arrived by that time too,” Dalia pointed out.

“Even worse. He’s boring.”

“You’re a very tough critic,” Evalin murmured, reaching to smooth down Ellie’s blonde hair, twin
to her own.

She shook away the touch. “I’m honest.”

Evalin bit back a giggle, and by the look of it, so did Dalia. Lyria’s face had returned to her default expression, a far-off look that was both whimsical and slightly unsettling.

“Don’t be too upset; you’ll get to come to the wedding, Ellie, and that is far more important than the celebrations this week,” Dalia pointed out.

Evalin barely managed not to flinch at the word wedding. Oh gods, what had she gotten herself into? She promised herself she would do anything for Terrasen, marriage included. She told herself that when the time came, she would commit to finding a husband with the same determination as she did in all her duties. Yet, she hesitated. The thing that was once so far away was now just a few days away. By the end of the week, by the time she turned 118, everyone expected her to be engaged.

“Have you decided who to marry yet, Eva?” Ellie asked, scooting closer and peering up at Evalin with her big blue eyes.

“I haven’t even met them yet,” Evalin replied diplomatically.

“Yes, you have,” Dalia said. “You must have met them all over the years.”

“Yes, but I haven’t met them intending to marry them. It’s different.”

“None of them have ever sparked your interest?”

“No.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Evalin had noted who was charming, handsome, or a particularly skilled dance partner over the years. She had favorites whom she preferred to spend her time with at such functions as feasts and balls, but never had she seriously considered marriage with any of them.

“What of Damian?” Lyria inquired suddenly, turning to face the group.

Evalin blinked, unsure of what to say. Damian–

“Oh yes! I heard he was the favored pick!”

Evalin whipped around to face Dalia. “Favored by who?”

Dalia stared at her with wide eyes and shrugged. “By everyone. All the lords of the council, all the Lords in Adarlan. I heard that even ordinary people support the match. Bards have already begun writing songs—”

She raised her hand, cutting her cousin off.

Surprisingly and unfortunately, Lyria continued where Dalia stopped. “You and Damian are so distantly related it wouldn’t be an issue, but at the same time, it would represent the rejoining of a great and powerful bloodline. You could unite Adarlan, the Wastes, and Terrasen permanently.”

Lyria did not speak with the same excitement as Dalia did; she spoke as if this were a fact, plain and simple.

“Since when do you pay attention to what lords say?” Evalin demanded.

Lyria shrugged. “I don’t. I overheard the cooks discussing it.”

Great. So everyone knew of this, except for her. In theory, it was a good match. Damian and her were the heirs to their respective kingdoms, and a marriage between them could create something great. Something unstoppable. But it felt wrong. Evalin had known Damian since childhood, and if there would ever be something more than friendship between them, wouldn’t she have felt it by now?

There was nothing particular about him that made her feel this way. It was just… he was so…intense in a way she disliked. His blood-drinking mother, who Evalin adored, had raised him as ruthlessly as all Ironteeth witches were raised. And his father had trained him endlessly on how to harness that world-ending gift he possessed in his blood. He was a witch and a valg, a mix of two of the most brutal, heartless, cold-blooded creatures to ever exist. There was a wildness to him, like something barely contained crawled under his skin. Evalin didn’t look at him and see stability for her and her people. She saw a marriage that would constantly be in turmoil, neither being able to ground the other.

“He’s so handsome,” Ellie sighed dreamily.

“They say he’s the most handsome male alive. A face that could launch a thousand ships.” Dalia giggled at her own reference to an age-old tale.

“Don’t tell him that. You’ll just feed his ego,” Evalin murmured.

“When are they coming anyways? Aunt Manon promised to take me on a ride,” Ellie quipped.

Before anyone could answer, a knock sounded on the door to Evalin’s bedchamber.

“Come in,” Evalin called, hoping whoever it was would bring news of something other than the Solstice.

Unfortunately, it seems her wishes would be unanswered as her mother swept into the room followed by dozens of maids and seamstresses.

The Queen inspected the group of girls with a raised eyebrow, clearly wondering why they’d chosen to seclude themselves when usually they would all be running about like they were mad.
“I’m glad to have found you all. Dalia, your mother is looking for you. She’s in your family's suite. And Lyria and Elentiya, your father wishes to speak to you. He’s in his office.”

Dalia got up first, skipping over to where the Queen was, curtsying, then giving her a kiss on each cheek. Evalin’s mother smiled at her niece and Dalia was on her way out, throwing a conspiratorial wink at Evalin over her shoulder.

Evalin tried not to let her misery show.

Lyria stood up, scooping a blabbing Elentiya into her arms. “What does daddy want? Has he decided I can go to dinner tonight? Mama what did he say?”

“I don’t know, my sweet girl,” their mother replied, brushing a hand on Elentiya’s cheek. The two females were remarkably similar in attitude and in looks. They shared the Ashryver blonde hair and blue eyes, and were practically twins. Lyria nodded at their mother and their mother nodded back, a secret understanding passing between them. Evalin never understood how her mother always knew what her sister meant with her looks. Even after all these years of having a sister, she still didn’t understand much about Lyria. They were too different, too at odds with one another.
Once Evalin was alone with her mother, the maids, and the seamstresses, her mother began ordering everyone around.

“Put that there and be careful please there isn’t much time.”

Evalin raised an eyebrow, “not much time for what?” She knew the answer of course.

Her mother sighed, “The retinue from Antica, which Wendlyn will follow, then, of course, your father’s cousins, and then Adarlan.”
Immediately she thought of what Lyria had said. Was she really expected to propose to Damian? Was unity between Terrasen and Adarlan that important? They were already the best of allies, why was a marriage needed?

If her mother could sense the direction of her thoughts, she did not let on. Instead instructing Evalin to allow the seamstresses to fit her into her dress. And so Evalin obeyed, allowing them to stuff her into emerald silk. She loved this dress and had it commissioned for this occasion before she realized what was expected of her. Now she hates it. The layers of fabric that once felt elegant were suffocating her. She refused to allow her turmoil to show on her face. She was the Crown Princess, her duty to her people came before all else, this was nothing.

Except it wasn’t nothing. After this week her life would completely and forever change.
What it meant to be Queen never bothered Evalin before. She happily attended the balls and parties, eagerly indulged in the luxurious court around her, she even, begrudgingly, attended every meeting asked of her. She knew getting married and having heirs would happen eventually and she never put much thought into it. So why was she now hesitating? Why did she feel so trapped?

Evalin tried to wince as the maids began twisting and pinning her hair up into one of her favored intricate updos. Someone brought in a gold and diamond necklace. It felt like a collar as it went around her neck.

Maybe she wasn’t fit for this life. This was not a new thought for Evalin, as she often felt this way. When she got a bit too drunk, and received disapproving looks from members of the Lords council. When she wore a gown too bright and glittery, and the ladies would titter about how un-regal she was. When she rode Roswell for hours on end, coming back with mussed hair and flushed cheeks, servants would murmur about how she was nowhere near as queenly as her mother was. When she felt the all-consuming desire to run far far away and never come back, to explore the far corners of the continent and every other place she would never be allowed to go. There were nights when Evalin sat in bed and stared out at the stars, dreaming of being anyone else. Of being as free as the fat bluebirds who sat outside her window each night and flew away every morning. Oh, how she sometimes just wanted to fly away.

So lost in her own thoughts, Evalin didn’t realize her mother had sent everyone from the room until the Queen sat down right next to her, taking Evalin’s hand in hers.

She blinked at her mother and tried to remember the last time they’d held hands like this. Once upon a time, the duo had been incredibly close to one another. Then Evalin grew up and so did her mother’s expectations of her. Aelin loved her children, but she also loved the kingdom she fought so fiercely for. Not just anyone could inherit Terrasen. Evalin understood this, and yet the fear remained that she would never, could never be good enough to live up to her mother’s legacy, or her expectations.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” her mother said softly, a sadness in her eyes. Evalin blinked again. Her mother was never sad, never soft. She was a pillar of strength for everyone, unbreakable and unmovable.

“I want what is best for Terrasen.” Evalin felt the defensiveness rise in her. She could be as worthy of the throne as her mother.

Her mother cupped her face, “I know, fireheart. But–”

Evalin tore away. “What? But What?”

The Queen straightened, raising an eyebrow in challenge at her daughter’s antics. “We do what we must for our people, but we still have our own desires underneath our duty to Terrasen. It is not something to be ashamed of.”

Evalin stood abruptly. It was something to be ashamed of. Her mother had given everything for Terrasen, for their family. She would never understand if Evalin told her that sometimes all she wished was to run away. Aelin Galathynius had never run.

Her mother rose as well, something flaring in her eyes, but before she could say anything, Evalin demanded, “Leave, please, I wish to be alone.”

The Queen stiffened and their eyes met. Fire against fire. Mother against Daughter. One thing they both shared was a temper.

Evalin refused to back down. Not now, not about this. Her mother acknowledged this line in the sand with a nod, her eyes softening. “Alright….just don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.”

Her mother left and Evalin remembered what she swore to herself. She could do this, she would do this.

Evalin’s gaze drifted towards her window again.

—-

The delegate from Antica was as dazzling as one could expect. Golden and silver palanquins filled the streets of Orynth, each carrying a lord or an ambassador, and each escorted by four armored soldiers.

The entirety of Terrasan’s court had come to greet Prince Khalil and his younger sister, Princess Nesryn. As the heir to the throne, Evalin was stationed beside her parents, who were centered to the grand carved doors of the palace. On her parent’s otherside was Sam and Rhoe, and beside her were Lyria and Elentiya. Lysandra, Dalia, and Gavriel were close behind. And behind them were other important members of the court.

Everyone wore their best outfits and most gaudy jewels. Everyone wanted to impress, especially the other young females. Anyone who Evalin didn’t choose was fair game. Even Dalia got swept up in it all, giggling in Lyria’s ear about all the males she’d dance with.

The first of the palaquins arrived at the gates, and one of her mother’s soldiers stepped forward, announcing the young royals.

Prince Khalil emerged first, dressed in a golden jacket. He was as handsome as Evalin remembered him to be. Dark hair, golden brown skin, and onyx eyes paired with a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a regal stature that made him look like a knight from a story. When he smiled at them, Evalin swore she heard gasps and swoons.

The Prince reached behind him as a delicate hand emerged from the palanquin. Princess Nesryn was a striking female, and while she had the same features as her brother, they were softened, more feminine. Her luscious hair was pulled into an intricate updo of curls and pins, while her gown, the same gold as her brothers, was long with dramatic flowing sleeves that were fashionable down south.

After this visit, Evalin was certain they would become the fashion in the North as well. Indeed, the ladies of the court were already staring at it enviously as the Prince and Princess walked up the sparkling white steps.

They bowed in perfect sync with one another as they approached Evalin’s mother and father.

“Your majesty,” Prince Khalil said, a sparkle in his dark eyes, “thank you for welcoming us to your kingdom.”

“We are most excited to attend your famed summer solstice celebrations,” Princess Nesryn quipped.

“And we are most excited to have you here,” her mother responded graciously.

“Your highness,” Khalil said, turning his attention to Evalin’s father.

“Prince Khalil, it is an honor to have you,” her father replied, barely masking his boredom at the odious procession. Khalil then turned his attention onto Rhoe and Sam, who eagerly engaged in the conversation. Nesryn’s eyes found Evalin’s and she smiled, walking over and curtseying. Evalin curtsied back.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess,” Nesryn murmured.

“And you as well. I’ve heard so much about you from your brother,” Evalin replied.

She raised an eyebrow, “have you know? Should I be scared of what he said?”

Evalin laughed easily, “No. He only praised your sharp wit and beauty. He said you were the rose of the South.”

Nesryn laughed as well, and Evalin looked at the female a bit closer. She looked remarkably like her great grandmother, for who she had been named. Neith’s arrow, they had called the late Empress. While the princess’s intelligence and pretty face had been mentioned by every ambassador, lord, or soldier who came from Antica, no one ever mentioned if she too partaken in archery, or any sort of training.

Evalin remembered visiting Antica once when she was young. Sam hadn’t been born yet, so it was just her, Damian, Josefine, Torin, and Marion. Nesryn and Sartaq had reigned over the golden court at the time, hailing in a post-war golden age for the empire. She’d spent the entire visit gouging herself with southern delicacies and dancing at nightly balls. For the trip, Evalin received an entire new wardrobe, and everyday she wore a new dress.

Josefine was too busy with her mother working at the Torre, and Damian and Torin spent most of their time training with the elite southern soldiers, when they weren't finding females to sneak away with, so it had been her and Marion walking around the city. They’d been followed by a retinue of guards and guides, and only been allowed in the safest, most affluent parts, but it had still been an adventure. They’d even managed to sneak away at one point, much to Evalin’s delight and Marion’s chagrin. Those moments of freedom she’d gotten running under the stars through Antica’s market district…they were some of her most cherished memories.

Of course, the pair was caught soon enough, and we're never let out of the palace for the rest of the trip. Evalin recalled her father’s quiet fury, his long, scolding lecture about remaining safe. She remembered the guilt she felt as Marion’s parents scolded her for something she had told Evalin not to do. She remembered her mother’s disappointment. At the end of the day, she couldn’t decide if it was worth it or not. By sneaking out, Evalin had perhaps experienced the most exciting and fun day of her life, but it came with the knowledge she’d upset her parents, disappointed them, angered them.

She also remembered feeling a keen sense of jealousy as Damian left every night to go drinking at taverns with Mala knows who. His parents never said a word, besides the occasional amused quip when their son came to breakfast disheveled and hungover.

They were the same age, sixteen, and yet Damian could do whatever he pleased. He too had a kingdom to inherit. In fact, he had two of them.
As if reading her thoughts, Nesryn asked, “you have visited Antica before, yes? During the reign of my great grandfather?”
“I did. I enjoyed myself greatly. Your city is a wonder, Princess Nesryn.”

“It is,” She agreed, “but Orynth is beautiful. The mountains are breathtaking, nowhere down South is so green.”
They both laughed politely.

Wendlyn came soon after, and Evalin greeted her distant cousins with the affection expected from her. She did enjoy their company, but she was finding this more grating than she usually did. A headache was beginning to form at her temples.

As delegation after delegation came, Evalin knew her feelings were shared by everyone else. No one wished to stand outside in the hot sun anymore, not even for a chance to court a prince. Not even the most galant displays of wealth brought more than polite interest as the minutes ticked by, although Evalin appreciated all the unique fashions the females were wearing. She needed to go shopping.

That’s when a shadow swept over the palace. Then another. Then another. It seems Adarlan had arrived.

Gasps rang out as Elentiya excitedly pointed at the sky and shouted, “over there!”

Evalin followed her sister’s gaze, eyes widening slightly at seeing the wyverns. Even after all these years, they never ceased to amaze her. Scales of blue, gray, and black shimmered under the sun, creating a kaleidoscope of colors over the white stone.

Underneath the wyverns and their riders, the rest of Adarlan’s court rode in a grand procession of carriages and soldiers through the gates of the city. Like the others, Adarlan spared no expense. But Evalin supposed that their budget was much bigger in the first place. The kingdom had gotten rich off conquest, and after the war, they’d gotten rich through trade. They controlled a number of essential sea ports, and through Dorian’s marriage to Manon, the entire mountain range that connected them to the east. The King also had a commitment to the arts and culture, having invited and hosted the best warriors, poets, painters, sculptors, scholars, and lords over the past century. He turned Adarlan into a center of knowledge and power, rebuilding its capital from the ground up to rival Doranelle and Antica.

“Where do you think they’re going to land?” Gavriel asked.

“Good question,” Sam muttered.

“I’m sure the High Queen planned accordingly,” Her mother said with a wave.

“I’m sure she did.” Her father frowned disapprovingly.

The wyverns flew closer and Evalin was able to recognize a few of the females, and the single male, who rode the creatures.

The first of the wyverns, Abraxos, flew at the head of the formation, Damian’s wyvern, Achilleos, close behind.

The High Queen and her retinue did not seem to slow down as they approached the gathered court. Nobles began to murmur, then panic, then rush out of the way, running for cover. The only who remained standing where Evalin’s own family. Although her father very subtly put himself in front of her mother, while Sam leaned over and grabbed Elentiya. Probably a good idea considering that the wind produced from the wyvern’s beating wings was enough to almost cause Evalin to stumble.

As Manon landed in the center of the courtyard, her son followed suit. The rest of the riders landed on the guard towers and walls that surrounded the palace.

High Queen Manon was as beautiful as ever, her long moon white hair braided back revealing the sharp and ethereal angles of her face and her amber eyes. She wore her usual scaled leathers and red cloak, windcleaver strapped to her back. The Queen gracefully slid off Abraxos. The fleeing nobles cautiously returned, too curious for their own good.

Evalin beamed at the Queen and then at Abraxos. The late afternoon sun shone through his wings as he stretched out. She always wondered what it would be like to fly. Manon had taken her many times, but Evalin wanted to know what it would be like to fly herself. Like a wyvern, or a falcon.

Unlike her father and brothers, she could not shift into a bird. Her shifter form was a deer. A true Galathynius, they said when her skill was revealed to the court. Evalin had protested she did not want to be a true Galathynius, she wanted to fly like her father did.

“And you say I’m dramatic,” Evalin’s mother laughed.

Manon smiled viciously, “I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

The two females embraced before Manon turned to Evalin, her smile replaced by her usual cold expression.
Evalin curtsied, “your majesty, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Terrasen.”

“I’m happy to be here, witchling.” Evalin beamed at the term of endearment the Queen used.

“Can I ride Abraxos now?” Ellie asked, peering at the High Queen with big eyes.

“Maybe tomorrow,” their father interjected before Manon could reply.

Ellie pouted, but was quickly distracted by Rhoe, who leaned down to whisper something in her ear that had her grinning. She then turned around, and squealed.
Evalin followed her sister's gaze once more to see what she was so excited about.

Damian had dismounted Achilleos and was walking towards the gathered royals. He really was attractive. His black curls were just long enough to fall into his golden eyes in a way that made females swoon. And as he walked, Evalin swore she heard them doing just that.

He bowed his head to the group before flashing them a perfect smile. Too perfect, Evalin thought to herself.

Behind him, the rest of Adarlan’s court approached. The King, his hand, Lady Yrene, Josefine, Torin, Ress, and a number of others.

That suffocating feeling returned to her, as introductions started anew.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The last thing Nyx wanted to do was go to Velaris for a family dinner. He loved his family, of course, but after a week in the Illyrian steppes investigating disturbances in the mountains, he was exhausted. Far too exhausted to do anything but collapse in his tent and fall asleep.

Nyx’s cousin, Caelum, seemed to agree with this sentiment as the male was currently lying down, fully dressed, on his bedroll, eyes shut. Nyx grabbed a pillow and chucked it at Caelum’s head.

Even with his eyes closed, Cal caught it easily, throwing it to the side before it could hit him.

“Don’t fall asleep, because I’m not hauling you to Velaris,” Nyx warned.

Caelum rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Why do we even have to go? I’m sure we can miss one dinner.”

Nyx didn’t bother to respond, mainly because Caelum knew as well as he did that they could not miss just one dinner. Their entire family is expecting them, and if they don’t go, their entire family will descend on Illyria with several questions. He was grateful for his family, he was, but their fussing was insufferable, especially when one reached the age of 130. “Get dressed,” Nyx ordered.

“You can’t show up caked in blood. Your mother might kill you, and then she’ll kill me.”

Caelum laughed but sat up and walked over to the basin filled with water. He poured it on his hands and began scrubbing the blood off of them with a rag. Nyx stripped himself of his armor, undoing the endless layers of weapons and metal and leather. The two readied themselves in relative quiet, neither feeling obligated to fill that silence. Perhaps because as soon as they arrived at the House of Wind, any semblance of peace and relaxation would cease to exist. Usually, he didn’t mind the loudness of the family, but after a week in the steppes, tracking and hunting for hours on end…

“Devlon’s going to be pissed,” Caelum said as he tugged his shirt on. Nyx sighed. “he’ll deal. We’ll be back again in a day.”

Devlon was the one who complained about the strange, lurking beasts. He claimed, acting as a representative of the warlords, that demon-like creatures had been spotted and were harassing the northernmost camps. Nyx and Caelum swore to deal with it, but so far, they’d come up empty-handed. At first, they assumed that Devlon had given them a fool’s errand, or perhaps the spottings were nothing but a figment of some exhausted soldier’s imagination. Then they’d come across the first body, if it could even be called that. The male had been ripped to shreds, unidentifiable. More bodies showed up, but no trace of the thing or things that caused it. If they didn’t have to go to dinner tonight, they could continue their hunt, but his father had insisted Nyx come back, even if he came back empty-handed. The last thing he wanted to do was hand a report to his father that detailed their failure to protect the people of the camps. Yet, the report he’d written up and would hand in tonight said exactly that.

He fastened his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. Mother above, he needed a haircut. It had gotten far too long, nearly brushing the back of his collar. Grabbing a comb, he attempted to style it neat.

“Stop primping,” Caelum groaned. “We’re going to be late.”

Nyx frowned at his cousin, noting that despite changing into a blue jacket and clean pants, his hair was still a floppy mess of golden brown curls. It was shorter than his father Cassian’s hair but longer than Nyx’s.

Once the two of them were decently presentable, they winnowed out of Ironcrest. The House of Wind allowed for no visitors to winnow directly into it, so as they appeared above the redstone palace, they immediately unfurled their wings.

“And you say I’m dramatic.” Nyx turned to find Asher leaning against the doorway to the balcony, a shit eating grin on his pretty face. Usually, he was the third of their trio, but he’d been called away to deal with something in Hewn City on Nova’s request. Nyx did not know what, as Nova refused to clarify when she sent her message.

“We never said we weren’t; you're just the worst,” Caelum replied, wings rustling.

Nyx smiled. “Remember when Caelum was younger, and he would practice landing poses on the balconies?”

Asher laughed, and Caelum scowled.

“Everyone’s been waiting for you two. They wouldn’t let me eat until you came,” Asher whined.

“We’re not that late,” Caelum said.

“Yes, we are,” Nyx corrected.

The three of them entered the House, Asher and Caelum falling into their usual bickering.

Immediately, Nyx was struck by the warmth he felt as he entered, the familiar, comforting scent of baked bread and roses invading his senses. He then overheard snippets of the conversation coming from the family’s favored sitting room. As they came closer, Nyx took in the spectacle from the open door. “I have five hundred gold marks bet that they’re going to win,” Amren announced from the plush armchair closest to the fire.

“That’s five hundred gold marks you just wasted,” Uncle Cassian scoffed in response.

“And what team have you placed your money behind?” Aunt Mor enquired, taking a sip of wine.

“No team,” Aunt Nesta quickly interjected, shooting her mate a glare.

Cassian nodded his head, “I’ve been banned from betting on sports games.”

Everyone laughed before Nyx’s mother asked, “Why? Cassian is the best out of all of us. I can’t remember the last time he bet wrong.”

“It’s a bad habit, and anyways, he gets too competitive and aggravates everyone in the close vicinity.”

“Everyone, or just you, sweetheart?”

Aunt Nesta swatted him lightly on the arm, but there was a smile on her face.

“Anyways,” Uncle Cassian continued, “Nova placed a bet for me.”

Aunt Nesta’s head whipped around to her daughter, who was laying across the chaise lounge in the corner, a glass of wine in hand.

“Tell me you did not bet five hundred gold marks on a game.”

“Of course not,” Nova gave them all a cat-like smirk, “I bet seven hundred.”

Laughter once again filled the room, and even Nyx let out a chuckle.

His mother looked up at him and beamed, standing up and walking across the room. She embraced him tightly before pulling away and cupping his cheek.

“How was Illyria?” She asked, worry in her eyes.

“It was as pleasant as always,” Nyx replied.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Feyre,” Caelum called out from where he stood by his parents. “Nyx didn’t get attacked by a mob of angry Illyrian warriors again.”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed on his cousin as his mother whipped around to face him.

“What? When were you attacked?”

“‘Attacked’ is a strong word.”

“It’s the right word,” Asher chimed in.

Before his mother could say another word, Aunt Elain stood up, “Why don’t we all sit down for dinner?”

“Finally,” Asher said, “I’ve been starving.”

Everyone mumbled their agreements, filtering from the living room into the dining room.

His mother frowned. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over, Nyx. You're going to tell me what happened and who attacked you.”

“Feyre, darling,” his father interrupted, “I’m sure Nyx handled it fine.”

Nyx nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure he did, Rhys, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.”

As his parents started bickering, Nyx walked ahead, glad to be free from his mother’s protectiveness. His father was protective, too, but was less smothering.

His mouth watered as he entered the dining room, taking in the dishes and dishes of food.

A warm hand was placed on his arm, and he turned to find his Aunt Elain looking up at him.

“I made sure your favorite was made.” She gestured to a plate of steaming lemon chicken and wild rice.

“Thank you, Aunt Elain,” He said, smiling.

“Of course.” She floated away, going to sit beside Lucien.

Nyx took a seat across from Nova and beside Aspen. Asher sat on his other side, while Caelum sat beside his sister. Alex sat on Nova’s other side. It was then he noticed that three very important members of the family were missing.

“Where are Alora, Helia, and Catrin?”

Silence reigned before Lucien said, confused, “They were just here.”

“Didn’t they say something about some book they needed?” Emerie asked.

“Why would they need a book?” Aunt Nesta replied.

Emerie shrugged, “I don’t know, I'm just the messenger.”

“I know why they need a book,” Amren announced.

“They were planning on winnowing into Velaris.”

“They’re not supposed to be winnowing on their own,” His father said.

“And they’re not supposed to be going into the city by themselves either,” Asher added helpfully.

Mor poured herself another glass of wine.

Azriel’s shadows swarmed around him before he said, “They’re still in the house. In Cat’s room.”

“I'll go get them,” Nyx offered.

“Thank you,” His mother chirped.

He left the dining room and found his way to his young cousin’s room. It was suspiciously quiet. Nyx knocked on the door. Giggles rang out, then silence, giggles again. Finally, the door opened. Nyx peered in to find his sister and cousins sitting with suspiciously good posture and innocent expressions on their faces.

He raised an eyebrow. “Dinner’s ready.” Alora gasped before shooting up from her seat and running towards him, “Nyxie! You’re back!” He laughed, scooping her into his arms. Once he set her back on the floor, Alora launched into telling him everything he had missed. Valkyrie training, some girls' birthday party, a ball, a new theater show… “Mama has been worried about you; she says you spend too much time working.”

Guilt gnawed at him. He knew his mother worried about his schedule and that he was overworking himself. He didn’t want her to worry, but he also couldn’t take more days off than he already was. He was the heir to the court. It was his duty.

“Mom always worries,” Nyx said reassuringly. Alora tilted her head to the side but said nothing. Helia and Catrin walked over next, and he hugged them each in turn. The three of them were mischief incarnate, and they were still young enough that it worried him. Thankfully, when they were planning on getting into trouble, it was pretty obvious to everyone. The three of them followed him out of the room and into the hall.

“How was Illyria?” Catrin asked curiously. He knew she’d never been and that she wanted to go. She was half-Illyrian after all.

“Cold.”

“Did you catch the monsters?” Catrin inquired.

“How did you know about that?”

She blushed and ducked her head. Cat had the awful habit of spying on conversations she wasn’t supposed to be listening to.

“There are monsters?” Helia gasped, russet eyes widening. Out of all Aunt Elain’s and Uncle Lucien’s children, Helia looked the most like Lucien. She was the only one to have inherited his red hair, and she had his eyes.

“You didn’t tell me about those,” Alora said, shooting an accusatory glare at Catrin.

“Good, because you're not supposed to know about them,” Nyx said, warning in his tone.

Alora stuck her tongue out at him.

He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

By the time they’d reached the dining room, the young girls had become immersed in their conversation. He smiled fondly at them, enjoying overhearing about their light-hearted adventures. He was glad that, despite Catrin's snooping, they were far removed from the problems that plagued the court. They were too young to have to worry.

When Nyx found out he had a younger sister, he was ecstatic. For over a hundred years, it had just been the four of them- Asher, Caelum, Nova, and himself- in the Night Court, and of course Alex and Aspen in the Day Court. It was nice to have a new addition. Alora was then followed by Helia, and then by Catrin, and soon the family had three new additions. He was also thankful he had experience with sisters before. Although technically his cousin, Nova was like his little sister. Just like Asher and Caelum were like his brothers. However, Nova could not have prepared him for the whirlwind that was Alora.

Growing up, Nova had been a quiet and observant child. She would sit so quietly and so still; she looked more doll than girl. She was perfectly happy being carried and toted around by various members of the family and never argued unless she was truly fed up. Hell, Aunt Mor would spend hours dressing her up in the most ruffly and puffy dresses, which Nova was ambivalent about at most. Nyx still remembered the imperious and disapproving expressions Nova would make in reaction to her brother and cousin’s impromptu brawls as she sat watching like an Empress with perfect posture and her hands folded. It was almost an exact copy of how Aunt Nesta looked. As she grew older, of course, she became far more stubborn and determined. When she learned how to walk steadily, she would often slip away from the family when they went somewhere, and after frantic searching, someone would find her sitting by a garden, or a fountain, or in some shop, looking completely unbothered. She also became more bossy, so bossy they nicknamed her the Empress, although no one was brave enough to say it to her face. Nova used to order her father and uncles around, making them play with dolls or have tea parties with her and dressing them up. Nyx was once forced to sit in on one of these tea parties and was dismayed to find that he had to wear a tiara, but he was grateful he was spared from having cosmetics smeared on his face like his father did. And when she threw tantrums, they were often silent and pouty, made to make her parents, or whoever was watching her, give in.

Alora, on the other hand, was the furthest thing from quiet when she was born. She would cry for hours on end every night, and when she learned how to talk, she never stopped. She would pull on hair, clothes, and anything else she could get her hands on. His mother and father were forced to hide all their breakables away in locked cabinets and closets. Alora threw a multitude of tantrums in which she would scream and kick. And she was always headstrong, determined to get her way. Nyx never minded, though. He would always wipe her tears away and do his best to make her feel better. To be honest, it was easier watching Alora when she was younger than now. Now, Alora, alongside Catrin and Helia, was determined to get into as much trouble as possible.

“There you are,” Aunt Elain said as they walked in.

“Can we please eat?” Asher groaned.

“Yes, yes, you can eat.”

Nyx took his seat and began filling his plate with food. It was only when he took his first bite that he realized how famished he was. He quickly began stuffing himself. Nova raised an eyebrow at him as she delicately cut into her chicken, seemingly unimpressed by his momentary lack of table manners.

“The food offerings in the steppes aren’t ideal,” he explained.

She laughed knowingly. While Nova didn’t grow up in Windhaven like the three of them did, she trained there often when she was older. And she participated in the rite, much to everyone’s, including Nyx’s, dismay at the time. But Nova would hear none of it, and whenever the subject was brought up, she would tersely remind everyone she won it in record time, and the subject would change.

Amren sniffed and leaned over, “I’m assuming the culprit of the slaughters has not been found?”

Nyx stiffened, trying to hide his agitation at his failure to capture the person responsible. “Not yet, but we’re getting close, Aunt Amren,” Caelum interjected smoothly, “and Nova has generously offered to give Asher back to us.”

Amren turned to Nova, “You should go with them, girl. You have far more success on your hunts than they do.”

Nyx noticed that the conversations around them had dwindled to a halt. Nova seemed intrigued by the prospect, but before she could reply, his father said, “Is this necessary, Amren? It’s dinner, not a meeting.” Amren shrugged gracefully, her silver eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“I’m just saying, I trained Nova myself. If anyone in this room can do it, it's her.” There was a certain pride in Amren’s voice that surprised Nyx, even after all these years. She rarely showed pride or affection of any sort out loud, but if she did, it was most likely directed at Nova.

“That’s enough, Amren,” Uncle Cassian warned.

Nova stiffened, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly at her father. Nyx knew Nova hated the protectiveness of their family, especially when much of it had been directed at her since she was a child. She’d worked hard over the years to prove herself. Everyone knew that she was capable, but not one wanted to risk her.

Amren turned to Aunt Nesta. “Full-grown Illyrian warriors are disappearing and being found in bloody shreds, and no one can seem to find the person or thing responsible. Nova has been trained by me for exactly this. Why not give her a chance?”

His aunt said nothing for a moment, her imperial face unchanging and unblinking. Then she said, “Amren’s right. Nova would be best suited for something like this.”

Nyx opened his mouth to disagree. To say he could do it, no one else needed to be put in danger or harmed. He could handle it.

“What do you mean they were found in bloody shreds?” Helia asked. Her face looked pale.

The entire table paused. Aunt Elain and Uncle Lucien swapped glances. Aspen glared at Amren.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Lucien said, shooting another pointed glare at Amren. Alora looked at their father expectantly.

“Your Uncle is right,” their father assured her, “it is nothing. Amren is just being dramatic. As always.”

The three girls swapped glances.

After dinner was finished, as awkward and uneasy as it was, the entire family gathered once again in the sitting room. The adults shared a drink, while the children helped themselves to seconds of Aunt Elain’s chocolate cake. No one spoke of the murders or the steppes. It was carefully avoided.

Alex told stories from his work in the libraries of the Day Court, and then Aspen entertained everyone with his stories of training the Day Court guard. Nyx pretended to be engaged, even as his mind worked a million miles a second. A bit of night touched power brushed against his shields, asking to be let in.

You’re thinking loudly.

My shields are up.

I can see it on your face.

Nyx cursed his father and the male’s ability to always know something was wrong.

Soldiers are being slaughtered on my watch. I’ve been there for a week and accomplished nothing.

You’re being too hard on yourself, Nyx. No one else in Illyria has managed to find anything either, not just you.

Yes, but I’m-

He was going to say that he was the High Lord and Lady’s son. He was the heir. He was responsible for everyone who lived here.

I don’t want Nova to be put at risk.

 I don’t either, but that might not be our choice to make.

Caelum and Asher are already going with me. Isn’t that enough?

On some level, Nyx knew his cousin would be best suited for this, but he also didn’t want another member of this family to be forced to witness what he and Caelum had. Those bodies were little more than piles of bone and blood and flesh. They were horrendous.

Amren is right; she trained Nova for this. In case you forgot, she offered to train you three as well, and you declined.

Nyx cringed at that. They’d been young and stupid and wanted nothing more than to prove themselves to be the best Illyrian warriors to have existed since their fathers. He’d been to Amren’s training sessions and didn’t see the merit in her unorthodox methods. Nova did. He regretted it now.

That was a mistake. But, to be honest, I think Amren only offered out of kindness, anyway. She was always focused on Nova.

True, but that’s how Amren is. She saw something in Nova and pounced.

I–

I want you to come back to Velaris, escort your cousin into the steppes when you must, but I want you home. Your mother wants you home, Nyx. You’ve been away for too long.

Nyx wanted to argue, but then he saw his mother’s worried face and remembered Alora’s words.

Let’s talk in my study.

Then his father left his mind.

Nyx frowned and glanced around, noting that members of the family were beginning to say their goodbyes and drift off into whatever bedrooms they were commandeering for the night. 

His father met his eyes and nodded; they both stood and walked to the office. 

Aunt Mor gave him a wink as he left, her hand on Aunt Emerie’s.

Nyx remembered being both intrigued and scared by his father’s study. It seemed so grand, and his father seemed so high lord-like when he sat behind the carved mahogany desk. It didn’t help that whenever Nyx got in trouble, particularly when he got in trouble with his tutors, his father would make him sit across from him and write lines or read some thick textbook, or whatever it was Nyx didn’t want to do. He struggled with reading and writing growing up and more often than not let his temper get the best of him. It came so easily to his younger cousins, and he didn’t understand why. 

As they sat facing each other, Nyx felt like that frustrated little boy again. Why could he not figure this out? Why was he failing?

“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” his father declared, “between Illyria, the continent, and Velaris, your mother and I agree you have taken on too much.”

“I can handle it. I’m not a child anymore.”

“No, you’re not. But you’re also not invincible. You need rest, Nyx.”

The doors to the office swung open, and they both turned to find his mother, Uncle Cassian, and Aunt Nesta seemingly arguing with one another. 

His father raised an eyebrow. 

It was then that Nyx noticed Nova standing behind the group, looking bored and annoyed as if this were the last place she wanted to be right now. 

Uncle Cassian turned to Rhys, “I’d rather head up to those mountains myself than let my daughter deal with whatever thing is doing that.”

Nova huffed, sitting down on one of the couches that lined the room and crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You didn’t have a problem with Caelum going up there,” Aunt Nesta pointed out, taking a seat beside her daughter. 

“One, Caelum is permanently stationed in Illyria, and he commands a legion there. If I were to refuse to allow him to go on patrols or do his job, he would never gain their respect back. Two, I had no idea what was happening or how bad it was because Nyx sent a purposefully vague report to me.”

All eyes turned to him. 

“It wasn’t purposefully vague, Uncle Cass. I just didn’t have all the information yet.”

“Oh?” The General looked unconvinced. “I’m not an idiot, Nyx. I know a half-assed report when I see one. Let me remind you that as long as you serve in Illyria as an Illyrian soldier, you are under my command. If you withhold vital information from me again, I’ll have you stripped of your command and serve as a footsoldier under Devlon.”

Nyx cringed at the memory of the last time he was under Devlon. All new warriors started at the bottom, no matter what, even the son of the High Lord. The experience had been unpleasant, to say the least. And Nyx didn’t doubt his Uncle would do it based on the fury in his eyes.  

“Nyx,” his mother admonished, “why would you do something like that?”

He didn’t want to give her an honest answer because he didn’t want to admit how ashamed he was. 

“Your uncle is right,” his father decided, “if you do something like that again, you can say goodbye to your command.”

Nyx nodded. “I understand. It won’t happen again.” He met his Uncle’s eyes as he said that last part. The anger in them softened slightly. 

“I’ll head up to the steppes in a few days,” Nova announced, “I need to do some research first.” It wasn’t a request.

“Are you sure about this?” His father asked, turning to his niece.

She met his gaze, nothing but determination in her eyes. “As Amren said, I’ve trained for this. What is the point of training if I never do anything with it?”

“I don’t like it,” Uncle Cassian muttered, “Nova, this isn’t something to take lightly.”

She shrugged gracefully and unbothered, “You said the same thing about Hewn City, and I’ve handled them perfectly fine.”

Nyx remembered the argument that came after it was suggested by Mor that Nova take over duties in the city so she could focus on diplomacy on the continent.  

Aunt Nesta nodded in agreement, shooting her mate a meaningful look. He sighed after a moment. “All right, but don’t go alone. Always take someone with you. Asher is in charge of patrols in Windhaven for the next month, but I’ll make sure Caelum stays stationed in Ironcrest to be close.”

“And I’ll winnow in if you need anything,” Nyx offered.

His father nodded, and Nova looked up at him. If he hadn’t known her since she was born, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was surprised. Nova was near impossible to read.

“My father wishes me to spend some time in Velaris for the time being.” Nyx tried to keep the irritation from his tone. 

“I simply suggested it might be beneficial for Nyx to create a better balance between his duties in Velaris and Illyria.”

Nova stood. “I’m tired,” she said simply and left without any further explanation. 

Aunt Nesta stood up as well. “I’m going to head to bed, too. It’s late.”

She shot her mate another meaningful look. Uncle Cassian nodded and followed her out.

The door closed behind them, and his mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

The world smelled like smoke. It choked her lungs and stung her eyes as she thrashed around, trying to escape the fire that had started at her legs and climbed up her body. She felt no pain, only a sense of impending doom. She felt afraid and helpless as she lay there, frozen. As it came closer and closer to her face, she struggled to breathe and see the snowy forest around her.  

Then the world shifted; the trees and mountains of the Illyrian steppes were replaced with dark stone. No more fire, but her body was bound by something else, someone else. 

Footsteps, slow and methodical, became louder and louder. Nova’s stomach dropped as a familiar face appeared above her. Dark hair and impossibly dark eyes. Skin so pale it was almost transparent. Her lips were so red they might as well have been painted with blood. The face was always so cruelly beautiful. 

The Queen’s red mouth twisted into a grin, which stretched the skin around her mouth unnaturally, as if this was the first time she ever smiled. She reached out a pale hand, and Nova found herself unable to move or scream or even struggle. She was completely frozen. 

Her long fingernail started to stroke slow circles around Nova’s heart, taunting her. Then, after a moment, the smile still not having shifted off the Queen’s face, she leaned in. The smell of death and rot and bones replaced lingering smoke. And when her face was inches away from Nova’s own, the Queen started to

whisper. “I told them to bring me your heart, and they couldn’t even do that. But one day, my fair child, one day.”

Then she plunged a dagger straight into Nova’s chest. Nova couldn’t even scream as pain ripped through her body. She watched as the Queen carved her heart out. 

Then she jolted awake. 

Her hands still gripped the silk sheets of the bed as she fully registered her surroundings. A dark room that smelled of jasmine and vanilla. Her room. 

Sweat dripped from her neck down her back, despite House's cool temperature, knowing it was how she liked to sleep.

The soft silver fae lights flickered on, illuminating the space as her heavy breathing continued. It took moments for Nova’s eyes to adjust, for the suffocating feeling to disappear from her chest. It took a moment for her brain to register to her body that she was fine and safe. 

She forced her hands to relax, silently cursing herself at the sight of the ripped silk sheets. They looked like a dog had clawed at them. 

Nova could hear her heart in her chest, and the rush was only partly due to the nature of the dream. What scared her more was the fact that she hadn’t had that dream in a very long time. For almost a hundred years, she’d gone pushing down the memories of that day and the nights that haunted her after. She was past it. Or at least she should have been.

Quickly, she untangled her legs from the blankets and stood up, going straight towards the balcony. Nova needed to breathe. She needed to see the sky. 

Her room was located in the upper levels of the House with a view that none other could rival. Ten thousand feet above the valley where Velaris resided. She liked it, that removal. It gave her a reprieve from it all. 

There were no rails guarding the fall, yet Nova felt no fear as she went up to the very edge of the balcony and stood there. Another step and she would have fallen over. She would have flown. Her wings twitched, almost begging her to. But she resisted, knowing if she left, then someone would figure it out, and an explanation would be demanded. An explanation she did not want to give. 

Instead, she sank to her knees and folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes. I am the rock against which the surf crashes, and nothing can break me. It was a mantra that was familiar to her, that had been embedded into her brain since she was old enough to walk. Nothing could break her. Not the Queen, not Koschei, not the fire. She was invincible, she was whole. 

She breathed in and out, clearing her mind as best she could. 1…2…3. 3…2…1. Until all thoughts eddied out. 

Nova did not know how long she kneeled there breathing, but when she opened eyes once more, the first rays of sun were poking over the horizon, illuminating the mountains in shades of pink and orange. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. In midsummer, the sun usually rose around six, which meant breakfast would be in two hours. 

Still in her pajamas, she decided to continue with her usual routine. 

As if the House could tell, a thin mat appeared on the red stone floor of the balcony for her to begin her stretches. But even as her muscles loosened and straightened, going through the motions she had since birth, her mind struggled to maintain its calm composure. 

It had been decades since she struggled to get through the night. It had been decades since she sought comfort in the arms of her parents or brother. Nova had practically forced her brain to forget. And it worked. At least, she thought it did.

Sweat beaded at the base of her neck as she grew increasingly frustrated, and the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. The careful control she kept over everything was threatening to crack. Why now did it need to come back? She’d buried it long ago. Literally. 

Switching positions, she placed her elbows on the ground and kicked up her feet, balancing carefully and stretching her back out. After counting down, she placed one foot on the ground in front of her head and raised the other straight up in the air. She kicked back over, landing gracefully on her feet.  Finally, Nova did a few simple turns to loosen up.

Since she was a little girl, she’d been a dancer. Her mother told her she’d only been three when she begged to take ballet lessons, and her parents got her an instructor.

“Why are you up so early?” A familiar voice quipped. 

Nova sighed, wondering why no one could ever knock, as she continued to turn, not bothering to stop until she finished with the sixth spin. 

“Why are you?” She replied, pivoting to face her twin brother. 

Caelum leaned against the entrance to the balcony, smiling broadly. Her brother, for all his virtues, could be extremely irritating. 

He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

She raised an eyebrow, but she could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. And neither did she. If only he wasn’t a meddler.

Caelum frowned as if noting something behind her usually flawless appearance. They’d always seen through each other’s masks. It was a side effect of being twins. 

Walking past him, she entered her room. A silver tea service appeared on the low-lying table by the fireplace. Caelum followed her inside, and they both took a seat on either side of the table. Nova is on one couch, and Caelum is on the other. 

She poured them each a cup of steaming white tea. It was her favorite and the only grown in Dawn. 

Her brother picked his teacup up and sniffed, frowning. “Can’t we have coffee?”

Immediately, a steaming pot of coffee appeared, and Caelum’s cup emptied. “Thank you,” he muttered, pouring himself a drink.

She frowned at him, “Can’t you go bother someone else? Don’t you and Asher have some females you need to get rejected by or something?”

He snorted, “You're a joy in the mornings, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments before her brother had to ruin it. “So, what sort of beast snuck into your room last night and clawed your sheets off?”

Nova frowned at him. “Funny.”

“I’m being serious, Nova. Are you sure you're okay? Are you—”

“I’m fine.” She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t turn to meet his eyes. 

He sighed, “You’re not fine. And if your nightmares are coming back, you shouldn’t be going to Illyria.”

“I’m not a piece of glass,” she noted cooly. She wasn't, but she was beginning to feel like it. For so long, controlling her nightmares meant controlling herself, her strength, and her power. Nova thrived off that control, craved it. Now, her mind was losing control, resisting her carefully crafted peace. 

And the dream was always the same, too. Every time, it started and ended at the same spot. She could recite it by memory. Could draw the Queen in perfect detail. 

Nova knew that, logically, she had nothing to worry about. Koschei was dead, and so were his queens. The queen in her nightmare was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Literally. The Queen who held her captive looked nothing like the Queen in her dreams. The real Queen, the dead Queen, had blonde hair and dark brown eyes. The dead Queen was human. She was not whatever spindly creature Nova had created in her head. 

Caelum seemed as unconvinced of her icy facade as she was. Thankfully, he dropped the subject. 

“I’m going to go get dressed,” Nova announced, putting her teacup on the table. 

Caelum nodded and stood. “See you at breakfast.”

After he had left, Nova headed towards the bathroom, stripping off her nightgown. The House had already filled the tub with steaming hot water and jasmine oil. 

She nearly groaned when she slid into it, the heat doing wonders on her still sore muscles. Tilting her head back, she soaked her waist-length black hair in the water. Maybe this was all she needed. 

She washed her body several washes and scrubs before massaging shampoo into her scalp and conditioner onto the ends of her hair. 

Once she was done, she exited the bath, wrapping a warmed, fluffy towel around herself. 

She patted her body dry before carefully combing every knot and snarl from her hair and rubbing creams on her legs and torso. She then dribbled sweet-smelling oil on her chest, massaging it into her skin. With a wave of her hand, a selection of clothing and jewelry appeared, and Nova chose loose lilac pants and a matching purple embroidered top, which she paired with delicate diamond earrings and a matching necklace. 

Finally, she outlined her eyes with kohl, smudging it in, and dabbed some rouge on her lips. 

Like many things in her life, she compared this to a dance. Every step in her routine was carefully planned and choreographed. And she executed it to perfection. 

By the time she made it downstairs, her entire immediate family had gathered at the breakfast table. Her brother seemed to be helping himself to seconds already, heaping his plate with eggs and bacon. 

Her mother was watching her son in slight disapproval as she munched on a piece of melon while her father was engrossed in a stack of reports.

Both looked up when she entered. 

“Good morning,” her mother said.

“Good morning,” Nova replied. 

She pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek before sliding into the seat next to him. He smiled warmly at her, “How’d you sleep?”

“Well enough.” Nova waved her hand in dismissal before inspecting the breakfast options before her. 

She didn’t feel particularly hungry at the moment, her stomach reeling after the night she had, but Nova knew she needed to eat something or she would be starving the rest of the day. 

As if reading her mind on what a perfect breakfast would be, the House filled her glass with juice, and a bowl of her favorite fruits appeared in front of her, alongside a chocolate pastry. Despite knowing they offered little value in the way of nutrition, Nova loved chocolate pastries, or any form of chocolate for that matter. Or pastry. She had a notorious sweet tooth. 

“When are you leaving for Illyria?” Caelum asked just as Nova sank her teeth into the powdered sugar-covered chocolate confection. 

Thankfully, she was spared the need to answer by her mother. “Hopefully, you’ll wait a few days. Like you said to your uncle, you need to do research first.”

Nova swallowed. “I’ll head down Sunday.”

Her father frowned worriedly, a face he made so often it irritated her just at the sight of it. She was sick of protection. She was sick of fighting and manipulating and convincing those around her to allow her to do anything deemed slightly dangerous. Not that she could complain much, considering how bad it used to be. It was only until after the Blood rite that she was fully able to drive her point across about not needing or wanting constant protection anymore. 

She knew their desire to protect her would never go away entirely, and she was thankful they cared for her so much, but she still had the right to be slightly annoyed. 

“I can handle Illyria, Dad,” Nova said softly.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you should have to, especially alone.” 

“I’ll be there,” Caelum said, unhelpfully.

Nova shot him a glare, swinging her leg out and kicking him under the table. Caelum moved to kick her back—

“Enough, both of you,” their mother warned.

They immediately turned their attention back to their plates. 

Soon, her father and brother left, apparently needing to finish some bet that involved pummeling each other in the training ring.

“I suggest you look in the library downstairs before you return to Hewn City and look there,” her mother said pointedly.

“Do you think the answer is in the House, or do you just want me to stay longer?” Nova asked.

Her mother let out a soft, restrained, and rare laugh. “Is it so bad for a mother to want her daughter to stay at home a bit longer?”

Nova hadn’t lived full-time in the House of Wind for a while. She spends most of her time in the Moonstone Palace, training at one of the Valkyrie temples, or in Illyria. She also acted as a representative of the court for her uncle and aunt at events in other courts and on the fae realms of the continent.  Nova would never set foot in the human side, not in a hundred years. Her mother still refused to talk or make any sort of negotiations with the human Queens, so her aunt had begrudgingly taken over correspondence with them, despite despising them herself. 

“No, just slightly irritating,” Nova remarked.

Her mother’s face was overtaken by a far-off look, eyes drifting towards the redstone balcony and the ten-thousand-foot drop. 

Nova always held a deep admiration for her mother. Ever since she was a little girl, she strived to emulate the female in all things. She was so elegant and queenly, so regal and restrained. And while her mother rarely showed public displays of affection or displays of emotion, she was doting and caring in

private. It always made Nova feel special, as if her mother reserved her love solely for her. Well, her, her brother, and father. And the occasional aunt or cousin. 

Nova knew her mother often worried about her. She had come to realize that her mother carried guilt over everything that happened. As if it were her fault that Nova was taken, as if it were her fault that the remnants of power she once had seemingly amplified and went to her daughter. As if it were her fault that everything happened with Koschei and the Queens. 

She still remembers her mother’s face after she fully came into her power. 

Nova had been fourteen at the time she had her first cycle. Female fae have little access to their magic before their cycles, only being able to use trace, base amounts as children. Unlike males, who more gradually come into their abilities, instead of going from being able to use very little to all of it. However, even before her cycle, Nova had access to an unusual amount of magic, which led to speculation of how much power she inherited. This speculation was only confirmed when, on the night she got her first cycle, the entire ground beneath her shook. Reports came in of disturbances–earthquakes, waves, storms– reaching to the continent. The Prison Island was especially disturbed, its inhabitants screaming and cowering in fear at the first signs of her magic. 

She had been in so much pain and covered in so much blood that she hadn’t cared at first. Madja had to give her a sleeping draught to keep her magic under control, to keep the flames from consuming her and everyone else who had gathered in the House. 

When Nova woke up, she felt new, remade. Like the night had woken something in her. Like something both new and ancient now crawled under her skin, begging to be released. 

Nova’s mother had stuck to her side through all of this– wiping her brow, feeding her by hand, and making sure she was in as little discomfort as possible – and the whole time, the female maintained a calm and unworried air. It was only a few days later, when her parents thought she was asleep, that she truly grasped the magnitude of the situation. And how troubled her mother was over it. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Nova said. “I swore to Alora, Catrin, and Helia that I’d take them shopping next weekend.”

 

—

 

Nova adored the Moonstone palace. It was second only to the House of Wind when it came to her favorite place to be. 

The court under the palace was less enjoyable, but Nova had always been fascinated by the Hewn City. There was something about it that drew her in, which is partly why she agreed to help Mor with handling its citizens. 

Being the Lady of the City was also helpful when it came to researching the slaughter of soldiers in the mountains. Nova had access to the city's extensive libraries and the private collection of the High Lord and stewards of the past. She knew for a fact that many of these books contained details of the strange beasts that lurked in the steppes, which is why she decided to start there and not at the House. 

She sat curled up on one of the low lying couches that overlooked the snowy mountainside, a stack of ancient texts beside her. 

So far, she’d found nothing. The steppes were known for the monsters that roamed there, many of which Nova faced during her rite. But none of them were known for leaving their prey in bloody ribbons, like the bodies Nyx showed her. Usually, they just consumed their prey whole, leaving behind the occasional limb or bone. 

Frowning, she put down the 1st edition volume of Beasts and Monsters: A Guide to the Mountains of the Night Court. 

Nova was just reaching to pick up the next book in her pile when she heard distinctive footsteps coming towards her. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Andraste said as she swept into the sitting room, her dark blue gown swishing against the moonstone floors. Her hands were folded behind her back. 

“I’m taking the day off,” Nova explained, “and the next few days as well, I’m being called away to the steppes.”

“I know.”

Nova raised her eyebrow.

“Asher told me,” Andraste explained, “or at least hinted at it. He mentioned some troubles the heir was having in Illyria while we were dealing with Lord Agnar. I assumed they would ask you to help since you're so skilled at the hunt.”

Unlike his spymaster father, Asher was constantly talking. From making jokes to flirting with any pretty female that came his way. 

She nodded and turned her attention to Andraste’s hands, more specifically, what the female was holding behind her back. 

Noting her gaze, Andraste revealed what she was holding. A book barely larger than pocket-sized. “I thought this might help. It belonged to my father before, well, everything. My mother discovered it in his study.”

She held out the book to Nova, who accepted it. It was old and worn, the pages were yellow and ripped. 

“Have you read it?” Nova asked curiously.

Andraste took a seat beside her, shrugging. “No. My father would never let me near it, and the one time I dared ask him what was in it, he replied that it was an encyclopedia of sorts, one that detailed strange phenomena in Prythian. After he died, I wanted little to do with him or anything that once interested him.”

Nova knew little of Lord Thanatos, Andraste’s father. Only that he was killed for his involvement with Koschei. She’d never met him, and based on the stories his daughter let slip every once in a while, she was glad of it. 

She still remembered how afraid Andraste was when they first met. How the girl was terrified of even speaking. 

Banishing those memories from her mind, she returned her focus to the book.

Something about it felt right. 

“Anyways,” Andraste said, changing the topic. “You might want to postpone your research for now. The city is in uproar.”

Nova stiffened, head shooting up. “What do you mean uproar?”

“Keir is not a fan of the fact you imprisoned his nephew and killed his cousin. He seems to think he can start an insurrection.”

“Again?” Nova asked, slightly irritated. 

Andraste gave her a knowing look. 

Sighing, she placed the book down on the table. Nova knew that her direct rule of the city was hated by many of its inhabitants. She was a half-breed female, who was unworthy of even talking to the high and mighty males who should be ruling. She also knew that she had an incredibly important network of support within the city. Her rules and regulations, implemented to protect females and lesser faeries, made her allies. And her constant enforcement of these rules, by her or her legion of Valkyries, many of whom came from the city themselves, ensured their continued assistance.  

She would deal with the Lords of the city, remind them who was in charge, and then she would return to her research. Nova glanced at the strange little manuscript again. Something about it called to her. 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

 

Damian did not want to go to dinner tonight. Not because he disliked the celebrations or the preening of court. It was far from that. What he disliked was the newfound expectation placed on his shoulders. 

He knew many in Adarlan and Terrasen, and even a few in the Witch Kingdom, wanted him and Evalin to marry one another. 

Evalin was beautiful, intelligent, and charming. She was trained from birth to be a queen. It was her destiny, written in her blood before she was even born. But Damian knew that she could never be his Queen.

Initially, it was easy for Damian to ignore their ramblings. Then, a week before the court left for Terrasen, his father pulled him aside. 

His father was a good King, a just King, an immortal King. But Dorian II’s soul was decidedly human. Damian suspected his father was getting sick of it. If he were a regular man, he would have been long-dead by now. He never would have guessed, though, that his father was ready to give it up right then and there. 

You’ll be a good king, Damian.

When Damian had asked what his father was planning to do once he gave up his responsibilities and abdicated, his father had shared a secretive look with his mother that he did not care to analyze. 

Chaol and Yrene will be moving back to Anielle with Ress, and Josefine wishes to travel to Antica and spend more time at the Torre, but Torin will remain. His father has spoken to him, and, if you wish it, he will be your Hand. 

Of course, Damian wanted Torin to be his hand. He remembers a time when they were both just boys, boys who, after a long day of training and studying with their tutors, would sit in the courtyard and discuss how it would be when Damian would be king and Torin his right hand. 

But, unlike his father, Damian was immortal, every part of him. He never knew what it was like to be human. He was too strong, too fast. As a boy, the only person who could keep up with him in training was Torin, whose mother’s powerful magic kept him alive and made him a worthy opponent. And despite the fact he was a hundred and thirty years old, he might as well have been twenty-one. His soul has not exactly aged the way that human souls did. 

Damian knew he couldn’t refuse though, knew his father deserved to abdicate. The male had spent his entire life fighting for a better world. If he wished to live in peace with his mother, who thankfully was not going to give up her crown anytime soon, then who was he to object?

However, for the first time in his life, marriage became the forefront of his issues. His Uncle Chaol had warned him that the lords expected a Queen, and as of right now, Evalin was their favored pick. Apparently, not only would their union bring together two great and powerful bloodlines, but the lords harbored the hope that being married would temper some of the fire in Damian’s blood. His bedding of their daughters and flirtations with their too-young wives did not make him popular among the oldest of the males.  

Over the years, the lords of Adarlan had mixed their lineages with the Fae who came back to Erilea after the war. Many went to Terrasen first, but then they migrated to Adarlan, integrating themselves among the nobility. There were still pure human families, but only because they were families that already harbored their powerful magic, and did not wish to dilute it.

A knock on the door tore Damian away from his thoughts. Gods, what time was it?

Before he could answer, the door swung open and Torin marched inside, followed by Sam and Rhoe. The former looked disapprovingly at Damian’s rumpled state. 

“Please tell me you have not already pounced on some poor female,” Sam groaned.

Damian gave him a charming smile. “I haven’t had the time, but don’t worry, by tonight I’ll have deflowered at least three maidens.”

Rhoe laughed, earning a scowl from his brother. 

Torin sighed, marching over to the chair Damian had haphazardly thrown his jacket on. He picked it up and chucked it at Damian’s head. 

“Get dressed before we all get in trouble,” Torin ordered.

Damian pulled the jacket off his face and groaned. “Must we go to dinner?” 

“Yes,” Sam said, “unless you want to draw my mother’s wrath.”

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor, pulling his jacket on. Sam and Rhoe’s mother was almost as terrifying as his own when she was angry. 

“So,” Rhoe started, a mischievous expression on his face, “King Damian I Havilliard. It has a nice ring to it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, confusion clouding his expression, as Torin's eyes shot to Damian. 

“What are you on about?” Sam asked his brother.

Rhoe shrugged, “Just something I overheard about our dear Prince Damian, here. Well, prince for now.”

Wondering why he ever agreed to come to Terrasen, Damian glared at Rhoe. The male was too nosy and irritating for his good. 

Torin huffed, “That’s enough Rhoe.”

But it was too late, as Sam, the only male in the room who seemed to not know what was happening, eyes widened with realization. 

“Your father is abdicating?”

The question hung in the air. Damian turned to the mirror, adjusting the cuffs on his wrist and purposefully ignoring his friends' questioning looks.

Thankfully, Rhoe and Sam couldn’t get along for more than a second at a time. 

“How’d you find out before I did?” Sam demanded.

“Unlike you, Adarlanian ladies find me particularly charming.”

Torin scoffed disbelievingly.

“It’s true,” Rhoe defended. “I’m sorry you’ve never been able to give a female pleasure, but some of us are not so challenged.”

Torin flushed slightly, his pride ruffled. 

Sam sighed like an exasperated father. “That’s enough, all of you, we’re going to be late for dinner, and Mother will be furious. Especially if she finds out you’ve been flirting with Ladies from Adarlan.”

Damian wished he could miss this dinner like he missed the one last night, claiming exhaustion from traveling. Unfortunately, it was made clear to him he would show face at the feast. 

He had a sinking feeling it had to do with his father wishing to prop him up as a leader, one worthy of ruling. 

He ran his fingers through his dark hair, hoping he could get through dinner without a headache. But before he could even take a step, something slammed into his chest.

A golden coronet, carved with the combined crest of Adarlan and the crest of the Crochan Witches. His crown as the Crown Prince.

“You’re forgetting something,” Torin said, giving him a pointed look.

Damian gave him a lazy grin, taking the coronet and placing it on his head. He could feel that it was slightly crooked, but at the moment, that was the least of his worries. 

By the time the four males reached the Great Hall, the feast had already begun. Sam and Torin care a lot more than Rhoe and Damian about their lack of punctuality. 

The carved white doors swung open for them, and the guard announced them to the gathered nobles and royals. 

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Damian Crochan-Havilliard of Adarlan and the Western Wastes. His Royal Highness, Prince Samuel Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius of Terrasen. His Royal Highness, Prince Rhoe Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius of Terrasen. And Lord Torin Westfall of Anielle.”

Even Damian, who grew up in the grandeur of Adarlanian court life, was impressed by the decor. 

Grand tapestries were on the walls, depicting everything from Mala Firebringer to scenes from the last war with the Valg. Green and silver silk was hung from the ceiling, beside sparkling golden chandeliers. Bouquets of sunflowers, red roses, lavender, fire lilies, and several other brightly colored flowers he could not name, lined the carved oak tables. Behind the head table, stationed above the court, were banners of every royal and noble house important enough to be seated beside the Queen and Prince. Thousands of candles illuminated the guests, all of whom were drinking from gilded goblets and ruby-studded plates. 

Damian was confident that this was Evalin’s doing. He’d known her practically his entire life, and she took party planning as something of the utmost seriousness. Especially when the party was about her.

The nobles of the gathered visiting courts rose, chairs scraping against the marble floors. Damian’s eyes lazily roved over the bowing crowd, taking special note of a few of the most beautiful females. 

Queen Aelin raised an eyebrow at her sons from where she sat in the center of the head table on a gilded throne. 

Sam gave her an ever-suffering look, while Rhoe winked conspiratorially. 

Beside her, her mate, Prince Rowan, was deep in conversation with Lord Lorcan, Damian’s father, Lord Fenrys, and Uncle Chaol. Damian noted that Prince Aedion, the Queen’s cousin, was still missing. 

Evalin, Lyria, Marion, Dalia, Josefine, Aunt Yrene, Princess Lysandra, Lady Elide, his mother, Prince Khalil, Princess Nesryn, the King and Queen of Wendlyn, and their sons, the fae Queen of Doranelle and her mate, the Prince of Melisande, the King of Ellwe, the Princess of Fenharrow and her brother, the Prince, the Queen of Briarcliff, and the Prince of Skulls Bay, were also among those seated at the head table. 

Gods, it was an unnecessarily long table, spanning nearly the entire length of the hall to accommodate all the royals. 

As the four of them approached, it became clear where they were supposed to be sitting. Rhoe and Sam had been placed next to Lyria, Torin was beside his sister, and Damian was placed strategically next to Evalin. 

Before he could request Torin switch with him, Evalin grabbed his hand and tugged sharply.

Damian, being a smart male, sat down. 

Evalin wore another emerald green dress, embroidered with silver stags and golden flames. Her long blonde hair was braided intricately down her back, and a golden tiara rested on the crown of her head. 

He gave her a questioning look, leaning back in his chair, and motioning towards a servant, who quickly came forward, bowed, and filled his cup with spiced wine. 

Evalin turned, eyes disapproving as she noted his unbuttoned black jacket, which revealed the white shirt underneath, his relaxed posture, and his crooked crown. 

“You look like you just had a secret rendezvous with your lover,” she said. 

“Who says I haven’t?” He took a sip of wine.

Evalin huffed, bringing her glass to her lips. 

She then returned to her conversation with her mother, ignoring Damian dutifully, which he was perfectly all right with. He didn’t need any rumors to be started, or get anyone’s hopes up that he or Evalin were considering marriage.

Unless… Evalin was considering marriage. Was that why she sounded so frustrated with him? Usually, she was the first to indulge him, happily teasing him about his constant rotation of lovers or gossiping with him over which courtiers were having torrid affairs, who was seen outside whose door, and whose father was sending them away from court. 

“Damian?” Lyria asked.

He glanced towards her, nearly flinching at the intense look Dalia was giving him from Lyria’s side.

“Your Highness,” he replied smoothly, straightening in his chair.

Dalia giggled behind her hand.

“My cousin and I were wondering whether you’ve had a chance to visit Orynth’s solstice markets?”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity yet,” Damian admitted.

“We can take you,” Dalia offered, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He wondered what they were up to. Dalia was a meddler, but Lyria rarely indulged in her cousin’s schemes. 

Rhoe waved his hand dismissively, “I don’t think Damian would enjoy the offerings of the solstice markets. His tastes lean heavily towards the other type of entertainment Orynth has to offer this time of year.”

Torin choked on his wine as Sam shot Rhoe a glare.

Dalia and Lyria shared a frown. 

“What type of entertainment?” Lyria asked, tilting her to the side.

Rhoe was immediately chastened, his smile dropping from his face. 

“Nothing for either of you to worry about,” Sam assured his little sister and cousin. 

“I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never heard of any other type of entertainment in Orynth,” Dalia said accusingly. 

Both Dalia and Lyria were twenty-five, incredibly young for the fae. And even if they weren’t so young, it made sense that they were sheltered. He doubted they’d ever been anywhere without a retinue of guards and attendants. 

“And you never will,” Sam replied.

“Rhoe.” Dalia turned to her other cousin.

“Forget I said anything, Dalia.”

Damian smirked at Rhoe, who gave him a discrete, vulgar gesture. 

Dinner lasted a ridiculously long time. Dish after dish came out, and while the court indulged in the sweetmeats, exotic wines, and extravagant desserts, Damian expertly dodged any prying questions.

He thought himself particularly good at this skill until Josefine shot him a knowing look. The oldest of all the children currently sitting at the table, Josefine Westfall prided herself on always being the calmest and the wisest. If anyone had any problems, she was who they would go to for advice. Damian, who had lived with her his entire life, and viewed her as more of an older sister than anything, wished she would mind her own business for once. He was sure she knew about the abdication.

Thankfully, the Queen called for the musicians to play and the floor cleared for dancing.

Immediately young, overzealous couples filed into place, eager to show off their skill, talent, and elegance to the crowd.

Damian had no interest in the music or the dancing but welcomed the distraction.

Josefine wasn’t having it though, leaning across the table and saying loud enough so everyone sitting there would hear, “Damian, Evalin, why don’t you two dance? You make such a graceful couple.”

He resisted the urge to splash her water in her face. 

“Oh, yes, I agree,” The Queen declared, nudging her daughter excitedly. 

Evalin gave her mother an annoyed glance, which the Queen ignored. 

Damian’s mother finally turned from her conversation with Lady Elide. He knew his mother cared little for marriage alliances or court politics. But he also knew that she was adamant he take his responsibilities more seriously now that the throne was being handed over to him.

Damian wished she could see that he did take his responsibilities seriously, that he would rise to the occasion of being king. But did he have to make such drastic changes to his life?

He doubted marriage with Evalin would magically make his judgment more clear. 

Realizing he would have no assistance from his mother, and not from his father, he held out a hand to Evalin. “Princess.”

“Prince,” she replied imperiously.

Every eye in the room tracked them as they made their way down from the dais to the floor. The music began to play, and they both stepped into the dance as easily as breathing. They had been trained for this after all. 

“I admire what you’ve done with the place,” Damian commented, breaking the silence as he twirled her around. 

She grinned, her previous animosity disappearing, “I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not, but I’ll accept the compliment.”

“I assure you, highness, I would never mock you.”

Evalin giggled at the faux seriousness in his voice. 

For a moment, he imagined it. Sitting on the throne, Evalin by his side. He imagined green-eyed, black-haired children running about. He imagined visiting her in Orynth, and her visiting him in Rifthold. He imagined sharing her bed, despite the fact he found the thought slightly repulsive. 

Evalin was beautiful, drawing the attention of many males. And Damian was notorious for sleeping with every pretty female he found, showering them with gifts and affection until they grew tired of each other. Yet, he never once considered doing that to Evalin. For one, he doubted she would swoon over his poorly thought-out gifts. She was a princess who could buy whatever she pleased whenever she pleased. 

There was something about her though that he couldn’t place his finger on, but assured him that this arrangement would never work.

The music came to a stop, and they both immediately dropped their hands. Evalin curtsied and he bowed. 

“Would you join me for a drink on the balcony, Damian?” Evalin asked quietly.

Too curious to deny her, he nodded, and the two of them drifted towards the edge of the hall.

They remained by a refreshments table until the court’s focus finally went from them to the new round of dancers, which included Sam and Dalia, Rhoe, and some females who came with the Southern delegation. Lyria, Damian noted, had disappeared from the gathering altogether. Probably for the best, considering how pale and uncomfortable the female had gotten as the night went on.

Truly, he never met two sisters so different than Evalin and Lyria. 

Evalin was like the sun, constantly shining, drawing the world into her. Evalin thrived at all things being a princess and a public figure.

 Lyria was uncomfortable with any sort of attention, and for as long as he could remember she dreaded social engagements, meeting strangers, and making public appearances, all things required by her station. He knew, of course, that her parents did their best to shield her from it all, allowing her more of a reprieve from duties than her siblings. If Prince Rowan had his way, Lyria would never be required to leave her rooms. 

“I don’t want to marry you, so please don’t waste your breath making any sort of proposal,” Evalin said as soon as they stepped out onto the balcony. The sun had just set, and the world was shaded in hues of purple and dark orange. 

He put a hand on his heart. “You wound me, princess.”

She sighed before she began pacing the length of the balcony.

“We need to figure out a way to please our parents, the lord’s council, and not get married,” Evalin announced.

He leaned against the railing. “I agree.”

She whirled around and faced him. “Good. Then you must get engaged immediately.”

“What?”

“You can’t marry me if you're promised to another.”

“Yes, except for a few problems with that stellar plan of yours. One, I would have to find a woman immediately to marry, of which I have none. And two, wouldn’t you still have to find someone yourself.”

Evalin gave him an exasperated look. “No. They don’t want me to marry anyone, they expect me to marry you. If you reject me, spurn me, then I will get at least a few more years until they decide the next male they favor me to choose. And anyway, can’t you just propose to one of the females you’re constantly with? Whichever one displeases you the least. Or whichever one will make the finest Queen.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You heard about that?”

Evalin frowned, distracted by her scheming. “The abdication? Yes, everyone’s heard by now. The secret was let out as soon as you arrived.”

Damian bit his lip to keep from groaning.

That got Evalin’s attention. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to be king?”

“Of course I want to be king,” Damian snapped. And it was the truth. Ever since he was a little boy, he wanted to be king. He would sit on his father’s lap during meetings, watching him so Damian could copy him in all mannerisms. He was born to rule Adarlan, born to rule the Wastes one day as well. 

Yet, a kernel of doubt kept him up at night. What if he was not as good as his father? What if he wasn’t even close?

His father was powerful, ridiculously so, and that power passed to Damian. But unlike his father, who was a scholar at heart, Damian also carried a bit of the iron teeth with him. He could be more brutal, more ruthless than his father ever was. He could lose control quicker, despite the years he spent trying to master that side of him. 

“That’s good,” she muttered. 

“But that’s beside the point,” Damian pointed out. “Your plan relies on me getting married, which I don’t want.”

“Your council will be furious with you, Damian, they want a Queen to ground you, to bring assurance to your people that you are not just some reckless prince. They want an heir.”

“Yes, unfortunately for you and them, I have not met a female able to do that.”

“And you probably never will,” Evalin said, “but make them think you have.”

“Then what?” Damian demanded, “spend the rest of my life in misery?”

Evalin gave him an imploring look. “You do not have to be a loyal husband. Once you are married, you may do whatever you please. There are females out there who care for you as little as you care for them, who want nothing but the crown.”

“You know I would never do that,” Damian sighed, “Contrary to popular belief, I am not that cruel nor so unfeeling that I could stomach a female like that sleeping beside me. Nor would I be willing to break my vows.”

Evalin sighed as well, shoulders slumping, “I know. I thought it was worth a shot. It's just that…Kings can do things Queens cannot.”

He gave a dry, humorless laugh, “I suppose that is true.”

If Damian got married and then chose to partake in several illicit affairs, no one would bat an eye. If Evalin did that, there would be a riot. 

Evalin also had a point. They needed a plan, and a good one too. Damian would be pronounced King and crowned in little over a week. Evalin’s birthday was in a day, and most likely the lords of Terrasen expected an answer from her in a similar amount of time.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Notes:

Really excited for this chapter as its kicking off a major plot point in the story!

Evalin dismissed her maids and ladies in waiting quickly after they bathed and dressed her for bed. She informed them she had a headache from the wine and the dancing and would like to be left alone for the rest of the night.

Truth be told, the last thing she wanted to do was go to bed. 

Her mind was moving a million miles a second as she attempted to come up with ideas. Evalin’s birthday was tomorrow, along with the biggest of the planned balls. There was a list of suitors, curated by Dalia, she was supposed to dance with. There was a council of lords who expected to see her engaged. There were her parents, who despite their continued support, wanted her to do her duty. 

She was granted more of a choice than most females in her position. Her cousin, Princess Emalin of Wendlyn, was betrothed when she was just ten years old and married when she was seventeen. Evalin still remembered comforting the girl as she cried before her wedding night. Lyria and Dalia were there as well and had become so distraught over Emalin’s wails that they had to leave. Evalin remained until the Princess was escorted to bed by her mother and a retinue of ladies, offering what little comfort she could. She’d been unable to come up with much since she was so inexperienced in such matters.

Despite how grateful she was that she would never have to be marched down the aisle like Emalin was, Evalin still couldn't stomach the decision in front of her.

She always held little control over her life. She was the heir to the throne, a future Queen. Every decision she made was scrutinized and discussed by the entirety of Terrasen. 

Being the Crown Princess ment she was a public figure, and her first duty would forever be to the people, even if that duty infringed on her hopes and dreams. 

Despite her lack of exhaustion earlier, she felt her eyes grow heavy. What time was it?

Feeling the urge to curl up under her covers and go to sleep, Evalin got up from the armchair she was sitting in and walked over to her bed. She pushed back the silky gold covers and crawled in. Her eyes roved over her room one more time, making sure all the candles had been blown out and everything for tomorrow was in its proper place. From her birthday dress to the crown she would wear. 

That's when she noticed something strange in the corner. A flicker of light, of power. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. 

Tilting her head to the side, Evalin reached for the dagger she kept under her pillow case, a gift from her Uncle Aedion. Her hand wrapped around the cool metal, gripping it tightly.

Slowly, Evalin kicked her covers off and swung her feet to the floor. 

Moving with the predator-like grace that had been instilled in her since she was a little girl, she approached the corner of her room. 

Evalin realized, with no little amount of surprise, that three wyrdmarks were traced into the stone. Immediately, she used her foot to smear the symbols.

She calmed her breath, crouching down and running her hand along the former marks. It was mud, she realized. Someone had drawn wyrdmarks in mud on her floor. 

Evalin supposed anyone could draw the strange symbols, but the magic required to activate them…That was rare, coveted. 

Her mother had taught her the symbols when she was very young, making her memorize the most important and useful ones. And Evalin, who inherited solely her mother’s magic, excelled in getting them to work. Not that she’d ever truly been allowed to experiment with them.

Something creaked and Evalin stood, whirling around and pointing her dagger out. 

Nothing greeted her but darkness. Yet, she had the sneaking suspicion, that something or someone was watching her. 

A loud thud sounded on the door and Evalin tensed. 

“Evalin?” Asked a quiet, timid voice.

Frowning, Evalin tucked her dagger into her nightgown and opened the door. 

Lyria stood there, looking strangely ethereal, her pale skin and silver hair illuminated by the moonlight.  

Evalin noticed faint tear tracks on her sister’s cheeks. Looking behind Lyria, Evalin also noticed a lack of guards.

“They’re on rotation,” Lyria mumbled, guessing Evalin’s confusion. 

Evalin wondered when they changed the guard's schedule.

“Come inside,” Evalin said, ushering her sister into the room and closing the doors behind her.

“Are you alright?” Evalin questioned, taking Lyria’s hand and leading her to the couch. 

Lyria nodded, biting her lip and looking around the room. Perhaps she could sense the magic. But her sister gave no indication she guessed at what had just happened.

“Happy Birthday,” Lyria said, a strange note in her voice.

Evalin blinked, before realizing it must be past midnight. Had her sister come here just to tell her that?

“Why are you crying?” Evalin quickly changed the subject.

Lyria blinked, as if she forgot. “I had a bad dream. I didn’t want to wake anyone, but I heard noises from your room.” 

Evalin believed herself to be particularly quiet, but Lyria always had the uncanny ability to hear even the slightest of noises. Uncle Fenrys once remarked she had the sense of a warrior. Lyria, however, had little interest in any sort of fighting, refusing to so much as kill a fly, much less pick up a sword. 

Evalin’s sister, contrary to everyone else in their family, was… delicate . 

As a little girl, she was timid. And as she grew, she didn’t change much. Conflict and confrontation seemed to terrify her and even trace amounts of blood made her queasy. 

Many wrote Lyria off to be simple, but Evalin knew her sister was smarter than most. She was observant with sharp instincts and understood the world around her well, she simply didn’t want to participate in it. 

“Can I….Can I stay with you tonight?” Lyria asked.

It was Evalin’s turn to blink in surprise. She loved her sister with every bone in her body, but Lyria was always so distant. They had no shared interests or traits, and it seemed Lyria preferred to be alone or with Dalia than to be in Evalin’s company. Really, for a long time, it seemed Lyria preferred to be in anyone’s company but Evalin’s.

“Of course.”

Lyria stood up and walked towards the bed, crawling under the covers without another word. By the time Evalin joined her, her eyes were closed.

“Lyria?”

She didn’t open her eyes. “Yes?”

“What was your dream about?”

No reply.

Evalin frowned lying down beside Lyria. She smelled of the gardens. 

 

—

When Evalin woke up, her sister was clinging to her.

No servants had come to draw back the curtains and bring in a tray of tea, but sunlight had begun creeping into the room. 

Evalin gently untangled herself from her sister. If she wanted time to figure out how those wyrdmarks had ended up in her room, or who had done it, then she needed an early start. 

Her day was filled with activities, many of which she’d planned when she was still looking forward to her birthday. Cursing herself, Evalin grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her nightgown, before sliding her slippers onto her feet. 

Maybe if she was lucky, she could get to her family’s private library before she was required to show her face. 

Unfortunately, luck was not on Evalin’s side as as soon as she made a step towards the door, it burst open.

Her ladies in waiting-entered first, Lady Aloisia and Lady Jessabell, followed by her handmaidens, Jeyne, Celine, and Liya. Aloisia and Jessabell paused, seemingly surprised Evalin was already awake. They both dropped into curtsies.

“Your Highness,” Aloisa murmured. Aloisa was the daughter of a prominent lord, who controlled nearly all Eastern trade routes, making him unbelievably wealthy. Her mother was a high fae from Doranelle. 

The same could be said of Jessabell, whose mother was brought from the East to breed immortality into her family’s noble bloodline. 

They were both chosen for that exact reason, as her parents did not want her childhood companions to die before Evalin reached true adulthood. 

Jessabell was currently looking at Lyria, a slight frown on her face.

“Is Princess Lyria going to get ready here this morning, Your Highness? Would you like us to alert her ladies?” Aloisa asked cheerfully, moving to open the curtains.

Sunlight poured into the room and Evalin resisted the urge to flinch. 

“That’s alright, Lady Aloisia, I’ll go back to my rooms.”

Lyria was sitting straight up in bed, looking far better than Evalin did after their long night. 

“Nonsense,” Evalin decided, “you're already here. Jeyne, would you bring in another tea service?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Jeyne curtsied and left the room. 

Soon, Evalin’s rooms became filled. Her ladies and maids, and Lyria’s, crowding the space and filling it with delightful chatter. 

She welcomed the distraction and eagerly indulged in all the gossip. 

Lyria sat by her side, not speaking, not even to her ladies. Evalin knew that the two females were little more than decoration. Lyria preferred to either be alone or with Dalia when Dalia wasn’t flirting with her father’s soldiers behind his back or chasing after some new rumor with other ladies at court. 

Evalin was hoping the optimism brought along by the females would encourage Lyria to come out of her shell, or at least smile. When Evalin had bad nights, she craved interaction with others. 

Something sharp jabbed into the back of her head and Evalin immediately lurched forward.

“Sorry, highness,” Jessabell apologized, “these pins are tricky.”

“It’s alright.” Evalin beamed at her. 

She returned the look, although she still looked slightly hungover from last night.

Wriggling her eyebrows suggestively, Evalin asked, “Did you see Lord Arden last night?”

Aloisia giggled knowingly.

Jessabell sighed like an exasperated mother. “His Lordship and I danced a few times, but he has many admirers.”

“None as pretty as you, Lady Jessabelle,” Lady Aine, one of Lyria’s ladies, commented.

Jessabelle blushed.

Lyria frowned.

 

–

 

By midday, Evalin was both exhausted and unable to focus. The entire court had descended onto the Solstice markets of Orynth, and while usually, this was her favorite thing to do on her birthday, she couldn’t focus.

When she was a little girl, she delighted in imagining the entire market was for her. Everything from the brightly colored paper lanterns to the fresh peach tarts and sweet wine. Of course, this was a tradition in Terrasen long before she was born. 

The heat was unbearable to her, despite the fact the rest of the court seemed unaffected. Her dress, which was made with white silk, embroidered with gold, and draped sheer sleeves, was designed specifically to combat the heat. Evalin needed to have a word with her seamstress. 

Lyria, who was up as late as Evalin was, displayed no signs of exhaustion as she walked arm-in-arm with their father. 

Elentiya, who was excited to finally be allowed to participate in some court activity, was running away from her haggard nursemaids. Rhoe swept in when she ran too far, scooping her into his arms with a laugh. 

Marion and Josefine had relieved the nursery staff of dealing with Ress and Gavriel and were currently holding the boys’ hands as they walked around the sparkling city streets. 

Her mother and Aunt Lysandra were listening to Dalia as she told them all about the latest scandals, and behind them, Yrene, Elide, and Manon talked. 

Sam and Damian had gotten into some petty argument, as always, and Torin watched them, clearly exasperated. 

“Evalin!” Josefine called, “Come join us!”

Evalin halted, waiting for the group to catch up. 

Josefine was in her signature blue, although her dress was styled nothing like it usually was, as instead of the Adarlanian fashion, it was similar to the gowns Princess Nesryn wore. Marion, who Evalin rarely saw at court anymore, was in a simple white muslin gown, the symbols of her house and family embroidered in a pale green around the edges. Her dark hair was bound in an intricate braid and intertwined with silky pink ribbon. 

“I want to go see the show,” Gavriel whined.

“Yes, me too!” Ress agreed, tugging on his sister's sleeve. 

Noticing Evalin’s confused expression, Marion explained, “ Remember the puppet show? I accidentally told them how we all used to go to it every year when we were children and they’ve been talking about it all morning.”

“We promised to take them,” Josefine sighed, giving her brother a slightly scolding look. “And I thought you might want to join us.”

“Yes!” Gavriel exclaimed, “Please come with us, Evie.” 

“It’s just around the corner,” Evalin told the boys, “if I’m remembering correctly.”

“You are,” Marion said cheerfully, looping her arm through Evalin’s. 

They made their way to the small, ornate stage where the show was held on loop for the entirety of solstice. It was a new story every year, but Evalin had stopped paying attention to what love ballads or fables the company put on over a hundred years ago.

She admired the solstice decorations, savoring the beauty of Orynth this time of year, knowing that in a couple of days, it would all be removed.

Flowers hung from every business and every house, crisscrossing over the freshly cleaned street. Citizens had hung embroidered banners with symbols of Terrasen, light, and life from their windowsills. Lanterns were placed outside every door, ready to be lit and sent off that night after the sunset. Painted candles were lit next to gilded images of Mala Firebringer and her king, Brannon Galathynius. Little bags of spices and dried flowers lined the streets as sweet-smelling offerings. 

Common folk waved as they passed, easily recognizing Evalin, Marion, and Gavriel, all who appeared in public often. They probably recognized Josefine and Ress too, considering that following behind their group were guards wearing the livery of Terrasen, the livery of Perranth, and the livery of Anielle. Even if they wanted to disguise themselves within the crowds, it would be nearly impossible with their brightly colored guards following within proximity.

They all waved back, except for Gavriel and Ress who were too busy trying to wriggle out of Josefine’s iron grip.

By the time they reached the outdoor theater, the stone benches were filled with children eating sweet orange ice and roasted chestnuts. The crowd of watchful parents behind them would have been impossible to get through if it weren't for the aforementioned recognizability. 

Neither boy cared that everyone gaped at them, as they took the first seats available. And neither seemed to notice how the retinue of guards fanned around them in a protective semi-circle. Evalin remembered what it was like to be so oblivious to things like that. 

Ress turned to his elder sister, “Josie! Josie!”

“Yes, little Ress,” Josefine replied.

Usually, Ress would frown at the nickname his sister so lovingly called him, insisting he was not little, but he seemed too excited to notice.

“Can Gavriel and I have some sweet ice?” Ress begged.

Josefine hummed, unconvinced. Evalin and Marion swapped amused smiles. 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to spoil your appetites for dinner.”

Ress pouted an adorable expression that made Evalin’s heart melt. 

“Please. Please. Please. Please,” Ress begged.

Josefine sighed, “All right. I suppose you can each have one.”

Both boys cheered at that. 

“Would you two like some?” Josefine asked.

“Yes, please,” Evalin replied.

Marion nodded.

One of Evalin’s favorite solstice treats was sweet ice. It was exactly what it sounded like too. Ice was imported from the mountains before it was shaved and flavored. Finally, vendors of this famed treat would pour sweet cream over it, making it perfect for a hot day. 

Josefine disappeared, and two guards left with her.

Just then, the red velvet curtains opened, causing the crowd of younglings to gasp with delight. 

Evalin smiled fondly at them. They were the future of Terrasen after all. 

A small yet beautiful castelet had been set up on the stage.

A cool breeze blew through the crowd. Evalin shivered, suddenly cold. 

As music began to play, and the show began, she had a sinking feeling she knew what it was about. 

“A long, long time ago, there was a Princess who loved her kingdom very much. A Princess named Elena.”

Evalin knew this story by heart. She knew about Elena and Gavin, about Brannon’s disapproval, about the valg king and the Gods, and Mala’s sacrifice for her daughter. She knew about Elena’s foolishness and desperation at that moment. She knew how that led to her own mother’s sacrifice, to the second Valg war. 

The entire crowd seemed enchanted by the retelling, gasping and laughing in all the right moments. Evalin felt sick. Her body became warm, too warm. 

It was only a thirty-minute production, but it felt like an eternity that she stood there.

“But Queen Elena, for all that she loved her people and her kingdom, had made a mistake.”

A mistake was a small word for what Elena did that day. 

The puppet depicting Erawan came to life, his features cruelly exaggerated. A mockery of the evil that swept through their lands only a century ago. 

“Evalin,” Marion hissed, tugging on her arm.

Evalin blinked at her friend. Marion gestured to Evalin’s other side.

Josefine was holding out a bowl of sweet ice, her eyes filled with concern. 

“All you alright?” She whispered.

“Of course,” Evalin replied, trying to keep her voice calm. 

Josefine’s hand ran up and down her arm in a soothing gesture, and Evalin knew the female was using a trace of her healing magic to cool her body down. She was thankful for it, as the last thing she wanted was to cause a scene, especially when so many eyes were on her. 

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Evalin might have been dreading her birthday all week, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to dazzle the crowd. When she first commissioned her dress for the ball, she’d instructed it to be as jaw-dropping as possible. And as she stared at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but be in awe.  

It was made of a gold velvet so fine it felt like water under her fingertips.  A pattern of stags and flames was embroidered into the fabric of the dress in a dark gold thread. The neckline, which was studded with pearls, was precariously low, dipping off her shoulders and leaving her collarbone bare. A matching jeweled belt accentuated her waist. Her hair had been left curling over her shoulders, allowing for the crown on her head to claim full attention.

“You look beautiful,” her mother murmured as she fastened Evalin’s necklace. 

The Queen had insisted on helping her daughter get dressed and Evalin, who wanted for nothing but the night to end as indistinctly as possible, agreed. 

“Mother,” Evalin asked suddenly, heart squeezing in her chest. She needed to know the answer to her question before she faced her kingdom. 

Her mother placed her warm hands on Evalin’s shoulders. “Yes, fireheart?”

Evalin swallowed, her throat felt dry. “If, for whatever reason, I am unable to—”

“Mama!”

Both females whirled around as Elentiya ran into the room and threw herself at their mother.

The Queen crouched down, returning Elentiya’s embrace. Evalin noted, with both amusement and irritation, that Ellie was in her nightgown, hair brushed and braided back for bed.

Their mother also noticed this, frowning disapprovingly. “Are you running away from Lady Kateryn again?”

Elentiya pouted. “I don’t want to go to bed, mama.”

Before their mother could reprimand Ellie, the young girl turned towards Evalin, eyes widening.

“You look so pretty, Eva! I wish I could wear a dress like that.”

Their mother’s shoulders slumped in resignation as Elentiya bounded towards Evalin.

Evalin’s irritation disappeared as Elentiya ogled her. She couldn’t fault her sister for being enthusiastic or for interrupting. When she was Ellie’s age, she would drag her feet to go to bed, especially when she knew her parents would be attending some fancy ball or feast. She would sometimes sit on their bed as they got ready, and other times, she would sit at her mother’s feet, admiring her gowns and jewels. Her mother and father would always make sure to put her to bed themselves on nights like these, knowing how desperate Evalin was to go with them.

Most nights, after pretending to be asleep, she would sneak out and hide under a table or behind a tapestry to watch the court.

She wanted nothing more than to wear a pretty dress and drink and dance her night away. 

“Elentiya Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.”

Elentiya looked up, startled as their father entered the room, entirely unamused. 

Evalin leaned down and whispered mischievously in her sister’s ear, “Someone’s in trouble.”

Elentiya shot her annoyed look, batting her hand away. “I’m not in trouble.”

“Yes, you are,” their father corrected, crossing his arms over his chest in clear disapproval. “It’s time for bed.”

Elentiya began pouting again, her eyes becoming comically wide as they filled with tears. Honestly, it was impressive, especially as Evalin saw how their father’s features softened ever so slightly. 

She stifled her laughter. 

He kneeled in front of Elentiya. “Your governess is very worried about you. You cannot run from her every time you feel like it, Elentiya. And you especially cannot escape your guards. They are there to protect you.”

Elentiya looked slightly ashamed and lowered her eyes remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to talk to Mama.”

“I know,” their father said gently, wiping her tears away before pulling her into his arms. 

He stood up. “I’m going to put this one to bed.” His eyes flickered from his mate to his elder daughter. “You look beautiful, Evalin.”

“Thank you, dad.”

Her mother cleared her throat. “Be back in time to escort Evalin in.”

“Of course.”

“Daddy,” Elentiya asked, grabbing his attention. “Can you read me a bedtime story?”

“I already read you one.”

“Can you read another? Just one more?”

“Fine. One. A quick one.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Elentiya agreed, “I'll pick the shortest one I have.”

Their father shook his head fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. 

“After Lyria, I was hoping my days of stubborn and mischievous children were over,” her mother said with a sigh.

“Dad says Ellie is like you,” Evalin pointed out.

Her mother shrugged unapologetically. “Oh, she is. Now what is it you wanted to ask me?”

Evalin almost forgot about that. Suddenly, the courage she’d been building up all evening disappeared. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

Her mother gave her a knowing look.

“Mom, please. It’s not important,” Evalin insisted. 

“Alright. If you say so. But you know you can talk to me about anything, right fireheart?”

“Yes, mom.”

Her mother pressed a kiss to Evalin’s forehead. “Good.”

Evalin gave herself one more look over in the mirror.

With an approving nod, she straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair over her shoulders. They were not going to know what hit them.

 

–

 

Her father, once he returned from bedtime duties, escorted her into the great hall. 

If the guests thought the decorations before were lavish, tonight’s were extravagant. Evalin had designed the decor all herself, putting as much care as she usually would. Despite not being fond of the circumstances, she would rather marry Damian than be known as the female who fumbled the decorations of the most anticipated event of the year.

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” her father said, his green eyes, the eyes they shared, taking in everything.

Evalin laughed softly. “We both know you don’t know the first thing about party planning, Dad.”

He chuckled. “I suppose not.”

Everyone rose from their seats as the father-daughter pair entered, dropping into low bows. Her mother and brothers were already seated in their usual spots at the head of the room. But instead of a table, there were thrones. 

Her mother was in the center, the banner of Terrasen behind her. To her left was an empty chair for her father, and two smaller chairs that her brothers currently occupied. To her right were Evalin’s and Lyria’s seats. Evalin noticed, with some shock, that Lyria had not bothered to come, her chair empty. 

Keeping her head up high, Evalin refused to acknowledge any of the suitors with so much as a glance. She was the Crown Princess, the future Queen. She was born for this. 

She triumphed in the impressed gasps and envious murmurs of those around her. No one could take their eyes off her. 

This was her moment. Or so she hoped. 

That twisting feeling returned to her gut as her father led her up the steps and sat her on her throne. 

She wanted to grip his hand and throw herself into his arms as she did when she was a little girl and was afraid. She felt it in her heart when he let go of her hand to take his seat. 

Suddenly everyone’s eyes on her didn’t feel triumphant, but like a prison sentence. They all knew what decision she was going to make tonight.

She needed to breathe. Her skin was too hot. She could feel her power rising to the surface.

A servant leaned forward, offering her a glass of champagne. She took it automatically, raising it with the court as her mother and father made their toasts. 

Flames began to lick her palms. And for the first time in a long time, Evalin couldn’t contain them. Something was wrong. 

Why was her head spinning? 

The glass dropped from her hand, shattering on the floor. 

The fear she’d been feeling all week seemed to amplify. 

That fear that if she agreed to this, she would be signing her life away. That fear that if she did this, it would be permanent, solidifying her role as a future queen. 

Future Queens could not travel the continent. Future Queens could not ride off on their horses whenever they pleased. Future Queens could not do what they pleased. They were confined to their castles and counseling rooms. Future queens would never be free. 

She heard faraway voices calling her name and the sound of pounding footsteps. Someone grabbed her. She yanked her arm away, falling to the floor.

Another set of hands reached for her, trying to help her up.

Her skin burned and burned and burned.

She pushed away as forcefully as she could, stumbling to her feet and bracing herself against a column. 

Evalin needed to breathe. She needed a nice, cool touch. 

Fighting the urge to press her head into the marble, she pushed away one more time, propelling herself towards one of the side exits of the hall.

Ignoring the shouting voices calling her name, ignoring the footsteps that followed her, Evalin ran to her room.

The guards stationed outside her door were not there so she burst through the doors without resistance.

“Your Highness?” A familiar voice asked, surprised.

Jessabell was here for whatever reason. 

“Get out,” Evalin ordered. “Now, please!”

She heard footsteps running from the room. 

Evalin collapsed on the floor, cradling herself. Why was she burning?

It was all too much. Her power was overwhelming her like it never had before. Like something was forcing it to come out. She felt so afraid, so trapped and lost. 

She pressed her head against the floor and was shocked to find it cold. And…wet?

Evalin groaned, rolling over. The sunlight blinded her.

She didn’t remember her bedroom having a sun.

The burning subsided, her power retreating in on itself. 

Why was it so cold?

With a jolt, Evalin sat up, forcing away her dizziness.

She took in her surroundings of snow and ice and mountains as confusion filled her. Then shock. Then horror. 

 

Chapter 7

Sunday morning, Nyx winnowed bright and early to the Moonstone palace. He was hoping to catch Nova before she went to Illyria, and offer to escort her. 

He knew she would most likely reject this proposal, but he was sure he could find a way to convince her to let him come along. Nyx was far better company than Caelum.

You are not under any circumstances to take over that case.

He decided he wasn’t technically taking over, as he was simply trying to be helpful. 

Suspiciously enough, he found the halls of the palace to be empty. None of Nova’s favored rooms were occupied. She wasn’t still asleep, was she?

Sending out a wave of magic, he attempted to brush against her mind. He found it down in the dungeons of Hewn City. With a bit of prodding against her ironclad mental shields, Nova acquiesced, allowing him inside. 

A bit early for torment, don’t you think? 

It’s also a bit too early to be a busybody, yet you don’t let that deter you.

He chuckled. I thought you were heading to Illyria today.

A pause. You’re not coming.

That’s unfair. And who said I even wanted to come?

I’m telling Uncle Rhys. 

If you tell, I’m telling.

I haven’t done anything.

Remember when you swore you’d stop castrating Keir’s relatives? 

Nova shoved him out of her mind.

Flicking a piece of lint off his jacket, he winnowed into the city below.

He appeared right before the entrance to the dungeons, and as he suspected, the sounds of a male screaming could be heard from far below.

Descending into the dark, Nyx put a tight glamor on his wings, ensuring they remained hidden. While he couldn’t wish them away like his father could, he could still conceal them. 

He found his delightful and sweet cousin sitting in one of the cells, watching as two Valkyries carved up a familiar-looking male. Her expression could have been made from stone, as imperious and unmoving as an empress’s. 

Beside Nova was Keir, who looked positively furious. 

The Valkyries glanced at Nyx as he entered and then at Nova, who nodded. They dropped the male, sending him sprawling into a puddle of his blood. 

The two females left the room, bowing slightly as they went. 

“Please, Lord, please, spare me. Make her stop!” The male wailed, reaching for Nyx.

He gave his cousin a pointed look, and she replied with an innocent shrug of her shoulders. 

Keir launched to his feet whirling around to face Nyx. 

“Tell her to end this. She has no right–”

Nyx waved his hand, cutting off Keir’s airflow. The steward began clawing at his throat. 

“The Lady has every right to do as she pleases.” He released Keir, who bent over, gasping for breath. 

Keir had barely regained his breath when Nova waved him away. “You’re dismissed.”

He spluttered, his face turning red with anger, then pale with fear as Nova raised a dark eyebrow at him.

He left without another word.

The male on the ground began to whimper.

“It’s honestly pathetic,” Nova muttered with a disappointed sigh. 

Nyx claimed Keir’s seat. “What did he do?”

“He thought it was a wise idea to start issues in the city. I’m simply reminding him of where his loyalties should lie.”

“Please–” The male began.

Nova lifted her hand almost imperceptibly and silver flames wound their way around the male, binding his body and mouth. His cries became muffled. 

“You have a replacement for him?” Nyx asked, as he finally placed where he recognized the male from. He was one of Keir’s nephews and acted as a ruling figure of the Court of Nightmares. 

“His daughter is loyal and agreed to fill the position.”

“I assume she won’t seek out revenge for killing him.”

Nova laughed. “She’s the one who exposed his schemes, and apprehended him.”

Nyx knew that Nova was going to bring change when she took over the city. He also knew she liked to make a statement, and replacing disobedient lords with females was one way to get people to fall into line. 

Nova stood up without another word, leaving the cell, and the prisoner, behind. Nyx followed her, locking the door with a wave of his hand and carefully putting the protective wards back in place. 

“Anyways,” Nova said, once they emerged from the dungeons into the court, “I meant what I said earlier. I’m not taking you to Illyria with me.”

Nyx frowned. “Caelum is busy in Ironcrest and Asher is still in Windhaven. You need someone to come with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re as bad as our parents.”

Nobles, servants, and soldiers alike bowed as they passed, dropping to their knees.

He kept his cold mask on, unwilling to show even a flicker of emotion in this place.

“Have you found anything yet?” He asked, his voice barely audible. 

“Nothing concrete, but I  have an idea.”

Nyx stopped and held out his arm. “Then let’s go.”

Nova crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s with you and these murders? You don’t have to solve every problem, you know that right?”

He shrugged, nonchalant. “I started this. I intend to help end it.”

He didn’t particularly like the knowing way Nova looked at him. 

But, thankfully,  after a moment, she grabbed his hand, just as the black gown she was wearing transformed into Illyrian leathers. Nodding approvingly, Nyx winnowed them away.

He took them to the last murder site, even though it had been cleared away after no one could find anything. 

Despite being the height of Summer, the steppes were still covered in snow. Thankfully, the slightly milder weather meant they wouldn’t have to worry about snowstorms. 

Nova stepped away from him, eyes inspecting the landscape. “This is the easternmost the bodies were found.”

It wasn’t a question but Nyx nodded anyway. “The first body was found to the south, closer to Windhaven. The second was in the western half of the steppes.”

Nova looked upwards, and before Nyx could follow her gaze, she spread her wings, her own glamor on them falling away, and launched upwards.

Cursing, he followed her.

“What are you—” Nyx shut his mouth when he realized what she was looking at. Ramiel. 

While not particularly close to the murder site, it was visible over the trees. 

“This is near the first of the drop sites for the Rite,” Nova muttered, more to herself than to him.

That’s when it clicked. “You think the bodies are related to the drop sites?”

“Strange things happen in the steppes, especially when it comes to the Rite.”

“The rite was months ago. There is no magic before or after.”

Nova gave him a look. “The steppes don’t just lose their magic when the Rite ends.” 

He considered this, remembering back to his days training at the camps. During practice exercises, the would-be warriors would be sent into the woods and told to survive through the night. He still remembers sitting by a too-small fire as some of the older boys told stories to scare them. 

They told them that an untold number of beasts roamed the steppes of Illyria and that the mountains were alive with dark and ancient magic no one dared to explore. 

Nyx never gave much thought to these stories, chalking them up to a hazing ritual at best.

 He’s faced the beasts of the mountains many times before, gone head to head with their scaled bodies and long, dagger-like fangs that protruded from grotesquely large mouths. They were dangerous, but after the first time he had to fight one, it became clear they posed little threat to him. 

And for the rest of the stories they told, well there was little merit in those. Or so Nyx thought. 

In his hundred years of living, he felt he adequately understood the magic of Illyria, its rules and confines. Like all things, it was bound by the laws of the world. No one dared to explore because there was little to explore and little need to do so. 

But as he watched Ramiel, Nyx felt strange. Felt like how he imagined heroes in the stories felt before they faced some unknown foe. They knew something was coming, something was wrong, but they didn’t know what. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Nova stiffened slightly, moving to fly forward. Nyx grabbed her, winnowing them to the ground.

“We should split up,” She said, eyes still looking northward towards the mountain. “I’ll look at the western drop site, you look at this one.”

“No,” Nyx said. “You’re going back.”

Nova’s eyes flared with silver, the air becoming metallic with the smell of her magic. “No, I’m not.”

“You will,” he ordered, unwilling to compromise. Something was wrong. And he didn’t want to wait around and see what it was.

Her hands curled slightly, as if invisible claws were unfurling. 

“Go to Ironcrest and find Caelum. I’ll handle this.”

“I’m not-” Nova paused, eyes widening slightly before she collapsed.

Nyx swore, grabbing her before she hit the ground. Her body was trembling uncontrollably.

Caelum!   Nyx shouted into his cousin’s mind, banging on his mental shields.

What’s wrong? 

He sent a mental image of what was happening and within seconds Caelum was there, hazel eyes wide.  

“Take her,” Nyx ordered, handing Nova off to her brother.

“Mother’s tits, Nyx,” Caelum swore, his siphons flaring. Nyx knew that his cousin could also feel it. That strange, ancient magic was permeating the air, and it was coming from Ramiel. 

Nova began jerking in Caelum’s hold. 

“Get her to Windhaven.”

Caelum looked as though he was about to protest, stopping Nyx from going to investigate himself. Then he nodded and winnowed away. 

Nyx unfurled his wings and shot into the sky, flying straight towards the sacred mountain. 

He wouldn’t go so far as to go onto the mountain. Growing up in Illyria, surrounded by their cultures and traditions had instilled in Nyx a deep sense of apprehension and respect when it came to Ramiel. Unless it was the sacred rite, one would not be allowed to enter. 

His eyes tracked the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary. 

Soon, he was forced to land, still a mile or so away from the closest drop site, as he was unable to see the ground from above.

This deep into the mountain the forest was thick.

Roots and shrubs and trees grew impossibly close together. He kept his wings completely tucked in with no room to breathe to prevent them from scraping against the foliage. 

It was silent except for his heavy breathing. Too silent. There was no wind, no rustle of leaves, no anything. It was as if all the creatures that roamed here felt it too, and ran. 

Nyx diligently kept his shields up, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

That’s when he felt it. It was similar to Nova’s magic in a sense, that same metallic smell filled the air, burning his nostrils and making his mouth dry. But while Nova’s magic was cold and silent, this felt fiery and aggressive. 

Everything seemed to stop. 

He whirled around, drawing his sword. 

It was not some beast of legend or an enemy soldier or an assassin sent to kill him. The ground was illuminated with sparks. Tiny little wildfires that seemed to have burned a path in the snow and ground. 

Illyria was damp with snow this time of year, what could start a fire was beyond him and what type of fire could still be burning for even a second…

His flames, which he inherited from his mother, were his weakest element. As a child, he found it consistently frustrating to summon it, much less keep it around. As an adult he rarely ever used it, and if he did it was most likely to light a candle. 

Summoning his most favored type of magic, shadows and night began to dance along his knuckles. It was familiar, comforting,  and grounding as he walked forward, following the path of melted snow. 

He knew he should turn back, call for backup, and inform someone of where he was and where he was going but for the first time in his life, he felt the urge to ignore his training. It was pulling him in, hypnotizing him.

Even if he wanted to, Nyx doubted he could turn away. 

The forest became brighter as he approached a small clearing, sunshine streaming through the trees. 

He blinked. A female sat in the center, surrounded by a ring of now-melted snow. She was in a dazzling golden dress and her long blonde hair hung limp down her back. And for whatever reason, she was scribbling furiously into the mud, her hands covered in dirt and grime. 

Keeping silent, Nyx sheathed his sword and winnowed once more. This time right behind her. 

She tensed as soon as his feet hit the crowd, clearly sensing another presence, but before she could do anything, Nyx bound her in darkness and shadows. 

The female jerked away, attempting to free herself. He closed his fist, tightening the binds, before reaching towards her.

Her skin was warm, despite the fact she wore a gown fit for Spring or Summer in the middle of the steppes. 

Turning her around, he came face to face with furious pine-green eyes.

With a wave of his hand, the darkness slid from her mouth, allowing her to speak. 

She shouted and for a moment, Nyx wondered how she was speaking so shrilly he couldn’t understand a word she was saying, before realizing he actually couldn’t understand a word she was saying. 

The language she spoke was foreign to him and nothing like he’d ever heard before. With her coloring and pretty features, he would have assumed the Spring Court, but perhaps she was from the continent. Some of the fae realms there spoke different languages, even if they mainly used the common tongue. 

But he’d been trained to at least speak the bare minimum of these languages, even if he was not fluent in them, and he was certain she was not speaking any of them. 

“Enough,” Nyx ordered, in a tone he hoped conveyed his meaning.

It seemed to, as the female paused, tilting her head to the side like a predator inspecting her prey. 

She said something quietly in her language. 

He didn’t reply, instead going for her mind. Her shields were impressive, yet seemed rudimentary as if she’d never actually practiced against a daemanti.

Her green eyes widened as she realized what he was doing, but before she could respond, Nyx had rendered her unconscious. 

She slumped into his arms. 

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Notes:

Sorry for the long time in between chapters! I have midterms coming up but hopefully afterwards chapters will be coming in close together!

Damian had never seen Aelin and Rowan look so disheveled. For the last couple of hours, the entire palace had been upturned in an attempt to find Evalin. By this point, the entire army had been sent to search for the missing princess. 

Her lady in waiting had been hysterical as she recounted the last time she saw Evalin before she was led to bed. The female had claimed that Evalin was still in the room when she ran out, shouting for guards to come, but by the time they came, Evalin was long gone. 

“Aedion is coming back soon,” The Queen of Terrasen said quietly. Everyone stopped talking, glancing over. “He and his soldiers can help the search as they return from the North.”

The queen’s cousin had been away for weeks with an elite legion of soldiers to do routine patrols. He’d been delayed on his return, as he was supposed to come back before the Solstice. Damian had thought it was strange considering that Aedion never missed a single one of Evalin’s birthdays, but he didn’t say anything, especially when he noticed how worried Lysandra became at the mention of it. 

“She couldn’t have gotten far,” Sam assured his mother.

Damian disagreed. If Evalin truly wanted to run away and never come back, he doubted anyone would find her ever again. She was a female who was good at getting what she wanted, and he was sure what she wanted right now was not to be found. Damian had seen the panicked look in her eyes, the desperation as she ran. He’d known her all his life, he knew her deepest desire and how ashamed she was of it. 

Evalin saw the crown as both her destiny and her prison. She’d been born, groomed, to be Queen, and was never allowed to be anything else. She knew it was inevitable and couldn’t understand why her body and mind resisted it so much. 

There was no future in which Evalin could see herself happy and queen, but there also wasn’t a future where she could see herself not being the queen. Or at least that’s what Damian thought until last night when she ran from the ballroom. 

He always assumed Evalin’s love and loyalty to her people and family overran her desire to leave.

“We’ll search the city again,” Rowan decided. The Prince had spent the last few hours rotating between interrogating the guards that were supposed to be outside Evalin’s door and leading searches himself. 

Lorcan had joined him, but despite the warrior’s superior tracking skills, it was as if Evalin disappeared without a trace. 

“I’ll search the countryside,” Rhoe murmured, “she might have gone to one of the farms. She loves riding Roswell down there.”

Evalin did not take her prized Asterion mare when she left, which struck Damian as odd. She rarely ever left without Roswell. He assumed if she was going to make a run for it, she would take her horse. 

“I’ll come with you,” The Queen announced.

Her sons shared a glance, while her mate looked as if he was going to disagree with her. 

He was sure the lord’s council of Terrasen, if they’d not been kicked out of the room almost immediately, would share the sentiment. 

“Don’t,” Aelin warned, standing up. There was a fire in her eyes. This was the female who’d waged a war on the Valg, who’d walked across worlds. This was the female who when her daughter had been born, swore to do anything to protect her. 

Rowan nodded. An understanding look passed between them. 

“I can help join in the search.” His mother stood as well. “My witches are faster and can cover longer distances.”

“Thank you, Manon,” Aelin said.

“Of course.”

A tense silence filled the room. 

Then– “Lyria is still in her room?” Rowan asked.

“Yes,” Dalia replied, face still pale, “and Ellie and the boys are asleep. Marion and I double-checked.”

Marion nodded her confirmation.

Rowan seemed relieved by this and Damian tried to imagine the guilt that he must be feeling. Evalin had run because of the decision that was forced upon her, one her parents encouraged. 

“Goodnight,” The Queen said shortly, standing up and leaving the room before anyone could object. Damian guessed she was going to be doing anything but sleeping. The Prince followed her out, whispering something to Sam as he did so.

Sam nodded, green eyes determined and fierce. 

With wary glances and tense goodbyes, everyone slowly exited the room. 

Damian stayed behind, Sam and Rhoe with him. Neither seemed intent on going to sleep anytime soon. 

He waved his hand and a goblet of wine was placed in front of each male. Damian didn’t wait for anyone else to reach for their glass before nearly draining it. His plans before this had involved drinking himself sick before finding a pretty and agreeable female to take to bed. While the latter half of the plan was surely spoiled, he intended to make good on the first part. 

“Our sister is missing and you’re planning on getting drunk?” Sam asked, voice low.

Damian sighed, “She chose to run, only she can choose when to come back.”

Sam shot to his feet, nearly toppling his chair over. “And if she gets hurt? Or if someone recognizes her? Someone with ill intentions? What then?”

“She isn’t entirely helpless, Sam,” Rhoe acknowledged, running his hands through his silver hair. 

“I know that,” Sam snapped, “but it doesn’t change the fact that she has no idea what she is doing. Evalin panicked, she didn’t think this choice through!”

“But if she did?” Damian asked, taking another swing of his drink. 

Sam glared at him as if the thought of his older sister making such a decision was impossible. “She was just scared.”

“Father and Uncle Lorcan will find her,” Rhoe said. Damian couldn’t tell if he was assuring them or himself. 

“What if they don’t?”

All three of them turned to find Lyria standing there, as pale and ethereal as a ghost. Her silver hair hung loose over her nightgown and her blue eyes shone in the candlelight. 

How the hell did she get there?

“Lyria, what are you doing up?” Sam demanded, walking over to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“What if they can’t find Evalin?” She asked again, avoiding her brother’s question.

Rhoe blinked and Damian set his glass down, leaning forward in his chair.

“What do you mean? Of course, they will find Evalin. You don’t have to worry,” Sam muttered to her. 

Lyria pushed away from her brother, walking towards the fire and staring in. “Not if she didn’t run.”

“What do you mean, Ria?” Rhoe questioned once more, uncertain.

Damian knew Lyria could be…eccentric, and he never minded, but this was excessive. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  

She turned to face Rhoe, her eyes too wide. “What if someone took her?”

He felt the air in the room change. A coldness seeped in that not even the roaring fire could warm. 

If Evalin hadn’t run…But that was impossible. She disappeared from her bedroom. There were no signs of struggle, no yelling or fighting. Her lady had not reported anything amiss. They would know if someone took her.

“Something is wrong,” Lyria continued, a haunted expression in her eyes. “Something happened to Evalin.”

“You’re tired,” Sam declared, “you should go back to bed.”

Lyria raised her chin, almost definitely. It was the most determined Damian had ever seen her. She met Sam’s eyes. 

“I can feel it in my bones, Samuel,” Lyria said.

Sam shook his head. “That’s enough.”

“No,” Lyria snapped. 

Damian nearly jumped at the sound. Lyria did not snap or yell or get angry. He had thought her incapable of the emotion. 

“Listen to me, please,” Lyria begged, turning towards Rhoe. A certain desperation seemed to fill her. One that made him nervous. 

“We are listening, Ria,” Rhoe replied. He reached out a hand but she jerked away.

“No you’re not,” she muttered. 

“We are.”

“No! No! This is all wrong!” Lyria shouted suddenly. She grabbed her head and cried out, falling to the floor.

Sam reached for her, catching her before she hit it at full force. He crouched beside his younger sister as tears streamed down her face.

Damian did not know what to do. Lyria was in hysterics on the ground, and she seemed convinced something happened to Evalin. It seemed cruel and wrong to dismiss her outright but there was no way anyone had managed to sneak into Evalin’s rooms unless…

What had that Lady’s name been again? The one who saw Evalin right before the disappearance? Isabel? Jessica? 

She would have seen the kidnappers, there’s no way she wouldn’t have. 

Rhoe must have noticed the expression on his face because he raised a silver brow. 

Damian shook his head, mouthing later.

“I’m going to put Lyria to bed,” Sam announced, scooping his sister up in his arms. 

Lyria did not protest as he took her from the room, but there was a mix of sadness and bitter anger in her eyes that Damian did not like. 

As soon as the door shut behind them, Rhoe turned on him.

“What is it? I know that face of yours.”

“What if Lyria has a point?”

“There’s no sign of kidnapping,” Rhoe protested, “and how would someone even get in—”

“Evalin wouldn’t leave like this. Even if she was afraid or didn’t want to do it anymore. We both know she’d give anything for your family, for Terrasen.”

Rhoe shifted slightly on his feet. “No…but there’s no evidence of an alternative.”

“Did you speak to the Lady that saw Evalin?”

Rhoe tilted his head to the side, a curious look in his Ashryver eyes. “Jessabel? Not really, she was very distressed and her father demanded that she be returned to her family chambers.”

“Maybe we should talk to her. Just to make sure.”

“You think she was involved?” Rhoe asked, eyes widening. “She’s a spoiled, vain thing. Not a criminal mastermind.”

“I never said that,” Damian snapped, “I just meant that maybe she forgot to mention a crucial detail.”

“Like if enemy soldiers or strange men were lurking in the corners of Evalin’s rooms?” Rhoe snorted. 

“What was she even doing in Evalin’s rooms anyway? It was the party of the century and she was spending it in the furthest wing away?”

Rhoe shrugged. “Maybe she was bored, maybe Evalin asked her to grab something for her. Maybe she was meeting with her secret lover. You should know all about that.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I suppose I do. But I don’t think it hurts to check one more time.”

Rhoe sighed. “Lyria did seem very upset. I’ve never seen her like that, she’s usually so…calm.”

Damian knew Rhoe didn’t want to admit something might have happened to his sister. Running away was one thing,  but being taken was a thousand times worse.

“We’ll double check tomorrow,” Rhoe decided, “I don’t think any Lords will appreciate us waking their daughters in the middle of the night. Especially considering she’s already been questioned.”

 

—-

 

The next morning, the palace was in a detestable mood. The decorations remained on the walls, but all activities for the day were canceled considering that the person, or princess, of honor, could not be found. 

Damian skipped breakfast, knowing it would be a tense affair, and instead went directly to Rhoe’s room. The guards let him into the royal wing with little more than a nod of acknowledgment.

Right before he could knock on Rhoe’s doors, they swung open revealing a tiny female. 

Lady Marion stopped, startled, and looked up at him with her onyx eyes.

Damian tipped his head, “Lady. What a happy surprise to find you here.”

Rhoe didn’t sleep with the heir of Perranth, did he? Damian thought making poor decisions in bed partners was his domain.

She tilted her head to the side, her dark braid falling over her pale shoulder. “Damian.”

Rhoe appeared behind her, and unlike his companion, he looked particularly ruffled. “Marion was asking after some rare books in the family’s private collection.”

“Ah.” Damian winked at Rhoe, who scowled in response. 

“If you excuse me,” Marion huffed impatiently, “I promised Josefine I would get her those books.”

She disappeared down the hall in a blur of black and maroon. 

Leaning against the doorway, Damian watched as Rhoe watched Marion walk down the hall.

“I rarely ever see the Lady while I’m in Terrasen,” Damian noted.

Rhoe slowly tore his eyes away, meeting Damian’s pointed stare. 

“She doesn’t like the court, she prefers the country. And she certainly does not enjoy any activity you’d find entertaining.”

“You forget, Rhoe, that we are entertained by the same things.”

Damian did not know why he felt the need to put some warning in his tone, but Marion was a friend and close to his mother. Rhoe was the opposite of country and quiet-loving, he was often too wild for his good.

Of all the female hearts he had broken and will break, Marion did not need to be one of them. Especially considering her father would break every bone in the Prince’s body if he tried. 

Rhoe laughed, posture loosening. “That we are, Damian, that we are.”

“Anyways. Let’s find the girl. Just to make sure.”

The two of them left the royal wing and went westward toward where the families of members of the Lord’s Council resided. It was nearly as luxurious as the royal wing.

They found the place they needed to be easily, and as soon as the guards announced their presence, they were let in immediately. No one said no to royalty. 

Jessabell’s lord father stood in the center of the room, and despite his unnatural youth, courtesy of the marriage bond between him and his fae wife, his wife outshone him tenfold. Her immortality was like a beacon compared to the rather plain-faced lord. She wore a gown in the fashion of the East as if she was still in Doranelle. 

They both bowed, one clumsy, one with the grace of the fae. 

“Your Highnesses,” The Lord murmured politely, “how may we help you?”

Damian inspected the wealth of the room. Jewels encrusted almost every surface, and not a single piece of furniture was left undecorated. Furs and tapestries, silk and gold. 

“We wished to speak to your daughter, Lady Jessabell,” Rhoe explained, “she was the last person to see my sister.”

“Jessabell knows nothing, just as she told your father, the Prince, last night,” The Lady sniffed. She spoke in that haughty way all immortals did, cold and standoffish. Damian had his fair share of experiences with this when it came to his mother and her witches. He was guilty of it. He never realized this growing up until one day Torin made the comparison between Damian and his father. It was not ill intention, and they’d both laughed, but it made him think. King Dorian had been born human, Damian was immortal since his conception, and he’d spent half his childhood among the witches. 

“Of course not,” Rhoe agreed, all courtier’s charm. “But she is a close friend and confidant of the Crown Princess.”

The Lady opened her mouth to protest once more, but her husband stopped her. “Jessabell is just in her room. My wife will go get her.”

The couple shared a tense look, but the Lord eventually won out. 

As soon as Jessabell’s mother left the room in search of her daughter, her father gave them a tense smile, gesturing towards a crystal tray. “I know it’s early, but perhaps you both need a drink.”

His tone was friendly. Too friendly. This man was a courtier, used to playing courtier games. The political implication that his daughter might be more involved than she let on should be enough for him to get on the defensive, but he seemed to be in a good mood. 

“A drink would be wonderful,” Rhoe agreed, taking a seat. 

Damian followed his lead, accepting the glass of whiskey. He sniffed it delicately, smelling for poison and then for taste. This was the good stuff. 

“I wanted to extend my apologies about what happened last night,” The Lord began, “the Crown Princess seemed very distressed and I can’t imagine what is going through her head right now.”

“Thank you. My family is still processing what happened, and how to best find Evalin, which is why we wanted to talk to your daughter. Perhaps my sister let something slip.”

“You think she planned to run away?” Curiosity lit his eyes.

Rhoe had already said too much.

“Of course not,” Damian quickly amended, “but sometimes even fleeting thoughts or a quick mention can lead to a sudden action.”

The Lord nodded, seeming disappointed. “Of course. Girls that age are wild. My daughter can be barely contained.”

Damian took another sip of his drink, finding the man more distasteful with every passing moment. 

Rhoe nodded empathetically.

“Jessabell has been—”

A blood-curdling scream rang out, cutting the man off. Damian and Rhoe jumped to their feet. One hand going to the swords on their hips. 

“What in the name of Mala—” The Lord began, standing up himself. 

The three of them rushed in the direction of the scream, bursting into what must have been Jessabell’s room. Her mother was kneeling in the corner beside a fallen tapestry. The tapestry was hiding whatever the female was leaning in front of.

She looked up, eyes wide with terror. “She’s dead.”

“What? Who?” Her husband demanded.

Damian surged forward, kneeling beside the Lady and ripping away the heavy tapestry. A maid lay there with a hairpin buried in her gut and blood dripping from her hands.  

“Where’s Jessabell?” Rhoe demanded, eyes frantically searching the room. 

Damian looked around as well, noting the cluttered state of it. Papers were burning in the fireplace, drawers were left open, piles of trinkets and books and parchments lay in stacks on the floor. 

“I don’t know, she’s not here, she’s not—”

Damian turned his attention back to the maid. He leaned over her, pressing his ear to her chest. A heartbeat. Faint but there.

He quickly allowed his power to come to the surface, manifesting as healing magic just like Aunt Yrene taught him. Pulling the pin out, he closed the wound. It was deep and placed in such a way that it punctured major blood vessels, hence the blood, but it wasn’t enough to kill her. Whoever did this had never taken a life before. 

He quickly picked the girl up as her eyes began to flutter, moving to set her on the bed. The sheets and blankets were entirely untouched as if no one had slept there the night before. 

Rhoe had managed to calm both the Lord and his wife, as well as the guards who had barged in upon hearing the screaming. 

Damian brushed a healing hand over her forehead, giving the last bit of encouragement for the maid to wake completely. 

She jolted, sitting up quickly. Her blue eyes went to Damian, then to Rhoe, then to the Lord and Lady and the guards, then back to Damian. 

She was shaking. 

Rhoe stepped forward. “Miss? What is your name?”

Her eyes somehow widened a fraction more. “I—My prince–I”

“Her name is Ann, she’s Jessabelle’s maid,” The Lady explained. 

Ann nodded her agreement. 

“What happened?” Damian demanded. 

“She was so upset, you don’t understand,” Ann cried. “I tried to calm her, ask her what was wrong, but she kept on telling me to leave!”

“Jessabelle?” Rhoe confirmed.

“Yes, yes. The mistress never goes to bed without assistance, yet she keeps sending me away. That’s when I noticed her bag. I asked her if she was packing. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have.” The maid began crying in earnest.

“It’s alright,” Rhoe assured her, “just tell us what Jessabell did.”

“My daughter did nothing!” The Lady interrupted. 

“She clearly did something,” Damian shot back with enough bite to silence her. 

Ann looked around once more,  subtly flinching upon meeting Jessabell’s mother’s furious stare.

“You have nothing to worry about as long as you tell the truth,” Rhoe assured her once more.

Ann nodded, seeming to accept this. “She got frantic. Worried, even. She told me she needed to leave, that she was heading away. She collapsed on the bed and began weeping. I tried to calm her, to ask her where she was going. She said to Rifthold. I tried to get her to tell me why, I was trying to help her! I swear I was! But she became so still and then she lashed out. She tried to kill me. I screamed but she was too quick.” Ann dissolved into more sobbing.

Damian and Rhoe shared a look. 

—-

 

“Rifthold?” His mother demanded, “This girl attempted to kill a maid to get to Rifthold?”

After the maid was found, and the truth revealed about what happened to her, everyone had once again gathered, seemingly desperate to understand how the puzzle pieces were fitting together. First, Evalin disappeared. Then the last person who saw her ran away as well, attempting to take the only witness with her. Both females had disappeared without a trace. 

“That is what the girl said.” Damian ran a hand through his hair, wondering how the hel all this had happened and happened so quickly. He was suddenly missing solstice celebrations. 

“She has to know where Evalin is,” Sam declared.

The Prince Consort of Terrasen let out a long breath. “She has to know something, it doesn’t mean she knows where Evalin is.”

“She clearly is involved,” The Queen snapped, “how has no one found her yet?”

“She seems to have disappeared, just like Evalin,” Lorcan admitted. “No guards remember seeing her last night, nor any stablehands. None of the horses are missing, nor any carriages.”

“What if Lyria is right? What if Evalin was taken?” Rhoe wondered aloud.

Silence. Then–

“Lyria said that?” Aelin asked.

Rhoe nodded. “She seemed convinced of it.”

This was the closest Damian had ever seen to Aelin breaking. But, in a testament to her strength, she straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back. 

“Sam, Rhoe, I want you to go to Rifthold with a legion of soldiers. I can’t leave. I won’t leave, but if you can find anything…”

“Of course,” Sam agreed immediately. 

“And we have the King’s permission,” Rhoe glanced at Damian's father, who nodded immediately.

“Anything to find Evalin. I personally will lead—”

“You should stay here,” Damian interjected, quickly, too quickly.

His father raised a dark eyebrow as his mother whipped her head around. 

“Even if Evalin’s lady went to Rifthold, she is most likely still within the confines of Terrasen. The witches are needed here, as they have sworn to help in the search. And my father should remain with them, in Terrasen, in case any new developments happen. If someone did take Evalin, they would have to be powerful and dangerous. I will go to Adarlan with Rhoe and Sam and cover things there.”

“Damian—” His father began.

“Yes,” Damian gave him his best unyielding stare. “You want me to be king, let me act like the king.”

That seemed to shut everyone up, although he did notice his mother’s approving nod.

“Then it’s decided,” Aelin announced.

And that was that. 

Rhoe gave him a surprised look, leaning close and whispering, “Look at you, acting all high and mighty.”

Damian gave him a lazy grin, unsure of what else to say. He had asserted himself not as the future king but as the might as well be king. It was a step in the right direction. And anyway, he had a feeling that whatever happened to Evalin was bigger than any of them could imagine. Not anyone could kidnap someone like the Crown Princess and get away with it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dalia giving her mother a desperate look. “When will Father be back? He hasn’t answered any of my letters. He never goes this long without sending something back.”

“I know, Dalia,” Lysandra replied, “I know. But he will be back, safe and sound, very soon.”

 

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Evalin couldn’t decide what she hated more. The fact that she was now in captivity, or the fact that she wasn’t exactly hating it. Unlike what she initially assumed, she was not thrown into some deep, dark dungeon to never be seen again. Instead, that strange, monstrous male had brought her here. A stunning palace that seemed to be carved of moonstone and a bedroom fit for an empress. It reminded Evalin strongly of the years she spent in Doranelle, the architecture, the furniture, and even the nighttime motifs were exceedingly familiar. Still, the sheer luxury of it all was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Now, if only they let her out of her room to explore it. So many wards had been erected around the room she’d been confined to that the smell of magic permeated the air. And based on the tiny pricks on her finger, they’d keyed it to her blood, so there was a fat chance she was getting out. 

Evalin had raged at the strange shadows who brought her food three times a day, demanding they let her go. The creatures hadn't flinched, hadn’t looked twice in her direction. She wondered if they could even understand what she was saying. No one here spoke the common tongue of Erilea, not that she expected them to. Evalin quickly figured out that the wyrdmarks in her room had not just whisked her away to some gods-forsaken snowy mountainside but instead a different world. There was no other explanation. The strange language, unfamiliar geography, the unique magic…

Evalin needed to get out of here. However, that posed two problems. One, she had no idea what wyrdmarks would reopen a hole between worlds, considering the gates were supposed to be permanently sealed. Two, her magic had seemingly dwindled, and when she called for it, little more than a flame sparked before dying out. 

Tugging her silk robe tighter around her body, Evalin considered her options. No one of any importance or power had come to visit her since that rude and invasive male had kidnapped her. Did they intend to leave her trapped here until she withered away? Was the nice room and delicious food a way to get her guard down? 

Her stomach growled just thinking of the food. It was remarkable, unlike anything she’d ever tasted. The fruit was so sweet and rich and the meat spiced and cooked to perfection. After her initial refusal to eat the food, and her thorough test for poison, she couldn’t stop eating it. Maybe it was drugged. 

Breakfast hadn’t arrived yet, but Evalin already imagined sinking her teeth into whatever delectable pastry they brought. Then she felt incredibly guilty. She was a captive, her family was probably desperately looking for her. The male who imprisoned her had broken into her mind. The very thought sent a shiver up her spine. 

This place was too beautiful to be true. Like something out of a fairytale. She could not let her guard down.

When she initially realized she was trapped here, she’d scoured the room for any object she could make into a weapon.

However, there was no such luck. No knives came with her meals, and even the forks were dulled down.  

She contemplated how she would attack and defend herself when the time came, how she would slip away. Maybe she would find the male who brought her here and gouge his eyes out. The thought brought some semblance of comfort. 

A knock sounded on the door, and Evalin tensed, curling her hands into fists. 

The shadow creatures didn’t wait for her to answer before entering and unlike the other mornings, they did not carry a breakfast tray. 

Evalin wasn’t expecting them to speak. They never had before.

The first shadowy one spoke, her voice gentle, but the words were just as foreign as they usually wore. The other held her hand out, a small silver pill rested there.

Evalin tilted her head to the side. It could be poison, but why would they give it to her so obviously? They had many opportunities to kill her and they hadn’t so far. 

Deciding to take the risk, and hoping not to anger her captor too much, Evalin accepted the pill. It tasted like nothing.

“You’re wanted in the dining room.”

She blinked, and then the realization hit her that she understood exactly what the female had said. 

“What?” Her voice was sore from disuse. 

“You’re wanted in the dining room,” she repeated. 

Evalin realized that whatever they gave her had to be magic, magic that helped her understand them and them to understand her. She then realized what they were telling her to do. 

It had been at least three days since she’d been here and now he wanted to speak to her. Summoning her like some common whore? The idea made her irrationally angry.  She was his prisoner after all, and he was already treating her with more courtesy than most in his position, but he did invade her mind and took her without any reason. Was she trespassing on the mountains? Did they belong to him? 

Deciding her anger was just, Evalin shook her head at the shadowy females.

They shared a look. “You must come”.

“Must I? Tell him I refuse and he can drag me out himself if he wants to speak to me.”

They shared another look. “The Lady will be most upset if you refuse. She is expecting you.”

That got Evalin’s attention. Lady? What Lady? 

They must have noticed her confusion because one quickly explained. “The Lady of the Mountain.”

Her curiosity piqued, Evalin slid from the bed and gestured for them to take the lead.

They obeyed, escorting her down the hallway. The palace was similar to her room, carved of moonstone and studded with rare jewels and gemstones. Night-time mosaics covered the arched ceilings, and despite the lack of protection from the elements, the inside was still warm. Evalin was once again impressed by the sheer luxury of the place. Who were these people? And who was this lady? 

The two paused outside a set of arched double doors. No guards were posted outside, just like how no guards were posted anywhere else. How strange. Evalin, still in her silky nightgown, prepared herself for a fight. 

The doors swung open, seemingly on their own, and when Evalin turned to her companions to demand an explanation, she found them gone and disappeared back into shadow and smoke. 

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked into the room as if she owned the place. Confidence was an illusion, and one she perfected over the years. 

She still didn’t know what she was going to find on the other side, but her imagination had created numerous scenarios. She half expected another shadow creature to be sitting at the end of the grand table. Instead, there was a female, a strikingly beautiful female. She was so stunning that Evalin felt her breath catch.

She wasn’t looking at Evalin, instead turned slightly in her chair, seemingly taking in the view of the mountains. And while as of this moment, Evalin felt nothing but burning hatred for this place and these people, she could respect their fashion choices. The strange female wore a stunning midnight black gown, strategically displaying swaths of her golden brown skin, from lithe arms to her toned stomach. Silver bracelets hung from her wrists and matching earrings brushed her shoulders, half hidden by her long, raven black hair.

The female turned, blue-grey eyes taking Evalin in. She smiled, like a predator stalking her prey. Unfortunately for her, Evalin had never been prey. 

“Welcome to the Night Court,” She said. “You can sit down.” 

It wasn’t a request or an offer. It was a command. 

Evalin narrowed her eyes slightly but obeyed. She wanted to see where this would go. She sat directly across from the female.

Was that what this place was? The Night Court? What a stupid fucking name. 

“I’m sorry no one was here to greet you earlier.” There was little if any sincerity in her words. 

Evalin raised an eyebrow. “You mean after I was taken and locked in a room?”

The female laughed lightly, a more seductive sound than happy. “You’ll have to excuse my cousin for his behavior, he has such poor manners,” she drawled.

That got Evalin’s attention. “Cousin?”

The female propped her chin on her hand. “Yes. Do you not see the family resemblance?”

Evalin did. Everything from the arrogance to the absurd beauty. He had been quite handsome, not that Evalin dwelled on it. 

“Why have you taken me?” Evalin demanded, deciding that she didn’t want to run in circles around the topic.

“‘Taken’ is a strong word.”

“What would you call it when someone is forcefully abducted, knocked out, and then wakes to find themselves in a completely different place than they were before?”

“An unfortunate happenstance.”

Evalin barely contained her snort. 

“Anyways.” The female waved her hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t dwell on it too much, considering how lucky you are. Most in your position would have been taken directly to the prisons. A less than pleasant experience based on what I’ve heard. They did want to throw you in the dungeons, you know? I convinced them otherwise.” 

This time Evalin did laugh. “Am I supposed to fall at your feet in thanks? Weep in gratitude?”

She shrugged gracefully. “It wouldn’t hurt. I enjoy it when they beg.”

Evalin wondered who “they” were. Before she could ask another question, the female waved her hand once more. A spread of food appeared on the table between them. Her mouth watered as the most delicious smells filled her nose. Yet, she hesitated. 

Noting Evalin’s hesitation, the female raised a dark eyebrow. “I invited you here for breakfast.”

“Why? Why not just torture the answers you want out of me?”

The female tilted her head to the side, a vixen-like small playing on her lips. Evalin hated this feeling and resisted the urge to shift in her seat. 

“I imagine you don’t have the answers to the questions I have. Unless you decided to walk through worlds? Did my cousin find you digging in the dirt for fun?”

“I made my choice,” Evalin sniffed, lying expertly through her teeth, “but maybe this wasn’t where I wanted to go. Not that your hospitality isn’t wonderful .”

“So you know how to walk through worlds? You’ve done it before?” Something flashed in her blue-grey eyes that unsettled Evalin. She found a thread and she was pulling at it.

Technically, Evalin did know how to walk through worlds. She was by no means an expert, considering it was considered impossible, but she practiced with wyrdmarks before. However, she did not want any of these people getting their hands on this ability. 

Evalin’s face morphed into confusion and her cheeks flushed on command. Two could play this game.

Sighing, the female turned her attention to her plate, beginning to fill it with several different foods. “Fine. But do try to eat. I’d hate for the food to go to waste.”

Evalin gingerly placed the fruit on her plate, spearing a piece of melon and bringing it to her lips. Unlike in her room, she was given full access to sharpened utensils, even knives. 

They ate in surprisingly companionable silence before Evalin asked, “Why did you decide not to throw me in the dungeons? I assume it wasn’t out of the kindness of your heart.”

“You presume much about me for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

“What’s your name?”

“Nova. And yours?”

Evalin, deciding she was not about to be poisoned, placed another piece of melon in her mouth. 

Nova pouted. “I thought we were becoming friends.”

Evalin swallowed. “My name is Evalin.”

This was a different world after all, her name meant nothing. 

With a single graceful slice, Nova cut open a grapefruit. She was trained then. Evalin could tell she knew how to use that knife, and most likely any other weapon that found their way into her hands.  

“Since we are friends , you’ll tell me the truth to any question I ask, correct?” Evalin asked, their voice filled with mock sincerity.

Nova’s eyes filled with delight. “Of course,” she said, too sweetly.

“The two shadows–”

“Handmaidens,” Nova corrected.

“The two handmaidens told me they were bringing me to the ‘Lady of the Mountain’. Do you rule over this singular mountain or all the others?”

“I rule in the stead of my Uncle and Aunt, the High Lord and Lady of this Court. It is a vast territory and they can’t be everywhere at once, so they gave me dominion over this sub-court. Underneath us, you’ll find a city built into the mountains.”

“And your cousin, he is the son of this Lord and Lady?”

Nova nodded. 

The doors to the room opened and one of the shadows appeared, floating into the room with an unbelievable amount of elegance. She gave a strange semblance of a bow to Nova, as much of a bow as a non-corporeal being could make Evalin suppose.

“My lady,” the handmaiden murmured, “you have a visitor. Lord Nyx just accessed the wards.”

Nova frowned, irritation flashing across her face before she covered it up with a monotone, imperial expression. “Thank you.”

The handmaiden drifted away, doors shutting behind her.

“I suppose I should warn you,” Nova said, as she busied herself spreading jam on a scone. 

But before Evalin could hear the Lady’s warning, the dining room doors opened once more, loudly slamming against the walls.

She gripped the butterknife tightly as she realized who it was. No matter how dull and seemingly harmless something seemed, in her hands, it could be turned into a deadly weapon. 

The male who kidnapped her–Lord Nyx–appeared. He had shed the armor for an embroidered black jacket and matching pants, but everything else remained the same. His too beautiful face was as emotionless as stone and his violet eyes flared. They were like stars. 

“Cousin,” he said stiffly, “I see you’ve invited our guest to dine.”

Nova smiled brightly. “Poor thing was stuck in her room. I couldn’t help it.”

Evalin could tell based on the exasperated look on Nyx’s face that he found his cousin’s antics to be less than amusing.

A strange moment passed where the two stared at each other, as though they were speaking through facial expressions. Or perhaps they were speaking. When Damian experimented with his gifts, he sometimes tried speaking into other’s minds. 

Nova turned to Evalin. “I’m afraid our meal will have to be cut short. You see, I promised I wouldn’t let you out of your room.”

“A promise you broke,” Nyx muttered. 

“Evalin, unlike you, is delightful company.”

Nyx perked at that. “Evalin?” He turned to her. She hated his lack of reaction. At least Nova’s mocking emotions were interesting. 

“I would have told you my name, my lord if you had not knocked me unconscious and thrown me in a room. A room your cousin so kindly saved me from.”

“Nova is known for her generosity of spirit,” he said flatly. “She is also required to be elsewhere at the moment.”

He gave his cousin a pointed look. 

“I’ve been summoned away,” Nova explained.

“Nova,” Nyx grumbled.

“Yes, yes. No need to throw a temper tantrum. I’m leaving.”

The female stood, revealing the rest of her beautiful gown. Evalin needed to go shopping. 

“Have fun.” And with that, Nova disappeared into thin air. Evalin blinked. Was she like Fenrys? Could she teleport? Could they all?

“Come,” Nyx ordered.

“I’m not a dog,” Evalin replied sharply.

“No. You’re a prisoner of this court and will be treated as such until it is decided otherwise. Now come.”

Anger burned deep in her, but steadying herself, she relaxed her shoulders. Attacking the rulers of this land’s son was not a wise idea, especially when she still didn’t have an escape plan. She didn’t even really know where she was. The “Night Court” offered little in the way of geographical explanation. 

Standing up, she followed him up the room, back down the same path those handmaidens led her down that morning. “Back to my cell?” Evalin chirped quizzically. She was having trouble walking fast enough to keep up with his long strides.

“Yes.”

Evalin, deciding to test her limits, continued. “You know, your cousin is a far better company.”

“My cousin forgets herself.”

“It was just breakfast.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. “It will not happen again.”

“You’re acting as if I attempted to murder her,” Evalin pointed out.

“And how am I supposed to know you didn’t? You appeared in the mountains having used strange magic to walk into our world.”

“I have no ill intentions with you or your people if that's where your concern lies!” Evalin felt her temper rising, as well as her voice.

He raised a dark eyebrow, unimpressed with her outburst. “Another word and I will send you to the dungeons. The only reason you’re not there is because you haven’t attempted anything yet and some in my family decided to give you the benefit of the doubt despite the crimes committed.”

“Crimes? What crimes?” Evalin demanded.

“Trespassing,” he said calmly. “You’ll find no one around here takes too kindly to that.”

He gestured behind her and Evalin turned, surprised to find them already in front of the door to the room. It swung open.

But before Evalin could step inside, she realized something was wrong. There was strange movement coming from the corner, and it wasn’t a shadowy handmaiden. Her green eyes narrowed. What in the world—

Something jumped out at her, and she screamed as claws ripped through her arm and torso, pain like she never felt spreading through her body.  

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Notes:

This one is very short but next chapter will be much longer!

Nyx whirled around, drawing his sword as something jumped out at Evalin. What in the name of the Mother? 

He swung as it clawed at her, her scream piercing the air. Metal met flesh and clear blood sprayed everywhere. The beast lurched, hissing and falling backward. 

With a wave of his hand, Nyx misted the thing, having no desire to keep it around and inspect it further. 

Evalin swore and he glanced down. Blood dripped from her chest and arms, puddling around her. 

Nyx kneeled by her side, summoning his healing powers. He was not an expert healer but could manage until one came. 

She didn’t protest as he ran his hand gently over the wounds. In a few seconds, the thing had done shockingly damage. Deep gouges wound their way around her body, and something else…This time, he swore, realizing what that black liquid was. Venom. 

Evalin groaned, her pine-green eyes becoming unfocused. 

Nyx banged on his father’s mental shields, demanding to be let in.

What’s wrong?

Send a healer to Moonstone. 

Shutting his mental shields before his father could reply, Nyx gently picked her up. By the time he placed her on the bed, she was unconscious.

Before he could do anything else, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming towards them. His father burst into the room, night swirling around him. Nyx rarely saw his father so disheveled and he supposed to most, the male would look immaculate. But Nyx could tell he was caught off guard and rushed there as quickly as possible. Was that lint on his jacket?

His mother appeared behind, her hand clasping Madja’s. Nyx turned to the ancient healer and gestured to the bed. “Something attacked.”

Madja nodded, coming to the side of the bed and getting to work. Evalin’s skin had turned an unnatural shade of pale green. 

For some reason, he felt the urge to watch as Madja began her work, his body unusually tense. 

A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. “Nyx, what happened?” His mother asked.

He kept his eyes on the bed. “I don’t know. It came out of nowhere. I misted it but I was too late.”

“What was it?” His father demanded.

Nyx reluctantly glanced over, allowing his father into his mind. He allowed his father to see the strange clear demon-like creature that attacked. He could tell based on the ever-worsening frown that the male wore, that his father had no idea either. 

“Whatever it was,” Madja muttered, “It carried particularly potent venom. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Nyx faced Madja. “Will she not make it?”

For some reason, the idea bothered him. He supposed he needed her alive, especially if she was involved with the slaughters, but still…

“I never said that. She’s stabilized for now, but it might take me a while to get her to wake up.”

“Do what you must,” His father said. 

I would like to talk to you outside for a moment. 

Nyx frowned, realizing he must have forgotten to put his shields up again. Nodding, he followed his father outside, his mother trailing behind, a curious expression on her face. 

“Nova filled me in on what happened. The girl–Evalin–”

“There has to be a connection between her and the slaughters. Did you see that thing? It’s not of this world and neither is she.”

“I don’t know, Nyx,” his mother reasoned, placing a hand on his arm. “Why would she attack herself? And anyway, we’ve gone down this path before and as it turned out, it was in our favor to trust them.”

His father grimaced slightly. “Those were…extraordinary circumstances, Feyre, darling. We were lucky with Bryce Quinlan, it does not mean we will be lucky again.”

“You don’t know that, Rhys.”

Nyx glanced at his mother, who was giving him an earnest look. His heart softened slightly in acknowledgment. Evalin was a world walker, but there wasn’t proof she’d done anything yet. And by the way, she’d been frantically digging through the dirt, as if searching for a way out…She seemed confused, not set on a path of destruction for their world. 

Nyx looked towards the door to her room, still slightly ajar. Something tugged on his chest. 

“We need to interrogate her properly,” Nyx decided. 

His father nodded in agreement. 

“Give the girl a chance to heal,” his mother protested once more. “In case you forgot, mistakes were made last time.”

There was a finality in her voice that neither Nyx nor his Father would disagree with.

 

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Laila knew three things. One, she shouldn’t have gone out to the White Raven last night. Two, she shouldn’t have drunk twice her weight in flavored vodka. And three, she should have taken a sick day off from work. 

Despite Amara’s promise that her homemade hangover cure would fix Laila’s pounding headache, she still struggled to adjust to the bright lights of the shooting range without cringing. 

Her phone pinged with a notification and stifling a groan, she reached across the workout bench and picked it up. 

She technically wasn’t supposed to check personal messages during work but…

Calla: U coming for dinner tonight? Amara wants to surprise Fina with drinks in FiRo.

Laila: She closed the case???

Calla: Yesss. Finally. It’s been forever.

Laila: Can we skip drinks in FiRo and hit up that party in the Old Square?

Calla: Only you would prefer dancing in some sweaty basement over drinks in the nicest bar in the city.

Laila let out a laugh as she read over that last message. While she preferred underground clubs, wild house parties, and straight liquor, Serafina frequented luxury restaurants, private clubs, and fancy cocktail bars.

Laila: I’ll be there. 

She clicked out the chat, setting her phone face down on the bench. 

“Hey, Danaan!” Connor called, “Are you coming or not?”

Laila rolled her eyes, shooting him a vulgar gesture over her shoulder. Luna, these males could be insufferable. She supposed their inflated egos came from being chosen to be on the Aux’s most elite squad of officers, but still.  

Fumbling with the laces of her boots, she managed to finish tying them. Hangover or not, Laila refused to allow anyone to best her in the shooting range, especially not Connor.  

“Leave her alone,” Imogen ordered, giving her younger brother a pointed look. 

While not officially a member of the squad, Imogen was as trained as any of them and now acted as a personal trainer for new and old recruits. A far more fitting position for the female who spent her college years being a pilates instructor down in the Old Square as well as developing protein-packed and nutrient filled meals, which she insisted everyone eat. 

Connor shrugged good-naturedly, giving Laila a conspiratorial smile before turning back to his sister. “Last time I showed up hungover, you wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. And you made me drink those ginger shots.”

“Ginger contains antioxidants and has beneficial anti-inflammatory properties. You know that if you listened to a thing I said. And, anyway, I would have brought some for Laila if I knew she was going to show up looking like Hel ran her over.”

Laila stuck her tongue out, revealing a small silver piercing. Her most recent addition. Reaching for the weapons rack, she grabbed a handgun and inspected it closely. 

“I don’t look that bad,” she protested as she fiddled with the trigger, getting used to the feel and weight of it. “Not as bad as Connor did showing up to three pm classes in college.”

Imogen huffed, clearly exasperated by both of them. “Fine. But I’m not going easy on anyone today. I spent weeks curating this schedule to keep everyone in top shape.”

“Trust me, Genny, I’m going to be the least of your problems,” Laila proclaimed. She raised the gun, aiming towards the target fifty yards away from her. Three shots.

The sound reverberated through the room, causing her head to pound. She ignored it though as she watched the first bullet hit the center of the target, and the next two bullets go right through the same hole. 

“Show off,” Connor scoffed.

Laila winked. 

The doors to the training center buzzed and opened, Brann, Ace, and another half dozen of the Aux’s top soldiers walking inside. 

Why did everything have to be so loud?

“You know Laila,” Imogen said, somehow appearing right behind her. “I can go get some ginger shots. I think I left them in my office.”

Laila barely held back her grimace at the thought of stomaching it. “Don’t worry about it, you’re busy.”

“If you want I can give you the code. Just be back before we start stretches and it won’t be a problem.”

The last thing Laila wanted to do was go into Imogen’s overly bright office with its lavender humidifier, freshly potted pants, and an endless supply of yogurt, smoothies, vitamins, organic snacks, and strange powders that Imogen swore by. 

“Trust me,” Laila swore, “this is far from the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”

Very much true. The worst hangover she ever had was after she snuck away from home to attend a three-day music festival in the desert at seventeen. She’d spent three days drinking practically nonstop. By the time her parents had dragged her back home, she was so sick she could barely stand. 

Imogen shrugged, before crossing her arms over her forest green athletic zip-up jacket. 

As she began ordering everyone around giving personalized instructions to each Aux member, Laila slid to the back of the group, hoping to be spared from her friend’s critical and harsh eye. 

“You look great, Lai,” Brannon commented, sliding in right beside her. His blonde hair was haphazardly pushed out of his eyes, revealing blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. 

“And you look like an asshole.”

“You're in fine form this morning,” Ace murmured from her other side. When did he get here? 

“Don’t you two have anyone else to bother?”

Brann put a hand on his heart in fake hurt. “Imagine, we just wanted to see our favorite little sister and this is how she treats us!”

“Oh, gods.” 

“Ignore Brann,” Ace ordered as he methodically went through the motions as Imogen instructed. The only one who cared more about morning calisthenics than Genny was Ace, who acted as if it were life and death. He was as disciplined as their mother when it came to training. And while Laila admired that, she also wondered when he would give it a rest and relax a bit. 

“I always do.”

“You guys gang up on me every time,” Brann pouted. 

“And you never shut up,” Ace replied matter of factly.

As they began to bicker, Laila wondered if they purposefully came over here to make her headache worse. 

By the time everyone had finished up and begun dispersing around the room, either to the number of workout machines, the racks of weights, or the shooting range, she was ready to throw herself off the roof of the building. 

A shadow trailed its way up her arm, curling around her ear. Laila ignored it as it poked at her. They could be so annoying sometimes. 

“Want to join me? Ruhn mentioned something about new snipers being added to Aux’s artillery and I was waiting to try them out,” Brannon asked.

Laila shrugged, “Sure.”

The shadow poked at her once more.  They’re coming. Something happened in the Meat Market. Be ready.

She tensed, eyes shooting towards the doors just as the burst opened, causing the entire room to stand at attention. 

Her mother entered first, followed by Uncle Tristan and Laila’s father. All three of their expressions were unusually solemn. 

“Suit up,” her father ordered, “we’re raiding the warehouse down at the Market.” 

No one hesitated to obey, rushing towards the locker rooms located on either side of the back of the training hall. 

Laila knew that there had been a permanent presence placed in the Meat Market with the specific goal of tracking illegal shipments of Synth. Atlas and Connor had traced the shipments back to the docs. They’d been taking turns staking it out. 

Atlas must have found something that proved illegal activity was taking place. 

“Finally some action,” Zora muttered as she fastened bulletproof armor to her chest.

“Imogen is going to be furious that her morning training was interrupted,” Kaena snorted.

Laila laughed as she adjusted the buckle on her holster. 

 

-----

 

The Meat Market was a miserable place. Far better than it once was, at least that’s what Laila had been told. 

It reeked of death. Based on the ever-rising murder rates in the Market, Laila was sure the smell was telling of some decomposed body tucked into an alleyway. 

The warehouse stood at the edge of the docs, shrouded in mist that obscured it even in the daylight. 

She’d been stationed with Atlas on top of a nearby rooftop and was currently wishing she’d been given ground duty.

Atlas stood stoically, arms crossed over his chest and gray angel wings tucked in tightly. He had changed from civilian clothes to his legionnaire outfit as soon as backup arrived. 

Laila loved her cousin, but he was not ideal company. 

“How long have you been here?” Laila questioned as she adjusted the scope of her sniper, peering into it to see if she had an optimal view of the entrance to the warehouse. 

“Four hours.”

“You know, I’m sure Isaiah would dismiss you if you asked. Every legionnaire and Aux member within driving distance is currently swarming the market.”

“I’m good.”

“Great.”

How Amara dealt with her elder brother was a true mystery to Laila. 

“They're going in soon,” Atlas said, coming to stand by Laila’s side. “One more minute. Are you ready?”

Laila nodded. “As ready as I always am.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Laila rolled her eyes. 

Is everyone ready?  Her father asked, speaking into their minds.

Three…two…

Run , her shadow whispered.

The windows to the warehouse shattered and before Laila could decipher who did what, the entire building was engulfed in flames. No…it was blowing up.

The ground began to quake from the force of the explosives and Laila jumped backwards, covering her ears from the onslaught of noise.

Atlas grabbed her and teleported the two of them away. They reappeared in some alleyway, and before she could say anything, Atlas grabbed his phone and brought it to his ear. 

“Explosives were set up under the warehouses. Not sure if it was set off intentionally at this time or if they were set up on a timer…I’ll be there in a minute.”

Laila’s head shot up, “What the fuck, Atlas?”

He sighed impatiently, tucking his phone back into his pocket. 

“We can’t stay here. Go back to the Aux building.”

“Where are you going?” Laila demanded. 

“Back to the warehouse. No casualties have been reported but someone has to do damage control.”

Atlas disappeared and Laila, deciding that he could fuck off, went after him.

The docs were in chaos. The building she and Atlas had been on was destroyed, along with half a dozen others. Small fires littered the rubble and inhabitants of the nearby houses peered out of their rundown apartment buildings. Laila knew they cared little for the law enforcement of this city, blaming them for many of the issues that plagued the market. These people wished to be left alone to do whatever underground dealings and illegal acts they wished. 

Even as legionnaires attempted to evacuate them, they refused, seemingly content with watching the chaos unfold. 

Turning her attention back to the scene in front of her, she saw Brannon coming towards her. Blood dripped from his nose and forehead.

He looked her over for injury once. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Shit,” Brannon muttered, “I knew this was a bad fucking idea.”

Laila raised an eyebrow but her brother just shook his head. 

“I have to go find Ace. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reiterated, eyes scanning the area. 

“Go find your Dad, okay?”

Laila nodded, although she had no intention of obeying.

Brannon disappeared back into the smoke and rubble.

Her mind rushed with possibilities. Whoever blew up the warehouse had something to hide. Especially considering that if the Aux was right, there would have been millions of marks worth of Synth in there. 

A strange movement caught in the corner of her eye. She glanced toward the small crowd of people who’d ventured from their homes to stand on the edge of the tape. 

A female stood in the very back. Like everyone, she looked worn down, except there was something off…Laila’s shadows ventured forward before she called them back. 

Her hair was tangled, and her eyes puffy. She wore a stained CCU sweatshirt over a pair of poorly fit leggings. 

Their eyes met, and she looked away quickly. In a second she had disappeared back into the building.

Laila moved, ready to follow her, but a hand stopped her.

A familiar scent of vanilla and amber enveloped her as her mother wrapped her arms around her. 

“Laila, are you alright?” Her father asked, coming to her other side. 

He grabbed the underside of her chin and gently lifted it, inspecting her for injury. 

—--

By the time Laila got home that evening, she was fucking exhausted. 

She’d spent the afternoon doing damage control and going door to door. None of the nearby occupants appreciated the interruption, almost as little as she appreciated being put on door duty. 

However, it was better than the alternative, which was listening to her parents rant about her safety. She knew they were hesitant when she originally asked to join the Aux. Laila was fresh out of university and had spent the last four years partying her life away. She wanted to do something with her life, needed something besides Mirthroot and vodka and music. 

Her father wanted to protect her, as he always did. Her mother wanted her to have a life different than the one she had to live. 

But Laila wanted this life. She was good at it. She was one of the best-trained snipers in the city and had successfully gone undercover multiple times. 

Laila threw her bag down on the marble counters of the kitchen and dropped her keys beside them. 

She could hear the faint whir of the shower coming from Amara’s bathroom. 

They’d moved in together as soon as they finished college, where they’d been roommates. 

Their fathers had been adamant about choosing the location and building, only allowing them to look at apartments with “appropriate” safety measures. 

Laila was thankful for that though, considering how many times the security guards at the front desk had made sure she’d gotten back to her apartment in one piece. 

In the end, they’d found a luxury modern two-bedroom, three-bathroom apartment in Old Square. Right near the city’s best nightlife attractions for Laila and near the Lunathion’s biggest hospital, where Amara worked as a healer. 

Laila moved around the counter and opened the fridge, grabbing a water bottle. 

“You’re home late.”

Amara stood in the living room wrapped in a fluffy, light pink robe, her white wings looking particularly fluffy. Her dark was damp and twisted into a low bun. 

“There was an incident down in the Market,” Laila said in a way of explanation.

“I heard. Zora came by, her leg was all torn up.”

Amara slid onto the white leather couch and reached for her phone on the coffee table. 

“Are you still up for drinks in FiRo?” Amara asked, “I’m sure Fina would understand.”

Laila shook her head. “I’m fine, Amara. No one died. The mission was just busted, that’s all.”

Amara hummed in that irritating way of hers but didn’t disagree. “We need to be there by seven if you're sure you want to go.”

“Right.”

“It’s 5:45.”

“I’ll be ready in time, don’t worry about me.”

Amara gave Laila a knowing look. Laila grinned in response.

 

—

 

By 6:35, Laila had changed into an appropriately scandalous black dress, which showed off her tattoos and piercings and she’d swept her hair into a ponytail.

As she was applying a generous amount of black eyeliner, Amara knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Laila called, putting down the eyeliner and picking up a berry pink shade of lipstick. 

“You look good,” Amara said as a greeting.

Laila glanced at Amara through the reflection in the mirror. Her cousin had chosen a pretty pink dress that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of one of those posh magazines.

“Let me just put my shoes on.”

She grabbed a pair of black boots from the pile of shoes she kept in the corner of her room and slid them on.

 

—

 

The bar chosen was as swanky and elegant as Laila had imagined. Every guest they passed wore bigger and bigger diamonds and everyone looked down at her. Until they realized who she was, at which point the looks of disapproval turned into shock. 

Laila was used to the murmurs following her wherever she went. She was the daughter of two of Midgard’s most notorious rebels and war heroes. 

Low couches were clustered in the center of the room, surrounding carved mahogany tables. A series of grand chandeliers hung from the gilded ceiling and crystal glasses of champagne were being passed around by dapperly dressed servers.

Serafina, Imogen, and Calla all sat in one of the prime spots, in the very center of the bar. Laila wondered what the upcharge fee was.

“There you two are,” Imogen said, brows high with amusement as she brought some fancy cocktail to her lips.

“We got caught up,” Amara explained, kissing Imogen on each cheek before sliding into a seat next to Serafina.

“I’ll excuse it just this once,” Serafina declared. Based on her unusually bubbly disposition, Laila guessed that the Cosmo she was drinking was not her first of the night.

“Congratulations on your case,” Laila said.

“Thanks. It only took me a year to win. They kept on dragging out the case,” Fina whined. She gestured for a waiter to come over. “I’ll have another one of these, thank you.”

“I’ll also have one please, but make it a double,” Laila requested.

The waiter nodded.

“We ordered some appetizers,” Serafina continued, smoothing down a nonexistent wrinkle on her elegant black dress. Far more elegant than anything Laila would ever own. She also noted Fina’s brand-new diamond necklace.

Following her gaze, Serafina explained, “I got it for myself as a present.”

“For dealing with those snobbish assholes down at the firm?” Laila questioned.

Serafina snorted. 

“Do you think the food is organically sourced?” Imogen wondered as she flipped through the menu. 

Calla leaned over, her curly black hair falling over the side of her face. 

“Does it matter?” Fina huffed, “I can’t listen to either of you talk about organic and non-organic food anymore. Just eat something.”

Despite being sisters, Calla and Serafina were decidedly opposite. Serafina was like her mother, Ariadne, a dragon shifter, while Calla inherited her father’s gift with the earth. Serafina was a world-class lawyer at a top law firm who spent her days getting cozy with the rich and powerful of this city, while Calla was taught yoga at her studio down in FiRo and spent her days trying out essential oils and organizing her crystals, if she wasn’t trying some new creative outlet, like pottery or watercolors. 

“If you two are going to bicker,” Amara declared, “I am going to leave.”

Laila’s gaze moved from her friends to the other patrons, many of whom were gawking unashamedly at them. Their faces were recognizable to everyone in the city and outside it too. 

A slick-looking male, a vampyr if Laila guessed right, was smiling at her in a way she didn’t like. He bared his teeth and Laila flipped him off in response.

But before she could turn away, the vampyr’s companion returned. A pretty blonde with shiny hair and an expensive-looking ensemble.

Her eyes narrowed in on the female. Why did she look familiar?

Their eyes met and Laila blinked. That was the lady from the market. She had showered and changed into better clothing but it was her.

The blonde looked away first, seemingly relaxed, and leaned towards the male, whispering something in his ear. The male brightened and they both stood, disappearing down the hallway to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, Laila guessed this woman’s profession. 

“Laila!” Serafina interrupted.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s your turn,” Calla explained.

Amara pushed over a shot. Laila didn’t hesitate to throw it back, enjoying the way it burned. This was the good shit. However, she couldn’t completely lose her mind to the sensation of alcohol. Something was off about that lady. Something Laila couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“I have to use the bathroom,” She declared before quickly hurrying off in the direction the couple had gone.

The bathroom itself was as fancy as the restaurant was, with multiple stalls, plush seats, and the nicest sinks Laila had ever seen. But it was empty. 

Before she could check the men’s restroom, she heard a telltale noise coming from further down the hall, near what looked to be a storage room.

Allowing her shadows to envelop her, she moved forward quietly.

“Do you have it?” He demanded.

The female nodded, reaching into her handbag and pulling a small vile out. Laila could make out little but the dark color.

“It’s the last of our most recent shipment.” She slipped it into his hand.

The male inspected the vile and frowned. “This is it. I was promised a Hel of a lot more.”

She shrugged gracefully. “There was an incident down at the warehouse. This is what’s left until we get more.”

“I paid good money to get 20 oz of this stuff. This is barely half that.”

The woman pouted playfully. “And my boss sends his most vehement apology. He hopes that he won’t lose your business. Which is why he sent a bonus gift.”

“And what’s that?”

She bit her lip and peered at him through her lashes. The insulation was clear and the vampyr grinned widely.

The female leaned in, whispering in his ear something Laila could just make out. “I promise, I’m better than any salt.”

Her heart sank. Salt, black salt. That’s what that was. 

Fuck. This was bad.

 

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Evalin awoke feeling hazy. Her mind was sluggish and her limbs felt too heavy. What time was it? 

Groaning, she tried to push herself up, hands gripping the silk sheets of her bed. 

“Don’t strain yourself too much,” an unfamiliar voice said. “The venom is still in your system.”

Evalin stilled. Venom? Her mind flashed with images of the thing that attacked her. Had they infected her on purpose? Did they try to kill her? She couldn’t think of a reason why they wouldn’t just kill her outright if they wanted to but…She knew nothing of these people or this place. Maybe it was customary to send demons after prisoners. But, she supposed if they wanted to kill her she would be dead. Unless someone swept in to save her at the last moment. Like a knight from the stories, her father read her before bed when she was a child. 

Unfortunately, based on the opulence she was surrounded by, she was still within the bounds of their palace.

“Are you in any pain?” The voice asked.

Evalin blinked, clearing her vision as she turned to face a pretty female standing by her bedside. 

She wore a dark, elegant gown, her golden-brown hair swept into a braided crown. However, it was her eyes that caught Evalin’s attention. She’d seen eyes like that before.

“I came to warn you,” the female continued, not waiting for Evalin’s response to the initial question. “My family has little patience and as soon as they find out you woke up, they will be coming with questions.”

“Really?” Evalin muttered sarcastically, “But they’ve been so friendly.”

The female snorted. “They are pragmatic. I'm sure you’re smart enough to understand why nobody trusts you. It’s not every day that a female falls from the sky. Especially not from a different world.”

Taking a guess, Evalin replied, “You are as helpful as your daughter.”

The female tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing like a predator on her prey. “Nova spoke your praises if that makes you feel better. She seems to like you, which is a rare accomplishment.”

“So I suppose I can rely on her support?”

“Most likely.”

Evalin wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She might have assumed she was being mocked, but her tone was factual.

Before either of them could say anything else, another female was ushered into the room. So strikingly similar to Nova’s mother, Evalin had to guess they were sisters. 

Unlike her sister, this one wore a strange, two-piece outfit made of a silky turquoise fabric. Her hair was unbound and her blue eyes regarded Evalin sympathetically, yet cautiously. 

“I heard you were awake,” she chimed, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

Biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain, Evalin shifted, not liking the vulnerability she felt at this moment. She was in nothing but a silk shift, someone had changed her after the attack, and her torso was bandaged up. 

These females were not her friends, if anything, they were her enemies. She had no reason to trust them or regard them with anything but disdain. 

“If you would like,” the second female said, “I can look over your wounds once more. They should be mostly healed but–”

“I’m fine,” Evalin snapped, unwilling to accept any help from them. The more the haze from her sleep wore off, the more angry she was beginning to feel. Nice room aside, these people had imprisoned her here. 

The two sisters shared a glance.

“Right. Then I imagine you can get up and dress yourself. There are some questions we’d like to ask you in the sitting room.”

Evalin huffed, catching the “I told you so look” from the first sister.

“And if I refuse?” She demanded.

They shared another glance. 

The first one shrugged, “Then you’ll find your new accommodations much less pleasant.”

----

Part of Evalin wished she’d allow the female to look at her wounds. As soon as she stood up, she felt nothing but burning pain. Dressing herself was a whole new form of torture.

Maybe she should have just told them to drag her to the dungeons. But, she assumed she’d have to answer their questions eventually. As she attempted to soothe her anger, she realized that she needed to get these people on her side. She needed to get home.

The clothes they’d left out for her were in the style that the second female wore. Loose pants and a cropped shirt that revealed more skin than any other outfit Evalin had ever worn. It revealed her bandages as well, but she didn’t mind, not when she realized how comfortable the clothing was. It was so soft and loose, without sacrificing any of the usual elegance Evalin looked for her in her clothes. 

She found her reflection in the mirror of the vanity pushed against the wall and nearly cringed once more. 

Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, her undereyes dark, and her green eyes bloodshot. 

She reached for the gilded brush that rested on the vanity and began to painstakingly untangle every knot and snarl in her hair. 

Evalin pulled open the drawers of the vanity, digging around through the various creams and powders to find something to make herself slightly presentable. She refused to lose another shred of dignity by going outside looking like she did at the moment. 

She didn’t understand the strange text written on the packaging, so flowy and curvy compared to her language, but she was able to gather what did what. The rouge looked practically the same, if not a little dark for her liking. However, she couldn’t figure out how to use the kohl, which was not a cream like it was at home. Instead, there was an odd stick with powder. Deciding she didn’t want to poke her own eyes out, she slid it back into the drawer. 

There was a small collection of perfumes. The first one smelled of oranges and amber, the next of jasmine and vanilla, and the final of rose and honey. Choosing the last one, she spritzed some over herself. 

While technically not helping her towards her goal of returning to Terrasen, the pampering made her feel a bit more like herself. 

The females had not clarified where this ‘sitting room’ was, so as Evalin ventured from the room she found herself lost in the hallways. 

Night-time mosaics, gauzy curtains, beautifully woven tapestries, low-lying couches, and crystal tables. 

Her eyes caught on a unique-looking statue. What on—

“You’re going the wrong way.”

She stiffened, whirling around to find herself face-to-face with Nyx. 

He wore similar clothing as last time. A black jacket, black pants, and black boots. His dark hair was neatly styled and pushed off his face, revealing his too-pretty features. Violet eyes, smooth tan skin, and a kissable-looking mouth. Truly, the most beautiful male she’d ever seen. 

She would like to see him and Damian go head to head. That would be an interesting site. 

Unfortunately, his beauty was offset by the seemingly permanent frown on his features. It reminded her slightly of Sam, who rarely smiled. 

“I wasn’t given escorts this time,” Evalin replied haughtily, raising her chin to meet his eyes.

He was a very tall male. 

“I am your escort,” He said simply. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

“Well,” she huffed, “you're doing a very poor job.”

He blinked, tilting his head ever so slightly. “By the time I arrived at your room, you were gone.”

She rolled her eyes.

He raised his eyebrows. If he was capable of feeling emotion, she would assume he was surprised, or even outraged, by the idea of being dismissed. She’d been around enough Princes and Lords in her life to understand the often inflated male ego. 

“You might want to consider your first impression,” Nyx said. 

His tone was not threatening, but it sent Evalin on edge. She clenched her fists. Where was her fire when she needed it?

“If you're trying to summon your powers, you won’t be able to. Faebane has that effect.”

“What?” She demanded. 

“Did you think we would allow you to wander freely with your powers?” He asked, with too much condescension for her liking. 

“You’ve poisoned me!”

“Yes,” he replied simply. 

Evalin had never heard of Faebane. But if it was able to suppress her powers…

She marched past Nyx, not waiting for him to give further instructions on how to get there.

“Turn left up ahead, it’ll be the door at the end of the hall,” he called after her.

Having no other choice, she turned left and then walked down the long hallway to a set of double doors, which, like the rest of the palace, were carved from moonstone. 

Nyx appeared behind her, reaching past her, and knocking twice. She caught a whiff of citrus and vanilla. 

The doors swung open and she found herself face to face with what looked like a tribunal. 

Several strange Fae were gathered around the room, all staring at her as if she were an alien. Though, to them, she supposed she was. 

Her eyes went to the head of the room, where the second female who’d come in, the one who offered to heal her, sat. Beside her was a male who looked remarkably like Nyx. 

The male had to be his father, so she supposed the female was his mother. 

The sister who’d warned Evalin was sitting by the balcony, half covered by a gargantuan…bat. The male had shockingly large wings that protruded from his back. She might have thought him a demon, with his scaly black armor and pulsating red gemstones, but his black hair and tan skin caught her attention. And the way he stood so close to Nova’s mother. It had to be her father then. 

Two other females and a male were in the room. The male was another bat creature, except he was decorated in blue gemstones. And his face was shockingly pretty. 

The first of the two females lounged on one of the silk couches, her red dress arranged artfully around her. She was strikingly beautiful, glowing like the sun in the morning light. The one next to her seemed to be the exact opposite. While the first was tall, blonde, and warm, the second was short, with dark hair and an expression that made the hairs on the back of Evalin’s neck stand up. 

Nyx’s father-or the male she presumed was Nyx’s father-stood gracefully.

“Thank you for joining us, Evalin,” he said smoothly. 

“Not like I had much of a choice, but you're welcome.”

Nova’s mother snorted. Nyx’s father shot her an incredulous look before turning his attention back to Evalin. 

“I understand you’ve had a long journey—”

“Oh, honestly, Rhysand,” The tiny one interjected. She stood up and turned on Evalin. “There’s no point in dancing around it. Where have you come from, girl?”

Evalin stiffened, wondering why on earth she was being addressed in such a rude way by some random, mouse-like female. 

“Amren!” Nyx’s mother admonished. “We agreed to be diplomatic.”

“I agreed to nothing,” Amren replied shortly, waving a hand, and revealing the largest diamond ring Evalin had ever seen in her life. 

“I apologize on behalf of her,” His mother said, giving Evalin an exasperated look. “She woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“I’m simply trying to get to the bottom of things.”

“That’s enough, Amren,” Rhysand sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose. 

“Amren’s right,” the blue-bat creature said. His voice, while barely above a whisper, silenced the room. “We’ve waited too long already.”

Evalin noticed a strange shadow circling its way up his body. Was he like the handmaidens? 

All eyes turned to her expectantly, a decision having been reached. 

She opened her mouth—

“We’ll know if you're lying,” The blonde stated.

“I’m sure you will,” Evalin snorted derisively, “considering you seem to have no qualms about entering other’s minds.”

She remembered the tales her mother told her about the Valg. How they would weave illusions out of thin air to torture their prisoners. Is that what they would do to her?

Nyx did not seem to be Valg, yet, part of her had wondered. What other than a Valg could do something like that? 

Damian could, as could Dorian, but even they are descended from the Valg. However much they may pretend they’re not. 

“We will not violate your mind,” Rhysand swore, “not unless you gave us a reason to.” 

“Yet, your son already has.”

Nyx’s mother shot Nyx an unreadable look. For a second, neither said anything. Perhaps conversing mind to mind.

“After you trespassed on sacred ground,” The red-bat creature spoke up, in defense of his nephew.

“I—”

“This is neither here nor there,” Rhysand interrupted. “Your mind is safe as long as you tell the truth.”

“And my body? Will you poison me again?”

He waved his hand dismissively, “That is a safety precaution. One understandable if you had been in our position.”

“How is that understandable?” Evalin demanded. 

“You used your powers to rip a hole through the sky,” Amren noted, “I felt it myself. Power like that has not been here in a very long time. The faebane was the best of your options, girl.”

“That was what you did, correct?” The blonde inquired, “Unless the powers were not your own?”

To be honest, Evalin did not have an answer to that question. She did not mean to set the portal off. She thought it impossible. Maybe it had been someone else. 

She remembered the wyrdkeys drawn on her floor in mud. Did someone do this to her? Send her to another world?

“I come from a place called Erilea. Terrasen to be specific.” The words felt strange in her mouth, having no proper translation into their language. “I did not want to come here. I do not know what went wrong.”

“You came here accidentally?” Nova’s mother spoke for the first time.

“Yes. Believe me. This was not my choice.”

Rhysand glanced at the blonde, who gave a slight nod. 

“Can you tell us about what happened right before you came?” Nyx’s mother asked, firm yet gentle.

How did she would even begin to explain—

“You can show us,” Nyx offered, stepping towards her.

Evalin’s brows rose.

“I promise it won’t be as unenjoyable as last time.”

He was offering to see her memories. Of course, he was. Her mother once warned her to never let a valg get close to your mind…but he’d already been there. 

For some reason, she felt the urge to trust him. Make him prove himself at least. He said he would not invade her mind again. This was the test, Evalin decided.

“Fine.”

He nodded and she suddenly felt a strange brush against her mind. Like a night-kissed shadow. It was kind, waiting for her to let him in. 

And so she did. Just for a second, she allowed her memories to fill his mind. 

 

—

 

Nyx saw a collage of gold silver and emerald. A large ballroom filled with richly dressed people. A blonde-haired female, who looked remarkably like Evalin, sitting on a grand throne. He saw the sparkling dress she was wearing when he found her, except it was clean and untorn. He saw a male with pine green eyes holding out his arm and a little girl smiling up at him. He felt panic and fear, he was running, running, running…A dark-haired female, then a room fit for a queen. There was a flash of white and then…cold and snow and trees. 

Removing himself from her mind, he asked, “Who was the Queen?” 

Evalin blinked, surprised. “My mother.”

“It was a ball-”

“My birthday,” She corrected.

“Your birthday. Why were you running?”

“I panicked.”

“About wha—”

“Your mother is a Queen?” Amren demanded.

Evalin looked down at the female. “She is the Queen of Terrasen.”

His parents, who were already engrossed in some private, mental conversation, looked up. 

A princess. She was a princess. Which explained a lot. Nyx had made acquaintances with many daughters of kings and lords, and they all carried themselves with that same arrogance that Evalin did. Although, she might have managed to outdo them. Even Nova rarely matched the level of haughtiness the female had shown in her first few days in Prythian. 

His father slid his hands into his pockets. “I assume that your parents are looking for you.”

“Of course they are,” Evalin said as if outraged by the mere suggestion they were not. 

“Well,” His mother stood, beaming. “We will do our best to help you. After all, we’ve helped your mother once. We will gladly do it again.”

 

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Nova stared at the male cowering before her, stared and tried to stir some sense of pity in her heart, but she could not. A stream of blood, coming from his mutilated ear trickled down the hardwood floors and pooled by her feet, staining her leather boots in sticky liquid. 

She sat as still as a queen, poised and imperial, acting as if the simple armchair was a throne. Her face was wrathful, the mask of an ancient goddess seeking vengeance on those who wronged her.

But it was not Nova he wronged, no, it was his daughter. Which was even worse.

“What crimes have you committed?” She demanded, voice colder than the mountains outside. 

She knew what crimes. Artemisia had already told her. 

“Please,” he moaned.

Usually, she liked it when they begged, but he was getting tedious. A warrior, claiming to be too proud to ever kneel before a female, reduced to a puddle of whimpers and tears as soon as his ear was cut off. It was pathetic, and she could tell she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Brielle’s nose was crinkling in disgust from her seat by the roaring fire. 

Tossing the blood knife she had used onto the oak table beside her, she demanded, “Admit to your crimes.”

A moment of silence, and then he roared in anger. “I tried to clip her wings! I tried to clip that traitorous bitch’s wings!”

“A traitorous bitch or your daughter? A daughter who was forced to run, bleeding, into a snowstorm to seek sanctuary with my lieutenant.”

“My daughter,” he admitted, “please. It was for her marriage. They required it. I was helping —”

Nova cut him off with a bitter laugh. “How would you like it? If you lived your life without the use of your wings?”

He didn’t answer.

“The Lady asked a question,” Artemisia spoke up, hazel eyes rageful. This was a wound that struck deep in Nova’s lieutenant, a pain the Illyrian female knew all too well. She still bore the scars on her wings because of it. Nova also bore scars on her wings, but they were not there because of an Illyrian, yet she understood the fear, the pain, the realization that something vital, intrinsic to her might be taken and never returned. She was lucky. Not many others were. 

The male’s dark eyes widened in both disgust and fear and faltering pride. He still clutched the gaping wound where his ear had been. Snarling, Nova flicked her wrist and allowed slithering silver flames to snake across the floor and force his hands behind his back. The male cried out in pain. She couldn’t care less. 

“Answer me,” Nova ordered, and the binds tightened.

Finally, he admitted, “I need my wings. I am a soldier.”

“What a noble sentiment,” She taunted, eyes lighting with wicked delight. “But unfortunately your sense of patriotism and duty will go to waste as the army will no longer be requiring your services.”

His face paled more if that was possible.

“As you’ve pointed out, without your wings, what truly is your purpose?” Nova gave him a saccharine smile. 

“No! No! No! No!” He shrieked, as he started to understand what she was planning. 

Nova was going to kill him, she had to set an example, but she was going to let him live without his wings for a few days, so he could truly suffer. 

“Not very convincing. If you want my mercy, perhaps you should try begging harder.”

He pressed his forehead to the ground and pleaded. “Anything, Anything, please, my lady, please.”

Nova uncrossed her legs and stood, walking slowly until her boots were right in front of his forehead, and clucked her tongue. “So sad to see such a proud and traditional male brought to such low depths.”

She drew her sword, which she kept strapped to her back, and allowed it to glow with the same inner fire that burned in her. He sobbed. And she raised it above her head, and in two perfect blows, she sliced his wings off his body. 

His screams filled the tent, the blood poured filling the air with the smell of metal. 

“Artemisia?” Nova asked, kicking hard to get his hands off of her leg where they pulled as if still begging for mercy. His nose cracked under the force of the blow.

“Yes, Lady?”

“Please go retrieve Lord Ragnar and tell him I would like to see him immediately in my tent.”

“Of course.” 

After Artemisia slipped out, Brielle pushed herself out of her chair and stepped over his shaking, sobbing, wrecked body as Nova resheathed her sword behind her back.  

“Where are we putting him?”

“Tie him up in the training ring, I’ll get him in a moment.”

The Valkyrie smiled and Nova returned it, both ignoring the pathetic mewling of the male.

Lord Ragnar was not pleased. He was just intelligent enough not to lunge at her, but through gritted teeth, he said, “You order the death of one of my top captains without even consulting me? This is my camp.”

“Your captain broke the law. And I’ve made it exceedingly clear what happens when someone breaks the law. I make no exceptions.” She was bored of this entire conversation. 

He ground his mouth shut knowing better than to say anything else. The lords of Illyria had learned that Nova was not one to be pushed around. She had killed plenty of them and she would have no remorse for killing another if they continued the cycle of cruelty and forced obedience. 

She had broken apart forced marriages, saved young females from abuse, protected girls from wing clipping, and gave bastards places to sleep and food to eat. It was safe to say none of the traditionalist males liked her. They despised her. And as long as they did, Nova could be sure she was doing something right. 

“Next time I expect you to come to me and then I’ll dole out punishment,” the Lord commanded. 

She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes like a predator watching her prey, then she laughed. 

“You think you can give me orders?” She stopped laughing and stood up from her chair, walking around the table so she was standing in front of him. “Next time one of your soldiers breaks the law, I won’t just punish them, I’ll punish you as well.”

His face paled and he jumped to his feet. Nova didn’t flinch, simply raised a challenging eyebrow. 

“You whore faced cunt,” Lord Ragnar roared, slamming his fists on the table. 

“Say that again.” She refused to yell, to drop to his level. And she learned that the best way to unnerve males like him was to not allow them to get a rise out of her. They thrived on having power over others. When he didn’t respond she moved swiftly, unsheathing her knife and slicing his face. It was a surface-level cut that he had no time to defend himself from. Blood dripped down his face. 

“Sit down,” she ordered. 

The Lord of Ironcrest did not move, his fists clenched to his sides. 

“Sit down.”

herself, crossing her legs and taking a long sip before placing the glass down. 

The blood from his wound dripped to the floor. 

“I will only say this one more time, so I suggest you listen. If I hear of one of your soldiers or anyone in your camp breaking the law again then you will be stripped of your lordship, your command, and then your life. Your wings will be the ones decorating this camp, that I can promise you. And I always keep my promises. Is that understood?”

True fear filled his face. She could hear his heartbeat in his chest. She had done something similar to Lord Einar years ago. Nova remembered his screams for mercy, but she also remembered his wife and daughter’s screams for mercy. She remembered the starving children left to die in the mountains. She enjoyed ripping his head off after his wings. 

“Yes, it is.” 

She smiled once more, taking another sip of wine, long manicured red nails gripping the chalice. “Get out,” she told him.

He didn’t meet her gaze again as he tucked in his wings and left. 

Seconds later, the flap to her tent rustled, and she tensed, ready to defend herself if necessary.

Caelum stuck his head in, hazel eyes lit with amusement. 

“Was that the Lord of Ironcrest running out of this tent with his tail tucked between his legs?”

“Perhaps,” Nova murmured.

He laughed. “Do I want to know?”

She fixed him with a glare. “One of the captains tried to clip his daughter’s wings.”

Immediately, her brother’s mood shifted. “Who.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I took care of it.”

Caelum let out a sigh. “Ironcrest is not like Windhaven; they're deeply entrenched in their traditions. Any attempt at change is seen as an attack. The progress we’ve–you’ve–managed to make is incredible considering how bad it was.”

Nova knew that. She knew deep down that this was progress. The laws being enforced and the males being punished were better than they once were. Almost unrecognizable from the first time she visited Illyria. 

Her brother had gone to train the camps when he was eight, as all Illyrian males did. He had begged their mother to allow him to go. She’d relented eventually, acknowledging the benefits of Caelum being raised there. 

Nova, however, was not allowed to go. At first, she didn’t want to. She trained with Valkyries at the House of Wind, and, later, in the various temples set up for the warriors. She found the Illyrian method of fighting to be distasteful. The Valkyries prized control over all else, over one’s mind and one’s body. The Illyrians, while well-trained, prized raw strength. 

Yet, as she grew older, she wondered what it would be like to be in the camps. She wanted to prove herself. 

At seventeen, she’d begged her father to let her train there. She eventually managed to convince him, pointing out that she could very easily defend herself if need be, and that Caelum, Nyx, and Asher already resided in Windhaven. 

They’d despised her. Looked down at her. She was a half-breed, a female, some even called her a witch. 

Most in Windhaven came to accept her brother. While he did not look Illyrian, he was one in his heart. He was brave and irritatingly righteous. The males in his legion adored him, and saw him as Enalius reborn, just like they saw their father before. Caelum had the uncanny ability to inspire admiration and loyalty in almost anyone. 

However, most would not come to accept her. Many females and younger males did, but the old guard of the camps viewed her as a plague. She never cared much for their rejection, she did not crave their acceptance. While she hadn’t admitted it to anyone at that time, her main reason for training in Illyria was to compete in the Rite. 

No one figured that out until she was already at the western drop site. 

Clearing his throat, Caelum changed the subject. “Have you figured out what we’re hunting for yet?”

Nova’s eyes flicked towards the book Andraste had given her. It was tucked under a stack of papers, its corner just slightly visible. 

She’d scoured its pages, only to realize that most of it was written in the ancient language of the Fae. While she was fluent, some of the words in the book seemed to have to have no proper translation. But, she’d familiarized herself with many of the drawings of strange beasts and creatures.

“I have an idea. We should head out soon if we want more than a few hours out there.”

The creatures of Illyria were mainly nocturnal and tucked themselves far away before the sun rose. 

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.”

“Right. Well, this is going to be fun,” Caelum chirped. 

She grabbed the book and tucked it into her leathers as Caelum turned around. 

“If Nyx is right, then we’re looking for the same type of creature that attacked that girl.”

“Evalin,” Nova corrected.

“Right. Evalin. But I don’t see how this will work. Nyx killed the one that attacked her. Do you think there are more?”

“It would make sense for there to be multiple. The murders were spread out all over the mountain, and they happened too close together for a single creature to be doing all of them. Anyway, I was able to track the thing that killed the soldiers to the Northernmost drop site. It’s not dead.”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, sister. I’m simply pointing out the obvious conundrum. Not to mention, the murders in the steppes were random attacks, what happened to Evalin was targeted.”

Nova said nothing. 

Caelum raised an eyebrow. “You think the attacks on the steppes aren’t random”. It wasn’t a question. 

“If it’s the same thing that attacked Evalin, then no.”

“I knew the males who were killed,” Caelum admitted, “they were good soldiers.”

She knew that was the highest praise her brother gave. He believed there was no greater honor than being a good soldier. 

Nova felt a strange sense of discomfort come over her. She could find nothing meaningful to say to bring her brother comfort.

He gave her a small smile as if he understood what she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. 

“We should get going,” Nova offered. A distraction from the guilt and pain her brother surely felt. He always felt everything so deeply. Too deeply. 

“I’m assuming you have some evil master plan.”

Nova rolled her eyes at her brother, unamused by his theatrics. “I wouldn’t call it evil as much as taking advantage of an opportunity that arose.”

Caelum grinned. 

 

—

 

The mountains were colder and the winds stronger than what was usual in midsummer. Yet, the twins, used to the unpredictable weather of the steppes, trudged forward relentlessly. 

The demon Nyx had shown them mind to mind was strange, with grayish skin and seemingly clear blood. It was nothing like the beasts that usually dwelled in the mountains, yet Nova was able to find an exact picture of it in the book Andraste had given her. 

She knew her friend’s father had been involved in…less savory practices, yet it was still a mystery as to why he would have a book like this one. Written in the ancient language of the Fae, it seemed to be an encyclopedia of sorts, at least the parts Nova was able to read. 

She’d found the picture of the demon that attacked Evalin right next to an inscription she couldn’t decipher, except for one word, Kristallos. She assumed that was its name. 

Nova hadn’t mentioned the book yet to anyone in her family. She wanted reassurance that she was right, that her plan would work before she even brought it up. 

Not to mention, the last time they’d all met after she’d gotten in trouble for seeing Evalin alone and Nyx killed the thing, emotions had run high. No one agreed on what to do.

Her mother was cautious about helping Evalin, citing Bryce Quinlan as an example. That had set her Uncle off, who was less than pleased about the reminder. Then everyone took sides, and Nova had grown bored and irritated with the whole charade. 

She didn’t believe Evalin was sent to destroy their world, and yet she understood their caution. However, it was a waste of time to argue about it, so she’d quietly taken her leave, winnowing to Illyria. Her brother, of course, noticed her absence right away and followed her.

Nova had given up trying to get rid of Caelum over sixty years ago, so she’d begrudgingly accepted his help. 

She’d spent the last few days in the mountain since the strange, otherworldly girl was attacked, making her presence well known in Ironcrest, and preparing to hunt. 

If she was correct, and there were multiple of them, the creatures would be in the northernmost drop site for the Rite.

Caelum tugged along the wingless, now disgraced ex-captain, who was bound and gagged. Fear radiated off of him, which was perfect for what Nova needed. 

Bait. 

There were no seeming commonalities between the victims of the attack, and Nova was unable to find a common denominator between an otherworldly high fae princess and Illyrian patrol males. Yet, she was sure this wasn’t random. 

By the time they’d reached the edge of the Northern drop site, the male was in near tears. 

Caelum’s expression was unusually unfeeling as he bound the male to a large tree at the very edge of the site. 

After the trap was set, Nova warded her and her brother’s scents. 

They’d picked a high spot in a nearby tree that offered a perfect view of the site to wait the night out. She didn’t know how long they’d have to wait, but she hoped the creature would make an appearance tonight.

Caelum readjusted next to her, wings maneuvering awkwardly around the branches. 

She shot him a glare. “Be quiet.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to relax, Nova.”

Nova frowned. “I am relaxed.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “If this is what you are like when you’re relaxed, I don’t—”

“Shhhh!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll shut up.”

“Thank the mother.”

She turned her attention back to the trap. It wasn’t her best work, but it would do. Whatever creature roamed the steppes seemed attracted to Illyrian soldiers, considering they hadn't found piles of animal flesh. 

Nova could feel Caelum staring at her, and while she was initially content with ignoring him, she felt a sudden rush of irritation that only her brother could bring out. 

Putting up a silencing shield, she asked, “What?”

“Just making sure you're not going to pass out on me again.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “I promise you I’ll let you know if I feel the urge.”

Caelum chuckled. 

They’d chalked her incident up to “exhaustion”. Nova had done her best to impress upon Madja that she simply hadn’t slept the night before. The ancient healer had accepted the explanation, even if Nova’s mother had regarded the claim with a healthy dose of skepticism. 

Of course, she was lying. Nova knew it was not exhaustion that caused her to pass out. She’d felt it. Power, magic of some sort that shouldn’t have been there. Her gifts had responded in turn, and it was too much at all at once. 

That’s why she went after Evalin. She needed to know if it was the girl who possessed such magic that set Nova off. She’d been drugged with faebane, but part of Nova doubted a tiny dose of poison could fully mask whatever had been done to her. Yet, Evalin had seemed…normal. Just a fae girl. Nothing about her screamed terrible and dark magic. 

That’s when she felt it. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Tensing, her eyes flew to the tied-up male. 

Caelum swore under his breath. “What the–”

A strange, grayish-clear monster was stalking towards the now-sobbing male. The exact one that Nyx had killed. The one in the book. The Kristallos. 

Her brother made a move to go forward, but Nova held a hand out, stopping him. 

“Watch,” she hissed. 

In a flash, faster than even her fae eyesight could track, the Kristallos had moved. Its claws tore into the male as he screamed, clawing and ripping. It was monstrous. She’d never seen anything like it and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

“Mother above,” Caelum muttered. 

The Kristallos froze, head halfway buried into the male’s rib cage. It looked up slowly. 

Nova knew her sound, smell, and sight wards were impenetrable. Even Uncle Rhys couldn’t shatter them. Yet, the Kristallos looked directly at her. 

Before she could even reach for her sword, it had moved. 

Nova winnowed just as it clawed its way up the tree. Her brother followed suit, appearing on the other side of the clearing, weapons drawn. 

The Kristallos leaped from the branch, landing the 50ft drop with ease. It went directly towards Nova, seemingly intent on ending her. 

She threw up a protective shield, a loud crack sounding through the air as it bounded into it at full speed. 

Waving a hand, she took advantage of the Kristallos’s momentary shock. Silver flames slithered their way up the demon’s body, wrapping around its throat. 

It let a horrid screech as it was slowly burned from the inside out, cold flames consuming it. 

Soon, the creature fell limp. 

Nova released her hold on the corpse.

“How did it know we were there?” She asked, more to herself than Caelum. 

“I don’t know. Maybe your wards failed.”

She stiffened. “They didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said with a shake of his head. “We did what we needed to do. Let’s go.”

A soldier’s sentiment. But Nova wanted to know more. Needed to. If this was the creature that was terrorizing the steppes, and there had been another one of them in Moonstone, there had to be more. Somewhere, there had to be more. 

“We haven’t done anything but killing it.”

—-

 

She’d taken a bath as soon as she got back to Moonstone, washing every inch of the steppes off of her, before wrapping herself in silky lavender pajamas. 

Which was how she found herself sitting in one of the various sitting rooms in the palace wearing said pajamas while a formal debrief took place.

Caelum had changed as well, now wearing a navy blue jacket and pants as he updated Uncle Rhys and their father on what happened. 

Nyx sat in the chair closest to Nova, and while his eyes were set intently on Caelum, she could tell he wasn’t interpreting a word her brother said. 

“Was it a wise idea to go after such a thing in the middle of the night? Especially after disappearing without a word?” Her mother demanded. 

“Not a single scratch on either of us, Mother, I promise,” Caelum swore good-naturedly. 

Their mother was not impressed with her son's easy smiles and laid-back attitude about the whole situation if her expression said anything. 

“We’ll talk about that later,” their father decided. The twins shared a glance, knowing they would both be scolded. She didn't know if she could handle being scolded again. Her parents had been less than pleased about her seeking out Evalin. 

“So Evalin woke up?” Nova asked, changing the subject, “The venom wore off?”

Uncle Rhys nodded. “We talked to her this morning, and…pledged our help.”

Nova raised an eyebrow, knowing very well how distrustful her uncle was of worldwalkers. 

He sighed. “She looked familiar to me. And when she shared her memories with Nyx and showed us what her mother looked like, I realized why.”

And so her uncle told the story about how he rescued the then-young Queen from certain doom by slowing her down as she fell through worlds. 

“Her mother is also a worldwalker,” Amren sniffed, unimpressed. 

“Maybe her mother also crossed through realms by accident,” Mor suggested, taking a sip from her glass of wine. 

“You didn’t ask?” Nova said, slightly surprised. 

“We did,” Nyx jumped in suddenly, speaking for the first time this entire meeting, “she was defensive though, she said there was a war and she didn't wish to speak of it.”

“We’d be fools to trust her. You may have seen her mother in passing, but how do we do she had good intentions either? Slowing her down was a stupid thing to do to Rhysand, especially considering we know nothing of her. As was pledging to help the girl. Messing with portals between worlds? That’s a bad idea. We’d be better off throwing her in a dungeon and pretending she never existed.”

Nova snorted. 

“Amren,” Aunt Feyre scolded, “What if the portals between worlds open again? Her mother and father rule over a kingdom. We would be fools to anger them. They might be allies instead of enemies.”

“Fine,” Amren said, “Have your sister use that harp of hers to open another portal and send that girl home.”

Nova’s curiosity was piqued at the mention of the trove. 

Aunt Feyre stiffened, clearly irritated, but she turned to Nova’s mother expectantly. “You think you’d be able to do that, Nesta?”

“It’s not whether I can or not, it's whether I should. Opening a portal to a different realm…I haven’t tried that before. Gods know what might go wrong. But I suppose it's worth a shot.”

Amren scoffed. “Yes. Mess with the very fabric of space and time to soothe your ego.”

Nova’s mother shot Amren a glare. “She’s a child. Scared and alone in a world she does not understand.”

“And, you,” Amren whirled onto Uncle Rhys, making him the object of her wrath, “You’re going along with this solely to satisfy your curiosity!”

The stars winked out in Uncle Rhys’s eyes. Nova felt the damper loosen on his magic. “That’s enough, Amren.”

The room fell deathly quiet. 

She knew her Uncle would never hurt anyone in this room. This was perhaps the closest he ever came to doing that.

“What if the creatures are from Evalin’s world? She didn’t mention anything about recognizing them, did she?” Nova asked, breaking the silence. 

Uncle Rhys relaxed slightly. “No. I’ll ask her tomorrow. We might have agreed to help her, but the help is conditional on her cooperation with our questions.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Nova offered, “Instead of you or Nyx.”

Her Uncle raised an eyebrow. 

“She’ll be more open with me than she’ll ever be with any of you. Anyway, we already talked once, she knows who I am.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Aunt Feyre interjected, giving Nova a thankful glance.

“Mmmh,” her mother agreed, “poor thing is probably sick of being pushed around by males with egos the size of the steppes.”

—--

 

Nova didn’t trust Evalin. But she could work with her. 

Either the princess was as blindsided about the Kristallos as the rest of them were, or she knew exactly what it was. 

Amren had a point, even if no one wanted to admit the possibility. Those creatures suddenly appearing in the steppes were not a coincidence, and Nova refused to believe they were not tied to Evalin’s sudden appearance. 

She needed to translate that passage into the book. So far, no books in Hewn City or the House matched the strange language, but perhaps Evalin would be able to recognize it. 

 

—

 

That night she dreamt of the Blood Rite. 

Nova staggered her way up the peak of Ramiel, towards the monolith in the snow. So far the blood Rite has been nothing less than a horrifying experience. She’d plotted and manipulated and murdered, but here she was. At the very top. The one and only winner. 

Her thigh was torn open, blisters from burns reached her calves, she was tired and hungry and hadn't slept since she started the climb, since she left the cave of beasts that ensured she wouldn’t be murdered in her sleep. 

Gods, Nova missed their warmth, even missed their giant teeth that made any warriors within ten miles stay away. She still didn’t know why they hadn’t immediately killed her, but they seemed to recognize her, her power. She was as wild and desperate and vicious as they were. 

Snow whipped around her, but thankfully the blizzard from the night before had subsided. There were no Illyrians who could reach her up here, none would make it this far, but if she stopped, if she slept, she wouldn’t get back up. So she continued climbing.

Until now. Until she could see the monolith. One more step and she would be at the summit. One more step and she was a Carynthian. 

Her mother and father whispered stories about this place around the fire when she was younger. Her brother told her how when you reached it, you could feel the power. The power of Enalius, of all the Illyrians who had made it before her. 

Nova took a step onto the stone peak, and the wind stopped. The world stilled. The sun even seemed to stop setting on the horizon, permanently casting the world in hues of gold, pink, and purple. 

Soon, she stood inches away from the damned rock and could read the ancient symbols that decorated it. Ancient Illyrian, long lost to history, save for this. 

Nova reached her hand out and brushed the monolith . 

Except she didn’t touch it. She wasn’t able to reach it.

She lunged for it again, missing once more, and falling onto the rocks and snow. 

This wasn’t right…This wasn’t how that night ended. 

The pain burned through her. Everything hurt. 

“My poor, fair child,” A too-kind voice murmured. 

Nova knew that voice. Her heart dropped. 

A dark-haired, dark-eyed queen kneeled in front of her. A cold, spindly hand gently gripped her chin, tilting it upwards. 

“How pretty you’ve become.”

The world shifted from one of snow to one of stone. 

A dagger pressed to Nova’s chest, which was now bare. 

The smell of root filled her nose as the Queen leaned in close, her red lips brushing Nova’s ear. “I told them to bring me your heart and they couldn’t even do that. But one day, my fair child, one day.”

Nova anticipated the raised knife before the Queen even moved her pale hand. She waited for the stinging blow of the blade, but it didn’t come. Instead, she heard footsteps, slow and methodical. 

This was wrong…this had never happened before. 

Who was that? Who was coming? 

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

It had taken a few days for them to reach Adarlan from Orynth, and by the time they managed to make it to the capital, it had been seven days since Evalin had disappeared. Seven days since anyone had heard from the princess. 

The journey had been a tense one. Sam and Torin, neither of whom was naturally relaxed, were somehow more rigid. Even Rhoe was uncharacteristically silent. 

Damian had sent Achilleos ahead, allowing him to ride back with his companions. He’d borrowed a horse from Terrasen’s royal stable, and part of him wished he hadn’t. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable and inefficient horseback riding was compared to Wyvern’s. 

As they rode through the streets of Rifthold, many gathered outside the various libraries, restaurants, clubs, taverns, shops, and homes. They waved and cheered and called out, recognizing them easily. Damian and Torin were common sights for the city’s residents, especially in the less savory side of town. And everyone could recognize the insignia of the Galathynius that both Rhoe and Sam donned on their clothing. 

The news of Evalin’s disappearance had been kept purposefully quiet, and while Damian was sure the rumors would spread like wildfire soon enough, it seemed they hadn’t reached Adarlan yet. 

Aelin and Rowan had done their best to shut everyone up, to stop whispers about their daughter. 

Some of them still reached his ears, though. Evalin ran away with her secret lover and is now on a ship to Antica. She is secretly pregnant and is being hidden away in Perranth until she gives birth. 

It was endless speculation from a bored court.

What was worse, in Damian’s opinion, was the absolute outrage by the Lord’s council. The Queen had called a meeting with her top advisors, only fueling the flames of rumors. Damian was not subject to what happened in said meeting, but based on what Rhoe told him, the Queen had barely refrained from setting the lords aflame. 

He knew many disapproved of Evalin, saw her as too wild and reckless to ever make a good queen. It was the same criticisms they’d lobbied at her mother years prior. Aelin Galathynius had proven herself to them, not that she needed to, but she had. Evalin never got that chance. 

As they passed through the streets, the cramped wooden tenements and questionable establishments transformed into large villas, lush parks, and various reputable theaters and scholarly institutes. Eventually they made it to the stone and marble entrance to the Palace.

A grand archway connected to the high grey stone walls, guarded by officers wearing the red and gold livery of the Havilliards. 

The palace was situated on the top of a hill overlooking the city, and so high were the walls and so low hung the morning mist that one could not see the grand building in which the court resided. 

The guards nodded their heads respectfully to Damian, saluting him as he and his companions entered the main courtyard. 

Stable hands rushed forward, taking the reins from Damian as he dismounted.

“Good to be home,” Torin muttered, coming to Damian’s side.

He let out a dry chuckle. “Yes. I can’t wait to see the disappointment that I have come and not my father.”

“We need to search the city,” Sam announced, interrupting. “And the ports. Every ship that comes in or out.”

Damian turned to Torin, who nodded. “We’ll send out soldiers immediately.”

Torin left, ordering guards around as he did. 

“I’ll call a meeting with the lord’s council,” Damian said to no one in particular.

“You will inform them of Evalin’s disappearance?” Rhoe questioned as the three of them headed to the grand carved wooden doors. 

“They probably already know,” Sam scoffed irritatedly. 

Damian didn’t–couldn’t–object to that conjecture. 

Rhoe let out a low whistle, taking in the grandeur of the Adarlanian court as they walked through the halls.

Like the exterior, the interior was made of grey stone. Colossal ornately carved columns supported dramatically arched ceilings. Oak railings outlined the imposing marble double staircase, which looped around to the second floor of the palace. Arched stained glass windows were situated near the very top of the three story hall, sprinkling the first floor in streams of light.

Iron candle holders lined the hall and stairs, each holding twelve candles apiece. Statues made of dark marble, depicting famous figures from Adarlan’s history, everyone from Gavin and Elena, to Dorian I. And in between the statues hung embroidered tapestries, each more ornate than the last. It was easy to miss the guards stationed along every third step of the stairs, and every arched exit to the hall. 

It was certainly a testament to the prosperity that had flourished in the years since the war. 

Servants came forward, taking their cloaks before disappearing once more.

“Do the lords know yet?” Sam asked. Damian knew he was not talking about Evalin, or the impending search for her and that lady in waiting of hers. 

‘They’re about to.”

 

—--

 

The Lords council was not pleased to be dragged into an unscheduled midday meeting by their rakish and infamous Crown prince. They were especially displeased when they found out the King was staying in Terrasen. 

“Are you telling me that the King has made you regent in his stead?” Demanded one.

Before Damian could respond from his spot at the head of the table–the spot that was his father’s–another lord jumped in. “When will King Dorian return?”

Soon the voices were overlapping with one another, fighting to be heard among a sea of questions and demands. 

Damian raised a hand, and they all had the good sense to shut up. “My father has not made me regent.”

Confused glances were shared among the lords and Damian was sure he heard a few sighs of relief. 

It grated on him. That they believed he could not do this. That not even the men who had seen him grow up, that watched his father teach Damian everything he knew, still did not believe he would ever be able to live up to the male. That Damian could ever be as good as his father. 

“He has abdicated his throne.”

Torin reached into his breast pocket, taking out the official proclamation, stamped with the seal of the King of Adarlan. A seal that was now in Damian’s possession. 

He handed the proclamation to Damian as the room broke into chaos. 

“This is going well,” Rhoe muttered to his brother, just loud enough for Damian to hear. 

Damian raised an eyebrow at him. Rhoe winked. Sam shook his head. Torin lowered his eyes, as if he were trying not to laugh. Bastards. 

“He has named you king. In a letter?” One asked, astonished. 

“My father wishes for a formal coronation when he returns from Terrasen. Where he will be acting in assistance to the Queen and Prince.”

“Does this have something to do with the runaway princess? Are the rumors true?” 

Damian turned to Sam, nodding. 

“My sister, the Crown Princess, has gone missing,” Sam admitted, voice regal and unfeeling.

“Gone missing? That is different from being a runaway.”

“That’s because she has not run,” Sam replied, a slight defensive edge to his voice. 

“How the hell has someone managed to kidnap the Crown Princess of Terrasen? Was this a targeted attack against the royal family or the work of petty bandits looking for a ransom?”

“We don’t know.”

“Is Adarlan under threat as well? Will our daughter start disappearing in the night?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure she has not run away? Everyone knows that girl is half-wild.”

“Enough,” Sam snapped. 

The room fell into silence once more and Damian swore he could feel the temperature drop. Ice crackled underneath Sam’s fingertips, frosting the wooden arms of his chair. 

He knew the implications of Evalin running away. What it would mean for her and her family politically and socially. 

Sensing his friend was about to snap, Damian took over.

“The situation with Princess Evalin is under control, my lords. My father is simply offering support to old friends. And as he is now relieved of his duties of state, he is unrestrained.”

Their faces were uncertain but no one objected, clearly unwilling to further upset Terrasen’s prince. 

“May we see the proclamation?”

Damian nodded, waving a hand at Torin, who passed it down the table.

Every lord read it once–twice, before passing it on to the next, the only sound in the room being the tapping of Rhoe’s boot against the oak floors. 

“This does not specify when the official coronation will take place.”

“After everything calms down, when my father returns.”

“Will he be present then? It is unusual that a former king is present for the coronation of his heir.”

“My father does plan to attend.”

“So you will be King in practice but not in name?”

While a King could rule without being officially crowned– as Damian’s father had done during the war–it was not considered official in the eyes of the court, the people, and, historically, the gods. There were no gods anymore, but tradition still clung deep in the minds of the public. Damian could rule as king, but the position would not be seen as official until there was a coronation. With the priestesses, and the lords, and the swearing in, and the blood, and the water, and the oaths to protect crown and kingdom. 

“I will be your king.”

There was enough finality in Damian’s voice that none spoke out again. With a wave of his hand he dismissed them all.

They bowed as they filed out of the room, murmurs of ‘majesty’ passing through their lips. It was strange to be addressed so when he was used to ‘highness’ or ‘prince’. An unpleasant weight settled in his chest.

“Well that was a shit show,” Rhoe exclaimed cheerfully, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter in the center of the table. 

“Nevermind them,” Sam said. “We need to start focusing on Evalin. Has anyone found out if that lady in waiting entered the city or not?”

Torin shook his head. “It’s only been half a day, Sam.”

“And six days since Evalin disappeared,” Sam shot back.

“We need a better plan. Adarlan is huge and ships come and leave everyday. I have men looking through every manifest from the last couple days, but even that will take a while. We don’t even know if Evalin left Terrasen.”

“This is the best lead we have.”

“It’s the only lead,” Damian pointed out, pouring his own glass of whiskey and swirling it around. 

“We’ll figure it out. Evalin’s resourceful,” Rhoe assured.

No one replied to that. 

Damian regarded the two brothers, so alike and so unalike in so many different ways. They were born unusually close together for the fae, and if it wasn’t for the eyes, they could have been twins. Rhoe inherited his mother’s Ashryver eyes, while Sam was all Whitethorn. Rhoe inherited his mother’s fire, while Sam his father’s ice. Rhoe was charming and cheerful and Sam cold and aloof. 

Yet they both trained as warriors extensively with one another and when they fought side by side, it was as if they were one of the same. 

He wondered for a moment though if they were both hoping for different outcomes. 

Duty and discipline were Sam’s life. To run away, that was a betrayal to him and their family Damian doubted the male could recover from. Evalin, as the heir, was supposed to be the epitome of the qualities that Sam valued the most. To not be, to be something outside the ideal image Sam imagined they all should, would be ruinous. 

On the other hand, Rhoe understood, in a way, what it was like to be Evalin. He was wilder than Sam, he had Mala’s fire in him. The life of duty and discipline was ill–suited to his temperament. He would not see running away as a betrayal as much as Sam would. If Rhoe were the heir, he would have run away a long time ago. But he was not. He was not even the spare. 

 

—--

 

Dinner that night was a solemn affair. No reports had come in indicating anything amiss.

They did not dine with the court, instead using the private dining room in Damian’s suite.

Servants had brought a choice collection of spiced meats, fresh bread, and roasted vegetables. They’d devoured it quickly and were now drowning themselves in wine. 

They all hoped to forget something, he supposed.

He, for one, was hoping to drown out the last conversation he had with his father before he left Terrasen.

 

“What did you need to see me for?” Damian asked as he entered his father’s guest rooms in the Palace of Orynth. They were even more ornate than his own, decked out in green and silver. 

His father was sitting by the roaring fire, seemingly unbothered by the heat even in midsummer. His mother sat beside him, unusually casual as she curled up into his chest wearing a simple red velvet gown, her moon-white hair unbound.  

His father gave him a smile. “No hello for your mother and father?”

“Hello, mother. Hello, father. Now, what was so urgent that you needed to see me right away?”

His mother laughed, amber eyes gleaming with amusement. 

“Have a seat, Damian.”

He obeyed, sliding into his seat. This was going to be a long conversation.

Suddenly, his mother stood. “I forgot I promised Elide I would have lunch with her and Marion.” There was no emotion in her voice, as if she was simply stating a fact. One no one could disagree with. 

Damian’s father seemed slightly surprised by this, raising an eyebrow at his wife. 

His mother ignored it, turning to Damian with a rare smile. “Goodbye, I’ll see when I visit Adarlan.”

He stood, giving his mother a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye.”

And with that she left the room, as cold and proud and regal as ever.

Damian adored his mother, and in many ways, he felt he was more like her than his father. She raised him for half his childhood in the witch kingdom, among the royal Crochans and brutal Ironteeth. She trained him to think and act like a warrior, to see court politics as a war game, to treat it as one would battle. 

He thrived in the Wastes. It made sense to him. 

Adarlan posed a challenge to him though. One one hand, there were plenty of pretty females to bed, ones he could be sure would not claw his face off in his sleep, plenty of males to drink and spar with. There was his father, who taught him another side to ruling. One of justice and law, of kindness and generosity. His father who opened his eyes to books, everything from history to poetry. He remembered the hours they would spend together, after a day of training in the ring with Chaol and Torin, reading in companionable silence. Yet, despite his fond memories of his father’s kingdom…He recalled the whispers that followed him from the time he was a little boy. That he was something more than human, worse than human. That he was unnatural. That he was too powerful. Too dangerous. Damian remembered feeling horrified over his lack of control while training his magic. Horrified at what he was capable of. 

The witches, they were immortal, descended from the Valg, they did not fear anything. They saw his magic as a point of pride. His daughter, if he were blessed with one, would be the next High Queen of Witches. The lords of Adarlan saw him as a liability. A strong protector but also reason to fear. He was too much like his mother to be trusted like his father was. He was more Valg than his father, more immortal than his father, perhaps even more powerful.  

“I have done my best to do what my father has never done,” Damian’s father said suddenly. “To prepare you to be King.”

“You have done a very good job, if I do say so myself, father, so you have nothing to worry about,” Damian replied cockily.

“I know I have. But if you do not want to be king—”

“I want to be King. If you are ready to pass down your crow, I want to be king.”

Damian wasn’t sure where his certainty and determination came from at that moment. But he didn’t want his father to think less of him. Didn’t want his father to doubt that he had made a son worthy of inheriting his title. 

After a second’s hesitation, his father smiled. He knew, Damian thought, his father always knew. 

“Then I’ll send you back to Adarlan with a proclamation naming you such.”

“What?” Damian blinked. 

His father waved his hand, and a golden crown appeared on Damian’s lap. The crown that all Kings of Adarlan had worn since Gavin himself united the war clans. 

“It’s yours, son.”

Damian couldn’t bring himself to pick it up. “Is it really an appropriate time to hold a coronation? Seems insensitive.”

“The coronation can be held later. You will still be king in name and power, but it will be an intermediary period of your reign.”

Damian nodded, gently rubbing the insignia on the crown with his thumb. A golden wyvern. 

“I have one more thing to give you.”

Damian did not expect the sword in his father’s hand. Did not expect his father to present him with Damaris.

“This sword belonged to the first of the Havilliards and it is now yours.”

 

The sword was tucked into one of his travel chests, bundled between two jackets. He hadn’t used it once, choosing to continue to use his regular sword. 

As a boy, he wanted nothing more than to wield Damaris, now he couldn’t bear to touch it.

Rhoe poured him another glass of wine, encouraging him to drink more. Damian obeyed. 

Even Sam indulged himself, and while he remained more composed than the others, there was always a full glass of wine in his hands. 

He didn’t know at what time he stumbled to bed. Only that it was still late–or early–enough for it to still be dark outside. The familiarness of his bed brought a modicum of comfort, and some relief for the waves of dizziness that were coming over him. 

He didn’t know how long he slept, only that he was woken up far too early by too bright lights and too loud voices. 

“My King,” Someone urged. “Lord Torin needs to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”

Before Damian could even raise his head off his pillow, the doors slammed open.

“Damian. It’s the girl, Jessabell. They think they found her.”

 

—

 

In thirty minutes the four males were outside a dingy looking apartment building, cushioned between a brothel and a questionable tavern. Even at ten in the morning, there were drunkards coming in and out, paling when they saw the royal escort. 

“This is it?” Sam asked, unimpressed by the raggard state of the building and the raggard state of its inhabitants. 

At first, it seemed strange that Jessabell, a noble girl of wealthy origins, would choose a place like this to stay for even a night. But then again, who would look here?
Rhoe dismounted from his mare first. “Well, we better start looking.”

The inside of the building was considerably worse than the outside. He could barely stand the smell. It was putrid, rotting flesh mixed with…rose? 

“Something died in here,” Rhoe groaned, covering his nose with a gloved hand. 

“Are you sure this is it?” Sam asked once more.

“Yes. I sent my best guards down to the ports. They swore to me they saw her. And when they checked at the bar next door, they pointed my soldiers in this direction,” Torin replied. 

“Which means we have nothing to go off of but the words of drunkards,” Sam muttered.

Torin did not dignify that with a response. He gestured towards the stairwell peeking out behind a half rotted wall. 

The floorboards creaked with every step they took and Damian was sure their weight would collapse the stairs. Thankfully, they held up well enough.

The stairs led to a long, cramped hallway, with half open doors and peeling wallpaper. He could see no signs of life, but the smell was getting worse. Whatever they were going to find, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

They searched every room, finding nothing but abandoned one bedroom apartments. Most were without furniture and covered in a thick layer of dust. No one had lived here for a long time. 

Damian veered left, eyes narrowing in on what had to be the source of the smell. With every step he took closer to it, it became more unbearable.

He tugged on the doorknob, finding it stuck. He shoved his shoulder into the door and it burst open. 

He nearly gagged. Then he froze.

A female lay on the floor, a dagger through her stomach. It was clear she had been there for a while. 

He knew exactly who she was. 

“Fuck,” Torin swore. He called over his shoulder, “we found her!”

“Mala save us all.” Sam and Rhoe appeared behind them, eyes fixated on the girl.

“There goes our lead,” Rhoe said. 

“Shut up,” Torin ordered. 

Damian took a few tentative steps into the room, noting the disheveled state of it.

Clothing was tossed around, ripped and torn as if a wild animal had gotten to it. A small chest was pushed up against the threadbare bed. 

He opened it, unsure of what to expect inside. More clothing, some jewelry, gold, another dagger. Nothing of note, really.

“Damian,” Sam called, “look at this.”

Sam was crouched near the fireplace, near what looked to be a pile of ash. 

As Damian came closer, he realized it wasn’t just a pile of ash. There were symbols drawn into the floor. Wyrdmarks. He swore.

Although the latter half of the marks had been smudged away, he recognized the summoning smell. This was used to summon a portal. To where she had been trying to open the portal too, he did not know. 

“They cut her finger off and everything.”

“What?” Damian demanded, momentarily distracted from the wyrdmarks on the floor.

Rhoe nodded down to the girl. “They cut her finger off.”

Her ring finger was sliced clean off her hand at the knuckle. 

“Are those wyrdmarks?” Torin looked past Sam’s shoulder. 

“It seems as though she was summoning something. A portal most likely based on the marks,” Sam admitted. 

“Fuck,” Rhoe muttered, “you don’t think Evalin summoned a portal as well, do you? I mean, if anyone could, it would be her. She has the power to.”

“Her Lady clearly was trying to,” Torin said, “perhaps they were cahoots with one another.”

“You think she was trying to meet Evalin?”

Torin shrugged. “Why else would some random girl try to summon a portal?”

“Evalin wouldn’t do that.” Sam stood up. “She knows how dangerous and volatile portals are. And where would she have even gone? Antica? Doranelle? Wendlyn? They are our allies and would have reported a sighting of her immediately.”

“She could have disguised herself,” Damian suggested.

“Yes, except she didn’t run in the first place,” Sam shot back. 

Rhoe, sensing his brother’s darkening mood, interjected. “Maybe it was an accident.”

“Evalin can be reckless,” Torin mused, “she could have done something in the heat of the moment without thinking it through.”

Sam shook his head, frustration clear on his features. He stalked towards the door, as if he needed a breath of fresh air. 

“Get the guards outside. Tell them to take her body back to the palace, but be discreet about it. We’ll get a healer to look at the injuries. And have someone collect the girl’s things,” Damian ordered.

Rhoe obeyed, sliding past his brother and out the door. 

“Someone has to inform her parents. And Aelin and Rowan,” Torin said, going a step closer to Damian. 

“Let's figure out how she died first before anything else.”

“A portal, though…Do you think Evalin would do that?” Torin lowered his voice an octave, clearly trying not to set Sam off. 

“I don’t know. What I want to know is why a girl has been murdered and how the hell this connects to Evalin. We need to find her.”

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Notes:

Love hearing everyone's comments on the story so far!

Amara loved her job. She really did. She found no greater joy in anything than she did in her healing. Yet, on some days, she found herself too drained to do anything but come home and lie on the couch for an hour. 

This was one of those days. It had started with a four-car pileup on one of the desert highways that led out of Lunathion. Multiple patients with life-threatening injuries that required extensive and detailed work to be done on them. By midday, she was lightheaded and dizzy from using so much of her power. It didn’t help that right after her lunch break ended, she was scheduled to do home visits in Asphodel Meadows. Many of the humans who lived there were elderly and without proper support. Facilities in Midgard were not designed for the elderly, not really. For the immortals that dwelled here...it was simply unnecessary. 

Half of Amara’s job was providing care to those in the city in need–the elderly, humans of all ages, and poor Vanir. She was blessed with so much just for being born: A loving family, money beyond what she would ever need, and the opportunity to do whatever she wanted and be supported by those around her. It was her duty to give back in any way she could.

“You look good.” Laila strutted into the room, swinging her leather purse onto the coffee table and collapsing on the chair across from Amara. Her cousin was dressed in her usual: baggy black jeans, a leather tube top, and an oversized black leather jacket. Laila’s hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and almost all her tattoos and piercings were on display. She was truly her father’s daughter. 

Laila had never cared for what anyone thought of her. Not when she snuck away to get her first tattoo done at seventeen (Amara, protesting, in tow) nor when she joined the Aux (as unseemly as that was for a prominent daughter of the Fae) nor when she spent her nights at underground dive bars and clubs doing more mirthroot than what should be possible (no matter how many cameras followed her wherever she went, posting as many raunchy photographs as they could manage on their gossip blogs). 

Amara never cared either, although she was far less outwardly rebellious, and rarely showed her face in public like Laila did. She was pretty sure everyone had forgotten she existed. Her entire family outshone her, including her older brother, Atlas. 

She liked it that way, though. It gave her the peace and quiet she desired. 

“Ha ha.”

“No, seriously, Mari. You look good. Is that a new top?” Laila asked as she dug into her bag and pulled out her phone.

Amara glanced down at the pale pink blouse she’d changed into. “Imogen got it for me last time she went shopping in FiRo.” 

“It's flattering. You should wear it out tonight. Just change into one of those cute mini skirts you have.”

“Tonight?” Amara asked. “What’s tonight?”

Laila looked up. “We’re going to the White Raven.”

“Since when?”

“Since I got home from work and decided we both need to have a fun night.”

Amara gave Laila a knowing look. “Your idea of fun and mine are very different.”

Laila rolled her violet eyes. “Maybe. But I need to release some tension and you need to learn how to lose your inhibitions.”

Choosing to ignore the subtle criticism, Amara instead focused on what Laila said about tension. “Did something happen at work?” Only Laila’s job could wind her up like that. 

Something dark flashed in her eyes and Amara swore she saw her cousin’s shadows darken. “Nothing happened. Would you relax? It’s going to be fun.”

Amara didn’t consider the White Raven to be high up on her list of fun things to do…but Laila seemed to need this. 

A couple of drinks never hurt anyone, right?

Laila grinned, clearly seeing she was going to get her way. 

“I’ll get something for us to pregame on,” she declared, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. “You go get changed!”

Amara, surprising even herself, obeyed. She knew she would have to remain sober for the best part of the night. They couldn’t both be drunk and anyways Amara had a list a mile long of patients to see tomorrow. It wouldn’t be fair to be hungover for it. 

But she could have fun for Laila’s sake. She knew her cousin would not talk about what’s bothering her, at least not right away. But maybe after a night of letting go she would confide in Amara, in a way Laila only seemed able to do when she let loose a little. 

Amara’s room was a princess’s dream. Pink pastels and white lace made up the entirety of the decor. A large canopy bed was in the center, placed elegantly on a number of handwoven rugs. The tiered chandelier lit up the space, reflecting off the pretty antique mirrors. Various shopping bags were stacked in the corner near the marble fireplace. 

Amara padded over to them and began digging through the piles of tissue paper and fancy bags with ornate lettering. She’d bought a new skirt when she was out with Serafina on one of their weekend shopping trips. Every Saturday they’d go for tea together in FiRo before spending a ridiculous amount of their paychecks on clothing, and in Serafina’s case, jewels. Like all dragon’s, Fina loved her treasure. 

Pulling it out, Amara turned towards her full length mirror and held it over her jeans. It would be cute…although maybe not for the White Raven.

Folding it and putting it back in the bag, she reached for a pale pink dress, beaded and embroidered with silk flowers. It was short enough to be appropriate for the club but long enough that Amara wouldn’t have to worry about flashing her too-expensive lace underwear to everyone in Old Square. She was going to save it for the fancy cocktail event that Serafina’s firm was hosting, and that Amara agreed to be a plus one too, but she supposed with the right hairstyle it would work for tonight.

She slid the dress on, appreciating how soft it felt and how well it conformed to her curves. 

Amara supposed her one indulgence in life was expensive taste. Although she mainly blamed her father and uncles for creating the habit. And her mother for encouraging it. 

She pulled her black hair up into a loose ponytail, tying it with a pink silk bow. 

“Why’d you change?” Laila asked, coming into the room with two shot glasses and a bottle of cherry vodka.

“I thought this would work better. There’s a certain look to the White Raven.”

Laila snorted. “Yeah, so what? You sit in the VIP section all night sipping a single cocktail.”

Amara rolled her eyes playfully. “I like to observe.”

 Laila set down the glasses on Amara’s vanity and poured a shot for each of them. 

While her cousin shot the drink back immediately, not even flinching before pouring herself another. Amara took a sip of hers and nearly gagged. 

Laila herself had changed into a dress. A strappy black one paired with silver hoop earrings. She did a third shot.

Amara sighed, she was going to need some help tonight. She grabbed her phone and shot off a quick message to Serafina, Imogen, and Calla.

Amara: Come to the White Raven if possible. Laila’s about to go crazy.

“Come on,” Laila called, “The car’s here!”

—---

 

They were dropped off by a too handsome driver in front of the White Raven and Laila, taking Amara’s hand, dragged her to the door. They skipped past the long line, much to the grumbling of the other patrons waiting.

“Tell Riso I say hello!” Laila said to the bouncer as he let the two of them in without another word. 

Amara was almost embarrassed but soon forgot it when she was met with the onslaught of noise, alcohol, and sex that was the White Raven. 

Dancers in cages above the floor writhed against the bars while near naked waiters passed out colorful cocktails to various Vanir lounging at the edge of the dance floor. The dance floor itself was a tangle of limbs and bodies, grinding to the pounding music, some mix between techno and pop.

“Let's go grab a table,” Laila said, somehow far too loud.

Amara looked at her cousin, noting the sweat beading at her brow. Laila was biting her lip, eyes flashing between nervousness and excitement and desire. She wanted to get lost in it, to forget…but what she wanted to forget Amara didn’t know. 

They were allowed up the stairs into the VIP lounge as easily as they were allowed to enter the club, the bouncers giving a respectful nod as they passed. 

Claiming a booth closest to the edge, where they could clearly see the action of the floor below, they took a seat.

Laila immediately ordered a drink from a half-naked Vanir male who shone under the dim lights. 

“Are you just going to sit here all night again?” Laila whined.

“Depends,” Amara replied, “will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Laila frowned, shadows writhing around her. “I just want to have fun.”

And before Amara could say anything else, Serafina appeared in an elegant white dress, diamonds the size of robin’s eggs hanging from her ears. 

“I just got off from work when you texted, I had a spare change of clothes in my car.”

Laila squealed in a very un-Laila-like way, grabbing Serafina and pulling her close.

What the hell was wrong with her? 

“Have a drink, Fina!” Laila drawled, pushing a shot in front of her.

Serafina seemed unbothered by the strange way Laila was acting, throwing back a shot. 

“Long day?” Amara asked skeptically. 

Serafina’s eyes flicked to hers. “You don’t even know.”

Amara wondered if she could get something non-alcoholic to drink. Did they even sell that here? 

“Let’s go dance,” Laila demanded. Serafina laughed as she was tugged out of her seat.

“Come on, Amara!”

“I’ll wait here.”

She ignored their protestations, waving down a server as they disappeared into the club. 

When she asked for water, she swore she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. But he nodded and soon enough, she was sipping on an overpriced glass of iced water.

Amara didn’t mind watching on the sidelines. The White Raven was not her scene, and she felt uncomfortable in large, rowdy crowds. She preferred the charity events she threw for the hospital and other medical research facilities. They were…calmer.

“All alone tonight?”

Amara stiffened and whirled around to find none other than the club’s owner standing there. Riso gave her a kind smile.

“May I sit?”

Amara nodded, unsure of what else to do. 

He slid into the booth across from her. “Nothing to drink?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

His eyes twinkled knowingly. “Of course, of course.”

“Can I…help you?” Amara asked tentatively. She’d never spoken to the male before, nor did she consider herself the type to ever spark Riso’s interest. Unless he was interested in her because of her parents. The Umbra Mortis and the Starborn Princess turned savior of Midgard. 

He wouldn’t be the first to find her fascinating simply because of her mother and father. He also wouldn’t be the first to assume she was very different based on who her mother was. Bryce Quinlan was an enigma, a notorious party girl, and the female who defied the Asteri when no one else would. Amara was none of those things. 

“I’m many things, Ms. Athalar, and a good businessman is one of them. Do you know why my club is so successful?”

Amara shifted in her seat. “No. I don’t.”

“Because the dancing never stops. As long as they continue to dance…well I have nothing to worry about, do I?”

“I’m sorry. Do you need something?”

His smile shifted. “You see. I’m afraid your cousin is about to do something that might stop the dancing.”

“What? Laila isn’t doing anything.”

“Not yet. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Before he could say anything else, Amara was up out of her seat and heading towards where Serafina and Laila had been dancing moments before.

It smelled of sweat and too-sweet perfume. Bodies crushed into her and she flared her wings, trying to get them off her. She sent out a bit of her power–a warning–to those too close. They sensed it immediately, moving slightly to the side. 

Amara found Serafina talking to a handsome leopard shifter but Laila was nowhere to be found.

Grabbing Fina’s shoulder, she asked-yelled, “where is Laila?”

Serafina glanced over her shoulder. “She left to get a drink.”

Amara nodded, shoving her way towards the bar. 

Her eyes roved over the bar but she was unable to find Laila. Where the hell—

She caught a whiff of something. Citrus and jasmine. Laila’s perfume. Amara saw a flash of familiar black hair heading in the direction of the bathroom, an unfamiliar Vampyr following her. 

Amara frowned. Even Laila didn’t fuck with Vampyrs, at least not after the first time. 

She quickly followed the pair. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only couple making use of the hall that went to the bathroom. It reeked of sex.

Luna, Amara hated this place. 

Laila dragged the Vampyr into a tight corner. “I’m glad you came.”

“So am I,” he grunted.

Amara nearly gagged, and just as she was about to grab Laila and pull her away—

“I have the stuff,” he muttered.

“Do you?” Laila giggled. Laila never giggled.

“Yeah.”

“Is it the good stuff?”

“Yeah,” he panted.

“Really?” Laila squealed, “for me?”

“Yeah.”

Amara had heard enough. She reached around the wall, grabbing Laila’s hand and wretched her away from the Vampyr.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded angrily, bearing his fangs. 

“Amara, stop it,” Laila hissed. 

“No. What are you doing? You’re going to get hurt.”

The Vampyr grabbed Amara’s wrist, wrenching her away from Laila, but before he could say anything, Laila grabbed his hand and yanked it off Amara’s. 

“Stop it!” Laila snapped angrily, sounding much more like herself.

The Vampyr recoiled, his anger now turned on Laila. Immediately, Laila began batting her eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” she pouted. “Just give me a moment. My cousin isn’t feeling well.”

The Vampyr, disgruntled, swore and stalked off muttering something about ‘prissy fae princess pussy’. 

“What the hell, Laila?” Amara demanded. Had her cousin hit her head?

“Shut up,” Laila ordered, grabbing Amara and dragging her into the lady’s restroom. 

The bright lights and lack of noise were an assault on Amara’s senses.

“Get out!” Laila ordered two fae girls who had been touching up their makeup in the mirror. They hurried quickly as they saw the look on Laila’s face.

“What are you doing? Sleeping with a Vampyr? He’s not supplying you with drugs is he? Oh Luna, Solas, and Cthona! Please tell me you’re not some sort of…some sort of…”

“What, Amara?”

“Prostitute!” Amara whisper-yelled.

Laila blinked, violet eyes wide, at Amara before she burst out laughing. Amara stiffened, indignant. 

“I’m not a prostitute, Mari. And honestly, I’m offended that you thought that.”

Although slightly relieved, it didn’t abate any of her anger. “What was I supposed to think?” Amara demanded. “It sounded like you agreed to sleep with him if he brought you your next hook!”

Laila rolled her eyes. “I can get mirthroot without having to fuck a Vampyr for it.”

“Don’t tell me you were with him for fun. That might be worse!”

“I’m not with him for fun—Wait, how is that worse?”

“Because he’s a Vampyr! And you’re not the stupid! They use females for their weird sex-blood rituals!”

“I wasn’t going to let him use me for a ritual. I don’t even think they actually do that. I wasn’t even going to let him sleep with me,” Laila protested. 

“Then what were you doing?”

“Nothing. Amara. I was just playing with him.” Laila turned towards the vanity, seemingly having decided the conversation was over. 

Amara grabbed her and turned her around. “You’ve been acting crazy all night. Even crazier than usual.”

Laila sighed. “It’s a work thing.”

“Your boss is literally your dad. I think he’d understand if you need a vacation,” Amara said skeptically.

“First off, I’m not overworked like you. And second off, it’s not a “work thing”. It’s a thing I have to do for work.” 

“Again, your father is your boss. I highly doubt Uncle Ruhn asked you to seduce a Vampyr.”

Laila crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s complicated.”

“How complicated?”

Laila looked downward and Amara immediately recognized the expression on her cousin’s face. She was hiding something and it was not just from Amara. 

“If this is a mission then Uncle Ruhn would have to sign off on it. He’s commander of Aux.”

Laila hesitated for just a second. If Amara had not spent almost every moment with her since they were born, she would not have picked up on it.

“Laila. What are you doing?”

“I have it under control.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

After a moment, Laila said, “let's get Fina and go home.”

“That’s still not a—” Amara began to repeat herself.

“I can’t explain it here. Go get Fina, I’ll deal with the Vampyr.” Laila winked and then she was gone, the bathroom door shut behind her. 

Amara nearly cursed.

 

—--

 

Serafina was so tipsy that it took two bouncers along with Laila and Amara to get her safely in the cab.

Laila, of course, found that delightful. 

“I can’t believe you beat me out!”

Serafina laughed too loudly. “I had a shit day. It wasn’t hard.”

They dissolved into giggles, Amara momentarily forgetting the incident in the bathroom.

It reminded her of college, nights like these. All three of them shared a dorm and while Laila was the main bad influence, Serafina wasn’t far off from it. She’d definitely mellowed out since she went to law school, and now that she lived in the CBD, and had her big fancy corporate job, she was usually too busy to indulge Laila. But occasionally, when they all got together…

With a combined effort they were able to get Serafina into the elevator and onto Amara’s bed. It was clear she wasn’t going to wake up any time soon so Amara dimmed the lights, shut the door, and went to confront her cousin in the kitchen. 

Laila was leaning over the counter, a glass of water in her hand.

Their eyes met.

“Have you heard of black salt?” 

Amara blinked. Of course, she’d heard of black salt. She knew that it was used for summoning demons and that it was highly, highly illegal. 

“Please tell me you haven’t—”

“I haven’t done anything,” Laila cut her off.  “It all happened after the docks blew up.”

“At the meat market?” Amara remembered her brother’s accounts of what happened, not that she was particularly interested. 

“It wasn’t just anything that they blew up. They’ve been distributing black salt.”

Amara froze. The things black salt could do, the havoc it could wreak…

“The Vampyr–he’s a supplier. Or involved in some way. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“That’s why you were with him?”

“Of course,” Laila said. “You know I don’t fuck with Vampyrs.”

“So you were acting insane for…”

Laila frowned. “I was acting normal.”

Amara gave her a look.

Laila sighed, “I told him I was meeting friends and he could meet me if he wanted. He was watching us. It was an act.”

“And the drinking? Was that an act too?”

“Liquid courage,” she said with a shrug.

Amara rolled her eyes.  “Do your parents know about this?” 

Amara knew for a fact neither Uncle Ruhn nor Aunt Lidia would approve of this. She was pretty sure that her uncle would have a heart attack if he found out.

Laila huffed, “No. They don't. And you can’t tell them either.”

“They are the heads of the Aux.”

“If they find out. They wouldn’t let me within a mile of it. You know they wouldn’t. And I’m making progress. He’s already beginning to let things slip around me.”

“The Aux should know–”

“And I’m going to tell them,” Laila assured her with a wink. “Just not right now.”

“Why does he even trust you? He knows you’re a member of the Aux.”

“He sees me as a stupid girl whose parents gave her a vanity job. And he wants to fuck me so badly, I doubt he thought twice after I threw myself at him.”

Amara bit her lip. 

“Trust me, Amara. Males like that— they would do anything to be with girls like us.”

“I’m not like you,” Amara snapped. “I would never do something this reckless.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. We’re conquests to them, Mari. So they can brag about sleeping with so-and-so’s daughter or sister or cousin or niece. They don’t see us, they see our names and an ego boost.”

For a moment, Amara wondered if Laila was right. If the Vampyr was so wrapped up in his own self-importance that he didn’t see what was so obviously in front of him. If he viewed Laila as nothing but a body whose last name and pretty face made her worthy of his attention. 

She’d met males like that, who didn’t see her as her own person but as an extension of her family, or, more specifically, her male relatives. They either wanted to touch her as if she were some status symbol, like it meant something that they got to ‘sully’ her, or they avoided her because they didn’t want to disrespect her brother or father or uncle or gods know who else. It didn’t matter if she wanted it or not. She was simply an object to them, an object that belonged to others. 

“Please, Amara,” Laila begged. Amara was stunned. Laila never begged for anything. 

Amara considered what this must be like for her cousin. Laila was given a career that no other female in her position would ever have been shown before, yet she was held back. There was no way anyone would give her this mission if it came through the Aux. But Laila was capable and smart and powerful. If anyone could do it…

“Fine,” Amara agreed. “But you have to keep me updated on everything. Every time you go somewhere, meet someone, anything.”

Laila grinned. “Promise.”

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Evalin was enjoying a delicious lunch in her room–prison cell, really–when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. She tensed. They’d sworn to help her, but she was uneasy about trusting them. Nyx’s father, Rhysand, knew Evalin’s mother from when she fell through worlds, even if it was just in passing. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d saved her mother’s life, but she was hesitant to believe it was done out of the goodness of his heart. 

She was hesitant to believe anything they said. Even if she had no choice but to trust them. Evalin needed to get home.

“Come in,” She called, putting down her fork and smoothing down the yellow silk dress the two shadow wraiths had changed her into that morning.

Nova slid into the room, as graceful as a cat. She wore one of the strange two-piece outfits in a shade of pale purple. It was beautiful, embroidered with silver flowers and lined with soft velvet. Evalin’s eyes caught on the stunning choker Nova wore: purple emerald-cut diamonds surrounded by a halo of smaller white diamonds all around her neck, with matching earrings too. It must have cost a fortune to even get diamonds that color in the first place. 

Nova tracked Evalin’s gaze, smiling ever so slightly. “It was a gift from my Uncle for my seventeenth birthday.”

“He’s very generous,” Evalin replied, only half-sarcastically.

Nova raised a dark eyebrow but didn’t comment, seemingly amused by Evalin’s clear disdain for the male. 

Decades of having courtly manners drilled into her had Evalin waving her hand towards the table. “Would you like to join me, Lady?”

“Call me Nova,” She said, accepting Evalin’s offer and sliding into the seat across from her. “I have to admit, I’m curious about you– your homeworld.”

Nova spoke in a way that made it clear she was used to commanding the conversation. It would go her way or she’d force it to. 

“I’m curious about things in your world as well,” Evalin admitted.

“Such as?”

“Where do you get such marvelous clothes and jewels? Truly, I want to know.”

“Our seamstresses are superb.”

“How unfortunate. Perhaps I’ll just have to steal some gowns to take back with me.”

“If you pay them handsomely enough, a few of the seamstresses might be willing to brave a portal to another world.”

Evalin giggled and, to her surprise, Nova also let out a small, restrained laugh. 

“Is that what your plan was?” Nova asked.

Evalin frowned. “My plan? To open a portal to go home?”

“My cousin found you digging in the dirt, it seems as if you were trying something.”

Evalin narrowed her eyes, seeing exactly where this was going. She supposed if they truly wanted to find out how she came here, they could just break into her mind. It might be best to tell them, if only to spare more hostility. 

“I’m not sure how I got here, really I don’t. But when your cousin found me, I was trying to open a portal.”

“Did you just wake up in the steppes?” Nova mused, “that seems…implausible.”

“No. Of course not. I wasn’t feeling well and I went to my rooms early from dinner. Then next thing I knew I wasn’t in Terrasen anymore.”

“Surely you felt something.”

“Well there was magic—”

“Your magic? Or someone else's?” A predatory gleam filled Nova’s eyes. Evalin paused. Whatever Nova was searching for…it had to do with Evalin’s own gifts. That’s what she wanted information on.

Deciding to indulge her in the basics of Evalin’s power, she explained, “My mother used her gifts to close the portals between worlds during the war. I inherited my powers from her. Theoretically, I can use them to open portals, but my mother permanently sealed the gates between worlds.”

Nova tilted her head to the side. “She shut your world off?”

“Yes. No one should be able to get in or out, yet…”

“Your powers accidentally opened a gate.”

Evalin bit her lip. Her silence was answer enough.

Nova drummed her manicured nails against the table. “Do you think you could open another one?”

“One cannot just open portals,” Evalin explained. “Usually it is done through the use of wyrdmarks.”

“Wyrdmarks?”

“Their symbols, a language really. Different symbols do different things. They can act as wards, they can heal, they can even summon objects. And they can open portals. They can undo any spell, any ward, and no magic can undo them either. Unless the marks are wiped away.”

Something shifted in Nova’s demeanor. It was barely perceptible but it was there.

“Do you know what creature attacked you?”

Evalin was caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. “No. I’d never seen it before in my life. I assumed it was of your world.”

“It’s not.”

Nova gave her a skeptical glance and Evalin frowned. “Do you think I attacked myself while I was powerless and at the complete mercy of hostile strangers?”

“I make no presumptions of your intelligence.”

Bitch. 

“Speaking of which. Am I still being poisoned?” Evalin gestured to the food in front of her.

“With Faebane?” Nova asked distractedly, her eyes now focused on the balcony and the mountains beyond it.  “No. Your powers will return as the poison fades.”

Evalin followed her gaze, seeing nothing but snow and ice. What was she looking for?

Nova turned her focus back to Evalin. “What is your magic? You say you inherited it from your mother who was able to close the gates between worlds.”

“If I was able to use it, I would show you, but unfortunately…” She gave Nova an apologetic smile.

“I might have a solution to that.”

Evalin raised an eyebrow. “An anecdote?”

“You’ll get your powers back immediately.”

“And what do you get?”

Nova grinned like a cat. “I want you to show me these marks.”

“Then I get to go home.”

For a fraction of a second, Nova hesitated, then she nodded. “If you're able to, you may go home.”

“Fine.”

“Then it's a bargain,” Nova announced. And before Evalin could question what she said, a burning sensation came over her left arm.

“What did you do?” Evalin demanded, tugging back the sleeve of her dress. 

“Bargains are marked on skin in the Night Court,” Nova said simply, unbothered by Evalin’s horror as she noticed the black tattoo on her left forearm. 

An intricate, delicate band of vines and flowers were inked into Evalin’s skin.

“Don’t worry, when the bargain is fulfilled it will disappear.”

“And if it isn’t fulfilled?”

“I would try not to think about it.”

—

 

Evalin resisted the urge to strangle the Lady as she followed her down the hall. She had no clue where they were going and at the moment, she didn’t care.

Nova was seemingly unbothered by Evalin’s fuming, or perhaps she didn’t notice that the person walking behind her was plotting her murder. 

“You could have warned me,” Evalin hissed.

Nova glanced over her shoulder. “About what? Do you not have bargains where you come from?”

“Not like this.”

“Interesting,” she hummed.

Evalin almost admired her audacity. 

Nova led them through a set of double doors and into an elegant sitting room. Purples and greys and silvers dominated the color scheme. Evalin glanced towards the eastern end of the room, noting the slightly ajar door and the bedroom that lay beyond that. It also smelled heavily of vanilla and jasmine, a scent Evalin had begun to associate with Nova. 

Nova walked over to a small wooden table, on which rested a single ornate silver chest. She flipped it open and pulled out a small vile.

“Drink this,” Nova ordered.

Evalin opened the vile and sniffed it. She nearly gagged at the syrupy smell.

“Remember,” Nova said, “you swore.”

“You’re kind of a bitch,” Evalin muttered before she put the vile to her lips and drank. It was nearly as disgusting as she thought it would be. She felt nothing and wondered if Nova had simply tricked her into drinking poison and the bargain was all a ruse.

Then she felt a strange tingling sensation. Evalin hadn’t even realized how tired and lethargic she felt until her magic came rushing back to her, her strength as well. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, one she didn’t know she was carrying. 

Without thinking, she flexed her fingers. Flames sparked. Nova’s eyes narrowed. But she didn’t ask any questions.

“Can I have a piece of paper?” Evalin asked, taking a seat on one of the couches. 

Nova nodded and in a second, a stack of papers and a pile of pens appeared in front of Evalin. 

“Fancy.”

Nova took a seat across from her and gave her an expectant look.

Evalin wasn’t willing to show her the wyrdmarks that would allow the female to open a portal. And thankfully she hadn’t specified. 

Evalin began drawing simple marks for simple summoning spells. One for protection. Another for invisibility. 

Nova watched her with an emotionless expression, but Evalin felt the intensity of her stare increase with every mark she drew.

She handed the paper to Nova, who accepted it, eyes roving over the page.

Evalin waited for something to happen. For some expression of awe, or for a demand to show they work. But the paper disappeared from Nova’s hand.

“That’s it?” Evalin demanded. “I can go home?”

Nova shrugged. “It was a bargain.” She got up gracefully and left the room. 

Deciding not to ponder why the female would leave her alone in her own bedroom,  Evalin grabbed another piece of paper and began scribbling the proper wyrdmarks. They were the marks used to open a portal, she didn’t know if they would open a gate. She thought opening a gate was impossible until a week or so ago, but she prayed to all the gods that didn’t exist anymore that they would. 

The final mark, the mark of Terrasen was the last to begin glowing, but it did. Evalin nearly cried from relief. 

Except, nothing happened. No glowing circle appeared. No sign of the familiar green pines and white palaces of Orynth. 

She tried again. And again. And again. It didn’t work. No matter how many configurations of the spell she tried, or how much magic she put into it, it didn’t work. 

She set the paper aflame, burning it until there was nothing but ash on the floor. She barely resisted the urge to burn the whole

room down. She grabbed a crystal vase filled with orchids and jasmine and launched it at the wall. It shattered. 

“What do you think you're doing?” A familiar voice asked.

Evalin whirled around to find none other than Nyx standing there. His hands in his pockets and his face set in stone. 

“Fuck off,” Evalin ordered. Was it an unwise thing to say? Yes. But she couldn’t stop the frustration that was building in her, the anger at these people and this place.

“So you can destroy my cousin's room in peace?”

Evalin let out a hollow laugh. “I doubt she’ll care.”

Nyx didn’t disagree with that assumption. 

 

—

 

Nyx watched Evalin carefully as she fumed. She reminded him of the illustrated princesses on the pages of his childhood books with her honey blonde hair and vivid green eyes. Even the gown she wore when he initially found her struck him as something that one of the maidens in a tale of dragons and knights would wear. 

Her cheeks were flushed angrily as she ranted on and on. 

“That’s enough,” Nyx commanded.

She froze, and for a second he thought she’d actually listen to him. 

“How dare you! Since I’ve been here I’ve been attacked and imprisoned! You have practically kidnapped me and you have the audacity to act as if I am at fault!”

“We have also pledged to help you.”

“How wonderful of a job you have done at that,” Evalin replied haughtily. 

Before he could ask her what she meant, she stormed past him and out the door. She was swifter than he recalled. He supposed the Faebane must have worn off. Or Nova had done something to quicken the process. 

He followed her, his own irritation growing. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Am I?” She didn’t stop, instead walking faster.

“Yes, actually.” She was fast, but he was faster, and caught up to her easily, grabbing her arm and turning her around. He was careful not to grab too tightly or yank too hard. He knew his own strength better than most knew theirs. 

Evalin struck him across the cheek before he could even register she’d raised her other hand. “Don’t touch me.”

Nyx released her immediately. He’d certainly faced worse hits in training–Uncle Cassian never held back–but something about it–her–caught him off guard. 

“Do that again,” he dared.

Evalin raised an eyebrow at him and the sheer defiance in her face made him think she was actually going to do it for a moment. Her hands curled into fists at her side. 

“You are an arrogant, conceited, self-important–” 

“Those are synonyms, princess,” he interrupted her drily.

The expression on her face was priceless. Skin flushed red with anger and lips slightly parted in disbelief.

“Oh are they?” 

“Yes.”

Her eye twitched and she stormed off once more. 

“Do you know where you're going?” Nyx inquired helpfully.

She didn’t respond nor did she stop, if the angry footsteps were any indication. 

He wasn’t worried about her escaping. Nova had fortified the wards herself with her cauldron born magic. But something set him on edge seeing her stalk off like that. 

It made his blood boil in a way so few ever accomplished. Who does she think she is?

“Charming as always, Nyx.”

He frowned at Nova, who appeared suddenly at his side. 

“What did you do?”

Her face was too-innocent. “Me?”

Nyx pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a groan. His family had a knack for driving him crazy.

“This isn’t a game, Nova.”

She stiffened and regarded him with her chin raised and eyes cold. “I know that.”

“Then stop treating it as one.” 

“I think I’ve been the only one taking this seriously. And to answer your question, I made a bargain with Evalin.”

“What? What did you promise?” 

“My firstborn child.”

He glared, unamused. She rolled her eyes, “I said she could attempt to open a portal if I gave her the anecdote to the faebane. And, before you get your wings all ruffled, she wasn’t able to.”

“How would she be able to do that in the first place?” Nyx demanded. 

“Strange magic from her world.”

“What sort of magic?”

Nova sighed, “A set of runes, I suppose. She claims they do all sorts of spells. I doubt she showed me any useful ones.”

“And these can open portals?”

“Apparently.”

“But she was unable to?”

Nova shrugged. “I don’t know why not. She seemed sure she could open one with her magic.”

“I’ll update my father,” Nyx murmured. “Did you ask her about the creature?”

“She said she didn’t know what it was. And she was convincing enough. Have there been any more attacks?”

“No. None that Caelum or Asher have reported.”

Nova smirked a little. “Still on probation from Illyria?”

Nyx scowled. “I’m not on probation.”

His father hadn’t been happy that he’d gone to Illyria after their conversation.  He’d been serious about Nyx devoting himself to his administrative duties in the city. 

Nyx loved Velaris, and he was perhaps the only one in the entire family who didn’t mind the tedium of managing the city, its palaces, and its citizens. But he chafed at the idea that he could not handle both. Illyria was the place of his people, and Velaris was his home. 

“What are you doing in Velaris anyway?” Nova asked, “It’s not very exciting.”

“Just because I don’t spend my days torturing poor souls in a dungeon doesn’t mean they are boring.”

“I wouldn’t call them poor,” Nova sniffed. “More facing the consequences of their actions. And based on what I’ve heard from my Valkyries, you’ve committed plenty of bloodshed in the Northern camps.”

Nyx shrugged, “Sometimes diplomacy doesn’t work. You of all people should know that.”

Nova let out a short laugh. “I’m just surprised my big, righteous, dutiful cousin would resort to such tactics. I thought you grew out of your hot-headedness decades ago.”

Nyx cringed slightly. He’d been overeager as a child. Especially while training in the war camps. Enough enemies were made that he learned his lesson on unnecessary provocation during the Blood Rite. He still remembered how the smell of blood hung so thickly in the air he could barely breathe, how pain had seared through his body. 

Pushing those memories from his mind, he said, “If you must know, I’ve been assisting in the building of a new library.”

“How dull.”

“It’s not dull,” Nyx protested. Maybe it wasn’t as thrilling as the war camps, but it had its upsides. “I get to design it myself.”

“I forgot how much you enjoyed doing things like that. You haven’t focused much on it since you moved to Illyria.” 

“Well, I’m back for now.”

In between training and his studies, Nyx had found a unique passion for architecture when he was a child. He liked the practicality of the math and the creativity of design. 

He was sure his father had only suggested he take over the library project in an attempt to distract him. And while Nyx enjoyed the work, and appreciated the effort, there were more important matters to take care of. Mainly, the question of what those creatures were, how many there were, and how they got there. 

“For now,” Nova remarked strangely.

He gave her a look, but she refused to meet his gaze.

 

—

 

As Nyx lay in bed later that night, he couldn’t sleep. There was a certain restlessness in his bones he couldn’t quite scratch. He remembered the look on Evalin’s face during their last confrontation. The anger, the rageful beauty. And when he attempted to push those thoughts from his mind, he, for some reason, remembered when he saw Evalin for the first time. Even covered in mud she’d been absurdly pretty. It was distracting, and he hated it. There was something about her that made him irrational. He shouldn’t have let her run off like that, or explode at him in anger. He certainly shouldn’t have engaged with her. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. 

Realizing he wasn’t going to sleep, he pushed himself off the mattress and swung his legs to the floor, stretching his wings. 

A stack of papers lay on his desk that needed to be looked through. Now was as good a time as always. 

He ran his hands through his hair as he sat down and pulled a stack towards him.

 

—---

 

Nova sat legs crossed, eyes closed, on the thick woven carpet of her bedroom. She breathed in and out, stilling her mind.

It had been a struggle to get through the day, and she’d been counting down the moments until she could retreat to her room.

Her magic seemed insistent on coming out, on breaking her carefully crafted control. It did not wish to be controlled, yet she pushed down on it anyway. 

I control my powers, my powers do not control me. 

When Evalin had attempted to activate the portal, she’d felt both the strain on her wards and some of the older ones shattering. 

Her uncle had immediately asked Nova what was going on, being alerted by his magic, and she assured him it was a mistake, and that she’d accidentally undone them trying to adjust the shields, and that he didn’t need to come and check on her.

He’d hesitantly believed her (when she was younger, she had a habit of breaking wards and protective spells by accident–sometimes on purpose), but said he would come the next day to ensure everything was in place.

While the High Lord’s wards had shattered, hers had remained in place. If it wasn’t for Nova’s wards, she assumed Evalin would have been successful in her endeavors.

No magic can undo Wyrdmarks, and they can undo any magic. 

Yet her magic had resisted the marks. Her magic had also risen in response to them. Like a tidal wave, it crashed against Nova, threatening to unleash itself. 

I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me. 

It was a constant battle, controlling herself. She’d managed to win it for over a hundred years, and she wasn’t going to start losing now.

When Nova finally calmed herself enough to go to sleep, she hoped she’d be blessed with a dreamless night. She wasn’t. 

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

The selfish part of Josefine wished she’d left for Antica before Evalin disappeared, if only to be spared from the horrid mood at court. It was near unbearable. 

Every day soldiers returned from searching Terrasen. And everyday, they came without news. The Queen got more and more furious and more and more worried over her daughter to the point Josefine was sure she would’ve begun scouring the countryside herself if it wasn't for the latest development. The Queen’s cousin, Prince Aedion, was officially missing. No one had heard from his legion in a week and the news couldn’t be held off any longer.

Dalia, who’d worn an expression of perpetual mourning ever since Evalin disappeared, now spent her days weeping in her rooms. Josefine and Marion had done their best to comfort her but she was inconsolable.

“I know something terrible has happened,” Dalia cried one sunny afternoon. 

“That’s not true Dalia,” Marion assured her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. 

“Yes it is!”

Josefine gave her a patient smile. “We don’t know what has happened. Most likely it's nothing. They probably just got sidetracked. Those mountains aren’t easy to navigate.”

“You know something terrible has happened!” Dalia accused, “everyone knows it. I hear them talking.”

“People talk,” Marion said dismissively, “they rarely ever speak the truth.” 

“And if they are?” Dalia sniffed.

Josefine smoothed back Dalia’s brown hair, and said gently, “Worrying will not help you or your father. We can’t be sure what’s happening but I know your father wouldn’t want you to sit around and wait for him, he’d want you to be strong.”

Dalia looked up at Josefine, her blue eyes wide, her lip wobbled slightly as she said, “but…he’s dead, Josie.”

Josefine sucked in a harsh breath. “Don’t say that, Dalia, you don’t know that.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes, I do. Lyria told me. She told me she thinks he’s gone. I asked her and that’s what she said.”

Marion stiffened, dark eyes shooting to Josefine’s.

“Lyria said that?” Josefine couldn’t believe such morbid words would come out of Lyria’s mouth. She could be eccentric, yes, but never cruel. 

“I made her tell me the truth! I wish I hadn’t.”

“How could Lyria possibly know?” Marion asked tentatively, as if worried she would set Dalia off.

“She knows these things,” Dalia explained. “She didn’t want to tell me. She’s been avoiding me for days. But I made her! I made her!”

Josefine was used to dealing with depressed patients and grieving families. She always knew what to say to comfort them the most. Yet she found herself, for the first time in a long time, without words. No sage advice or consoling quotes. 

Marion seemed at as much of a loss as she was, her dark eyes wide. For a moment, they said nothing, allowing Dalia’s muffled sobs to fill the room. 

Josefine, unable to think of what else to do, said, “I’m going to go get you a warm cup of tea. It’ll make you feel better.”

Dalia didn’t respond, her face pressed into the embroidered cushions on her bed.

She met Marion’s eyes again, who nodded. I can handle her until you get back.

Josefine slid off the canopy bed and hurried towards the door. Maybe she could brew some soothing herbs, something to help Dalia sleep.

As she glanced back one last time to ensure everything was alright, she couldn't help but acknowledge the morbidity of the scene.

Dalia’s room was beautiful, decorated in pastel silk ranging from pink to green to yellow to purple. Flowers decorated almost every surface, and even the pillows were embroidered with roses. With the sunlight streaming in from the bay window…it was like out of a painting. Except for on the bed there were two females, both in pretty bright dresses, one ghostly pale and withdrawn, the other grieving a father who she thought dead. 

Josefine shut the door gently behind her.

The halls of the Palace were unusually empty. A week ago, solstice celebrations were in full swing, everyone gay and merry. Flowers had lined the hall, and laughter filled the air. Now, even the servants were unwilling to venture out of their rooms unless absolutely necessary. 

Many of the nobles and royals had left for their own kingdoms and country estates, allowing a certain eeriness to set in. Usually, everyone wanted to be at court, in proximity with its golden queen and her handsome sons and beautiful daughters. With its nightly feasts, weekend hunts, and extravagant balls. With its intrigue and all-consuming charisma. 

Josefine had said goodbye to the Prince and Princess of the South three days ago, promising she would join them there soon. As soon as Evalin was returned, and Aedion found, she could go. Until then, her duty was here. 

The kitchen, at least, was bustling. Kitchen maids and cooks swept around the cavernous space, none seeming to notice her until she tapped one on the shoulder, requesting to know where the herbs were kept. 

“Milady,” The maid exclaimed, falling into a curtsy.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, turning to look at her with curious eyes. Josefine gave them a gracious smile.

“I hope I’m not being a disturbance.”

“Of course not,” the maid assured her.

“I’m looking for the herbal teas. Princess Dalia is in need of—”

“Oh, we can get that for the Princess,” The maid cut her off eagerly. “No worries, Lady, I’ll make it right away.”

Josefine put up a calming hand. “Thank you, but there’s no need. I wish to do it myself.”

The maid gave her a curious look but didn’t object, leading her to a small pantry off the side of the kitchen. 

Josefine quickly busied herself, collecting chamomile, ginger, lavender, and sage. She reached for a copper pot hanging from the wall.

“I can get that for you, milady,” the maid offered from where she hovered by the doorway.

Josefine beamed at her as she placed the pot on the counter. “It's quite alright, really. Please, do not stop your work on my account. I swear I can handle myself.”

The maid smiled back, bobbing into a curtsy. “If you say so, milady.”

Josefine brought the pot over to the large garden sink, which was situated by an open door that led to the garden. Sunlight poured into the pantry, warming her skin.

It was truly a beautiful day, not too hot, with a light breeze. 

As water filled the pot, Josefine glanced into the small kitchen garden. Maybe instead of dried herbs she could get fresh ones. It was lavender season after all. 

Instead of herbs though, she saw a familiar female sitting on the soft grass. Lyria lay there in a simple muslin gown, her hand slightly raised with a butterfly resting on a single finger. She was staring at the butterfly intently as if waiting for it to do something.

“Lyria!” Josefine called, turning off the water and stepping into the doorway.

Lyria didn’t look up, content with staring at the insect. 

Josefine frowned and began walking toward her. “Is everything all right?”

Lyria didn’t move. It was as if she wasn’t breathing.  

She crouched by Lyria, inspecting the butterfly alongside her. 

It was a monarch butterfly, common in Terrasen, with orange and black wings. 

“They like the lavender in the garden.”

“I would imagine. They enjoy the sweet nectar,” Josefine agreed.

Lyria hummed, and gently wiggled her fingers. The butterfly took that as its cue, flapping its wings and leaving the garden behind. 

Josefine was hesitant to ask but her curiosity and her concern got the better of her. She gently placed her hand atop Lyria’s pale one.

Lyria startled a bit at that but didn’t yank away, instead finally looking Josefine in the eye. “Did Dalia tell you?”

Josefine blinked, surprised. Deciding to play it safe, she asked, “about?”

Lyria seemed to consider her for a moment before she looked away, eyes focusing on something Josefine couldn’t quite place. “I saw his blood, you know. It was his blood, leaking from his stomach and chest. It painted the snow red.”

“Lyria—” Josefine started.

“Dalia knew I knew. She made me tell her Josie. She made me. I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t want–” Lyria’s voice broke off as she took a deep breath.

Josefine waited for her to say something, to finish her sentence, but she did not. 

“How could you possibly know?” 

“I saw it in my dreams, Josefine.”

Josefine, deciding not to consider the implication of that at the moment, instead focused on what Lyria had said about her dreams. “Do you often get dreams like that?”

“Oh yes,” Lyria said, perking up and looking towards Josefine eagerly. “I get them all the time.”

“Really?”

“Every night,” Lyria hummed.

Josefine had had patients who dealt with vivid dreams and hallucinations which they were convinced were real. She might have assumed this was one of those instances but Dalia….she’d seemed so sure that Lyria knew.

“And these dreams you have,” Josefine probed, hoping Lyria’s sudden good mood would help, “do they come true?”

“Yes!” Lyria exclaimed, sitting up on her knees and facing Josefine, grabbing both her hands. “Yes!”

Then, Lyria seemed overcome by an inexplicable sorrow, letting go of Josefine and curling in on herself once more. “Always,” she whispered quietly. As if what had once filled her with such joy now depressed her inexplicably. “I dream, and it happens. No matter what I do.”

Josefine pursed her lips slightly.

“I saw him two nights ago.”

“Aedion?”

“I didn’t see him die,” Lyria continued, “but he couldn’t have survived that. I’ve never seen anyone survive that.”

Josefine knew Lyria was most likely correct, if her description of chest and stomach wounds were accurate. If an incredibly skilled healer was not on hand immediately, even for a demi-fae, they would die quickly. Infection, cold, blood loss…The list was endless. 

“But you didn’t see him die,” Josefine said. “He was still breathing in your dream?”

Lyria frowned. “I suppose.”

“So you cannot be sure,” Josefine concluded. 

The look Lyria gave her was haunted and pitying, as if she felt bad that Josefine carried hope. As if she knew that she was about to be let down. 

“Why don’t we go to your mother and explain this to her?” Josefine suggested gently. She didn’t want to add stress to the Queen, who already had a missing daughter and possibly dead cousin, but she was sure that Aelin would want to know about Lyria’s dreams. 

“I have a headache,” Lyria said suddenly, jerking away from Josefine. “I’m going to go to my room.”

“I can help with that,” Josefine said, reaching for her.

“No! I don’t—”

Lyria went still, ears twitching slightly. Josefine went silent herself.

She did not have fae senses, her magic only providing for a long life and healing powers, so whatever had caught Lyria’s attention eluded her. 

In a silver flash, Lyria began running out of the courtyard. 

Josefine launched after her, scoping her skirts into her hands as she attempted to keep up. Lyria was swifter than the wind as she ran and near impossible to track, but Josefine managed to keep up.

Servants and guards alike darted out of their way as Josefine chased Lyria through the halls. She couldn’t tell where the Princess was headed until she stopped above a grand stairwell overlooking the entrance hall to the palace.

Josefine panted as she came to a stop. “Lyria, what in the name of—”

But it was clear Lyria wasn’t paying attention, her wide eyes were focused on the commotion of the floor below. The doors were wrenched wide open, soldiers pouring in.

The Queen stood watching them, her expression grave, Princess Lysandra by her side.

“Get a healer!” Someone shouted. And in a moment, Josefine understood why.

Prince Rowan and Lord Lorcan came in each supporting one side of Prince Aedion’s body. His blonde hair was matted with so much blood it looked pink. His armor was in shreds around his body, revealing horrid wounds to his chest and stomach. He wasn’t moving.

Josefine moved immediately, pushing past a frozen Lyria, and hurrying down the stairs.

The Queen caught her eyes.

“Lay him down now,” Josefine ordered. They obeyed, placing his body and the nearest piece of furniture, an ornate couch that looked incredibly small under the massive general. 

She could sense his heart beat, so so faint, in his chest. “Get my mother, please.”

She didn’t wait to see if they obeyed her, getting to work immediately. 

 

—

 

Dalia lay in bed, feeling positively miserable. Marion rubbed gentle circles over her back and arms, whispering soothing words. 

But she couldn’t–wouldn’t–listen. Lyria had confirmed all of her worst fears and nothing could be done anymore.

She knew Lyria had a sense for things, she always had. When she wasn’t hiding herself away from court, she often stuck to Dalia’s side, and would whisper strange things in her ear. At first Dalia assumed she was simply making things up to amuse herself, but she soon realized Lyria’s predictions had merit. She seemed to have a second sense for tragedy. 

And now that sense had turned on Dalia. Her father was dead, killed in the mountains.

“Josefine has been gone a while,” Marion mused. “I wonder what’s holding her up.”

Dalia didn’t reply. She didn’t care where Josefine was, not at this moment. Unless Josefine could bring her father back. 

The door burst open, and Dalia jolted, surprised by the sudden intrusion. Lyria stood in the doorway, eyes wild. 

Dalia was sure she’d never seen her cousin so distressed. 

“He’s here, Dalia!” she exclaimed. “Your father, he’s alive.”

Dalia shot up.

“Aedion is back?” Marion demanded, scrambling to stand.

“He’s the hall. Josefine is—” 

But Dalia didn’t wait for Lyria to finish her sentence, running past her into the palace. 

 

—

 

It had been three hours since Aedion had returned, and they’d moved him back to his rooms. Josefine and Yrene had locked the doors, not allowing anyone inside, and they hadn't come out since.

The court had gathered in the ornate living room just outside the General’s chambers and sat in silence waiting for any news on his condition.

Lyria had originally tucked herself into a plush armchair in the far corner of the room. But her mother had coaxed her onto the couch beside her, and now held Lyria in her arms, soothingly stroking her. 

Lyria’s mother knew nothing of her dreams, but she easily recognized when her daughter became overwhelmed, and always had a solution. Her mother’s touch was one of the only things that didn’t make her uncomfortable.

She’d been in a state of shock since her Uncle returned. Unable to comprehend what was happening. She saw him die, well almost die. But it was clear what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to witness his last moments. That’s what she always saw. 

And she’d never seen anything that hadn’t come true. Yet, here he was, in terrible condition yes, but breathing.

Part of her, that horrible, little, insistent part of her, wished he would die. If only to preserve the ideas that she built her world on. 

Lyria had dreams. Those dreams came true. Uncle Aedion should have died in the snow.

Across from her, Aunt Lysandra sat, Dalia leaning against her. Dalia had an expression of grave hope, so unlike the sadness she’d carried herself with for the last few days. Lysandra, on the other hand, wore a mask of fierce determination, as if she would march into the room and stand against death to save her mate.

The entrance to the room creaked open, and Lyria felt her mother go stiff, getting ready to jump in and defend if need be.

It was unnecessary though, since it was Gavriel who slipped through the crack. His blonde hair was mussed and blue eyes wide, he wore no jacket, and his shirt was untucked. 

“Where is father? Has Lady Yrene fixed him yet?”

Lyria’s heart panged. Her head started to ache. 

“Gavriel,” Lysandra sighed, untangling herself from Dalia. “You are supposed to be in the nursery.” But she held out her arms towards her son anyway, seemingly not willing to send him away. 

He didn’t hesitate, rushing towards his mother.

“Your father is still being healed,” Lysandra said carefully. Lyria knew she didn’t want to provide false hope. 

“When will he be alright?” Gavriel squirmed slightly, head twisting towards the closed doors. 

A long, uncomfortable silence passed. “Soon,” Lysandra promised. “Very soon.”

Gavriel nodded, an adorable fierce look filling his young features.  

He turned towards his sister and reached out a hand. “It’s going to be alright.”

She gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Gavriel.”

Lyria lost track of time, it had either been minutes or hours when Josefine exited the room. 

“He’s going to be alright,” she announced and before she could finish her sentence, the room erupted in celebration.

Lyria’s eyes met Josefine’s, who gave her a small smile. Lyria wanted to explain, and wanted to tell Josefine how strange and wrong this was. He was supposed to have died, she wanted to cry. But the young healer was swept into a hug by her father, who pressed  a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

Lyria’s mother had a look of such relief on her face that guilt filled her for even thinking about Aedion’s death. 

He should have died , a voice hissed.

Lyria didn’t reply, wishing she had more flames to keep the creatures at bay. She was given very little of her mother’s power, and like Sam, she was more gifted with wind and ice. But sometimes, just a flicker of fire was all it took to shut her mind up.

“Remember to be careful, Gavriel,” Josefine called, “he’s stable but still recovering.”

The little boy nodded as he headed into the room to be at his father’s sickbed. Dalia and Lysandra followed, appropriately cautious at disturbing the General. 

Lyria did not want to see him, she could not bear it. Not after he was supposed to die, not after she saw his death, not after she wished it on him. 

Thankfully, no one was paying attention to her so she was able to slip from the room unnoticed. 

The halls of the palace were dark, lit only by torches. Guards lined the way, faces severe and unfeeling as they stared straight ahead. Lyria used to fear the guards, not liking how they stood like statues. As a child, she never walked through the palace without someone with her, to make sure the statues didn’t come to life and hurt her. It was a silly fear but nonetheless. 

Now as she passed them she feared the saw right through her. They were trained personally by her father to have eyes and ears everywhere. It was that same fear that led her to ban maids from her rooms if she was in there as well. 

“Lyria!”

Lyria frowned and began to walk faster. She did not wish to talk to Josefine at this moment. Her head throbbed.  

“Wait! It’s alright!”

Josefine grabbed her wrist, yanking lightly and pulling her to a stop. “See, it’s alright. Aedion is fine.” A bright smile filled her face, clearly she hoped Lyria would be happy. 

For a moment, Lyria both pitied and envied the female in front of her. Something was wrong, something wasn’t right, and the only one who could tell was Lyria. She was always the only one who could tell.

When Evalin entered the ballroom, the night of her birthday, Lyria had been watching and she knew that her sister would be gone by the night. She wanted to shout at her parents, tell them what was wrong, tell them how to fix it, and where she went. But…she couldn’t. 

“He’s speaking,” Josefine continued, “Lysandra, Dalia, and Gavriel have gone into see him, but after they are done, you can go in and—”

“No!” Lyria tore her wrist away. “Not now. Not like this.”

“What is wrong?” Josefine said calmly, “if you can tell me, I can help.”

Tears welled in Lyria’s eyes at the offer. How kind and how naive it was. No one could help her. No one would even want to if they found out what was wrong with her. 

“Let me go.”

“I–” Josefine began, but then she stopped and considered Lyria once more. A hesitant nod. “Alright. Get some sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

Lyria didn’t answer before bounding down the hall, not stopping until she was in her room with the doors locked.

—

 

It had been three days since Gavriel’s father had returned from the mountains, and he was finally well enough to stand. 

“Be careful, you're going to tear your stitches out, Aedion,” his mother insisted.

“I’ve survived worse injuries,” he replied, a cocky grin on his face.

Gavriel’s mother sighed, exasperated. “Your guts were falling out.”

His father shrugged, “and now they’re back in place.”

His mother pinched the bridge of her nose, but didn’t continue arguing. Gavriel assumed she would have if not for her mate’s still precarious condition. 

“Mother is right,” Dalia protested, “Yrene warned you not to overdo it.”

Gavriel’s older sister sat on a grand window seat overlooking the rose gardens, her pale green skirts arranged artfully around her. 

“I’m not overdoing it sweetheart.”

Dalia and their mother shared a knowing look. He was overdoing it, their look seemed to convey. Gavriel didn’t know nor care if they were right, he was just happy to see his father looking somewhat like his normal self. The color had returned to his face, even though it was still paler than usual, and he was able to move without wincing in pain. He was the invincible male Gavriel always knew him to be. Unbowed and unbroken by anything and everything thrown at him.

“Yrene will be up soon to check on you,” his mother continued, giving her mate a pointed glare. Sit down.

His father shrugged once more. “She’ll be pleased to see her patient up and at it again.”

“She’ll be pleased if you haven’t undone all her hard work at keeping you alive.”

Gavriel frowned, remembering exactly what it was like while his father was in critical condition. The grave expressions, the smell of blood permeating the air, Dalia’s tearstained face…He’d wanted to leave, to go back to the nursery and hide under the covers, but he refused to be a coward. His father would never run and hide while his family needed him. 

It still was unclear what had happened to his father anyway. He’d tried asking him, but was shushed by his mother. He’d tried asking his mother, but was shushed by Dalia. He’d tried asking Dalia, but she refused to answer the question. 

No one seemed to know exactly what happened in the mountains, his Aunt Aelin waiting until her cousin could stand again before she interrogated him. But Gavriel knew his father told her something, based on the quiet, whispered words they shared at his bedside. 

He’d only overheard the end of their conversation; something about them being back. Gavriel didn’t know who “them” was. All he knew is that it was something bad, very very bad. So bad that Aunt Aelin had gotten inexplicably still and pale. And his father had fallen back into a half-awake, half-asleep stupor. As if he’d only stayed awake to give his Queen this vital information. 

The next morning, while Gavriel was going to breakfast with his nursemaid, he heard two guards speaking in hushed tones. The Prince was the only one to return. An entire battalion of the Queen’s best soldiers wiped out like that!

It was true that his father had departed with a thousand soldiers. None returned with him. It was only the Prince Aedion, half dead, lying across his horse, that made it back. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep Yrene waiting. We have important matters to discuss with Aelin and Rowan.”

His mother frowned. “Can it wait until after?” she asked quietly. Too quietly.

Gavriel’s father shook his head, a solemn expression on his face. “Not anymore.”

Immediately, the familial atmosphere of the room was gone, replaced by the reminder of everything that had happened. 

Gavriel assumed whatever it had to do with Evalin. His eldest cousin was still nowhere to be found, and with everyday that passed it seemed less and less likely she would be.

Elentiya had whispered to him her fears that her sister was dead. Kidnapped by bad guys and killed. Ress questioned her about what bad guys would be after her sister, and Elentiya hadn’t been able to answer. Gavriel was also at a loss when it came to who would want to hurt Evalin. 

Maybe it was this mysterious “them” that his father and aunt had discussed. 

Gavriel didn’t protest and fuss like he usually did when his mother leaned down to kiss his cheek. He didn’t smile when his father clapped him on the shoulder as he usually did because it made him feel like a grown up.

He watched them leave the room with a sense of impending doom bearing down on him. 

“Why don’t we get you some dinner?” Dalia suggested in that irritating, coaxing way of hers. “I’ll have the cooks prepare your favorite.”

Gavriel was unmoved by the promise of roasted garlic potatoes and spiced lamb, his blue eyes remaining fixed on the now shut doorway. 

“It’s going to be alright, Gav. Mother and father will figure it out.”

He wasn’t sure who his sister was referring to. The dead soldiers, whatever attacked them, or Evalin. Maybe all three at once.

“I want to know what they’re talking about!” Gavriel pulled away, an insistent and determined expression on his young face.

Dalia pursed her lips. “You're young.”

“Am not! I’m ten years old now!” Gavriel said earnestly. 

“A very big age, but not big enough. This isn’t a game Gavriel, people’s lives are at risk.”

“I know. I can handle it. I’m going to be a warrior one day!” He announced triumphantly.

She gave him a sad smile. “One day, but for now you're a little boy who needs to eat his dinner and stop worrying over matters that don’t concern him yet.” The words weren’t spoken harshly, not at all, but they stung all the same.

Gavriel was tall for his age, fast and brave. He could shift as well as any grown male, taking the form of a mountain lion whenever he pleased.

“Come,” she beckoned, and Gavriel, with little choice, followed. 

It was only after his sister left to go find a maid to prepare them food that he snuck away, out of his parents rooms and to where he knew the adults would be gathered.

The room of the Lord’s council was situated opposite the throne room and was used for all sorts of important court business. And now, everyone was gathered around the large oak table, the table engraved with a full scale map of Erilea, waiting in tense silence as Gavriel’s father spoke to them from the Queen’s left side. 

Gavriel pressed himself into the floor of the antechamber, thanking the now dead gods that no guards were allowed in it while the court was in session, and watched the scene from the small crack in between the floor and doors. 

The sun had made its descent for the night, casting the room in hues of purple and blue, while a fire burned brightly in the large fireplace behind the Queen’s seat. It reminded him of the storybooks.

“We were patrolling the mountainside,” his father said, “and made camp on the mountains on the border between Terrasen and Adarlan.”

“No signs of any disturbances?” Uncle Rowan asked.

His father shook his head no. “Not a single one. It was almost too quiet, as if the animals had sensed what was about to happen. I woke up to screaming. At first I thought a brawl had broken out, as it was my own men fighting one another. But then I realized that they weren’t just fighting, but killing. When I tried to stop it, they attacked me as well and I saw—” He hesitated, clearly unwilling to say what he saw next. 

Gavriel tensed, fear filling him.

“What?” Aunt Aelin questioned sharply. The flames of the fire behind her crackled and snapped in response. 

The two cousins met each other's eyes, and age old exhaustion and fear shared between them. “They wore rings, Aelin. Black rings.” 

Aunt Aelin buried her head in her hands, taking in a deep breath.

“You're sure?” Uncle Rowan asked softly. 

His father dug into his pocket, struggling slightly with the reduced mobility of his body, before he got what he was looking for and tossed it onto the table. 

Gavriel could not see what it was, but he saw the reactions. The gasps, the fear. Yrene stepped back into Chaol. Manon and Dorian shared a horrified look. Lorcan wrapped his arms around Elide.

“How have they returned?” Chaol demanded, stepping slightly in front of his wife. “Yrene killed Erawan, eradicated the valg. And Aelin, you closed the portals between worlds.”

“Erawan had brothers,” Manon pointed out.

“So, his brothers have found a way to rip open the portals again?” Lorcan demanded. “For what, an act of vengeance?”

“The Valg breed off hatred and fear,” Dorian said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Gavriel felt his blood go cold. Valg. Every child knew of the Valg. From a young age people filled his ears with the cruelty and the horror they’d inflicted onto the people of Erilea. Warned him if he acted naughty, they would come steal him in his sleep. Is that what happened to Evalin, did the Valg steal her away?

“It’s impossible,” Elide said derisively. “The gates are closed.”

“What if they’ve been opened?” His father demanded. “I know what I saw. They had the same frigid indifference and dark, soulless eyes. They were infected. I barely made it out. No one else managed.”

Guilt filled those last words. Guilt and horror at what had happened.

“A thousand men in that camp, and only I was left in an hour.”

No one spoke for a long minute.

“Do you think they took Evalin?” The Queen asked as if she feared the answer.

“Aelin–” Uncle Rowan began.

“No!” The Queen shot to her feet, the flames in the fire growing at her agitation. “It makes sense. Evalin…she disappeared without a trace. What if they dragged her back to the home world of the Valg?”

“Oh gods,” Elide murmured, a hand covering her face. “Oh gods.”

“We don’t know if they took Evalin,” Fenrys pointed out. “They could be unrelated.”

No one dignified that with a response.

“She’s strong, Aelin,” His mother declared. “If she was taken by them…She’s a fighter like her mother.”

The Queen considered her friend before letting out a bitter laugh. “Yes. Like me.” 

“We need to gather armies,” Lorcan declared. “Warn our allies.”

His father and Rowan nodded in agreement.

“We need to get my daughter back. Call the army to arms. Send messages to Damian, Sam, Torin, and Rhoe in Adarlan, then send letters to Ellesmere, Doranelle, Wendlyn, and the Southern Empire. We’ll call a meeting, make it clear the threat we’re under.” 

For a moment, Gavriel understood why people spoke of Aelin Galathynius as if she were a queen from legend. She was every inch the warrior as she stood before her court, eyes blazing, flames dancing in her hair. 

“This won’t just be a call to action but a call to war,” The Witch queen said.

“My daughter has been stolen.”

“I’m making sure everyone knows what decision is being made right now.”

“Another war against the Valg?” Fenrys let out a low whistle.

“If Valg are attempting to invade once more,” Aelin declared, “then I won’t sit here and let them do it. We fought for this once, we can do it again.”

No one objected to that, instead beginning to discuss logistics. 

“The boys should remain in Adarlan for now,” Manon decided. “The Valg may very well decide to go there first. It would make sense considering its position and history.”

“Once the others have agreed to gather their armies, we’ll need to spread out over the continent. Gates could open anywhere,” His mother announced.

“Then it's decided,” Rowan said.

It was surprising how quick everyone’s horror turned into frenzied action. There was certain determination on everyone’s face. If there was to be war then they would not be unprepared. And if the Valg did have Evalin, she would not go un-rescued or unavenged. 

Gavriel slid away from his strategic spot on the floor and rushed from the room. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest.

“Gavriel!” Dalia cried, “there you are, we've been looking everywhere for you!”

His sister and Josefine stood at the end of the hall looking exasperated. Well, Dalia did, with her hands on her hips and face set in a stubborn pout. 

“Dalia!” He rushed towards her, grabbing her skirts and pressing himself into them.

“What’s wrong—”

“There’s going to be another war, Dalia!” 

Both females froze, looked at him, looked at each other, and then looked back at him. 

“What do you mean, war?” Josefine asked.

And so he told them everything, and by the time he was done, both of their faces were taunt with fear. 

 

Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Nova sat in the dining room in the House of Wind, watching as the room began to descend into bloodshed. Everyone had differing opinions on how to deal with Evalin, despite their promise to help her. And no one was particularly pleased with the  bargain Nova made with her. No matter how briefly it actually lasted. 

She sliced into her grapefruit, cutting it into quarters in two smooth cuts, as she expertly ignored her family’s hovering.

“The wards are back in place?” Uncle Rhys demanded.

“Yes,” Nova replied, “you're welcome to check them yourself.”

“Are you sure the girl had nothing to do with them shattering?”

“No she didn’t. It was my fault.” A lie, but a necessary one. If Nova’s family found out she felt some connection to Evalin’s magic, if they found out that was what caused her to pass out, to lose control. If they out her dreams were returning, the memories of Koschei returning…They would never let her near Evalin again. 

“Are you sure your bargain was complete?” Uncle Rhys asked, eyes boring into her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I was careful with my wording. The tattoo is gone.”

“It was dangerous to bargain with that female, Nova,” her mother added, for once agreeing with her uncle.

Nova hummed, bringing a piece of grapefruit to her mouth and biting down on the succulent flesh. She wondered if it was imported from Dawn. They had the best fruit. 

“But necessary,” Amren interjected, “it seems the girl gave up some valuable information about how her magic works. If we figure out how to harness these marks, we might not have to risk using the harp. Which we wouldn’t even have to consider if you and Feyre did not swear to help the girl…” Amren trailed off pointedly.

Nova shot her a grateful look, which Amren returned with a nod. 

“Amren,” Aunt Elain chastised, “she’s innocent. We couldn’t just leave her abandoned!” 

“We could have,” Amren muttered. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Aunt Feyre interjected, the authority in her voice silencing the table, “we’ve made a promise. We’ll keep it unless she gives us a reason not to. You’re acting as if we are feeding her court secrets.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Asher said, “maybe she’s a spy.”

Uncle Azriel frowned at his son. “She’s not, my shadows have reported nothing out of the ordinary. She hasn’t left her room. Unless she’s using some alternate method to gather information.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Aspen said suddenly. “She  seems to have come here by accident. When that other female came–Bryce–she had been at war in her own world and was seeking help. Is it truly possible to open a gateway by chance?”

“Exactly,” Amren declared triumphantly. 

“Calm down, Amren,” Nova’s mother sighed, “it's not like we’ve studied how portals operate, nor how the magic that connects worlds work. It would be unwise to make a judgement based on such limited knowledge.”

Before Amren, who seemed near simmering with anger, said anything else, Aunt Gwyn beamed. “Maybe the library has something.”

“We’ve checked already,” Emerie pointed out, “there wasn’t much.”

“On the upper levels, sure, but what about the lower ones?” Asher suggested. 

The room came to a halt, a dark, tense silence filling the space. Nova forced her muscles to relax, her mind to still. She expertly masked her face into an expression of boredom, ignoring the look her brother shot her. A pained, near-apologetic look. 

“Asher,” Nyx warned, violet eyes flicking to Nova. 

She hated what that look meant. She hated to be reminded of what happened to her. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Nova said simply. 

The table seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 

Nova’s mother tilted her head to the side, considering. “After breakfast we can check.”

For the first time that morning, Nova’s father broke from his contemplative brooding. “Nesta, I don’t think you should go down there.”

“We might have little choice, Cassian,” her mother argued.

“You certainly have a choice. No one’s been backed into a corner yet.”

Caelum glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She shook her head. Their parents rarely, actually fought. Most of the time they just bickered over things neither really cared about. But every once in a while…

Nova knew of her father’s aversion to the lower levels of the library. To the beast that dwelled there. Especially after what happened. She knew that if he had his way, neither she nor her mother would venture into the library again. 

When she was a girl, Caelum and she had thought it would be a good idea to test boundaries and explore the lower levels. The first time they’d been caught by Clotho and turned into their father. The second time, it had been just Nova who’d ventured down there. 

 

—

She often spent her afternoons tucked into a corner of the library reading books on history and ancient legends. She was fascinated by tales of beasts and monsters, of the often vicious stories the fae passed down from generation to generation. Of evil queens forced to wear enchanted shoes that danced them to death. Of pretty mermaids who stabbed their love to regain their freedom. Of princesses cursed to sleep for eternity. And among these tales, she read of the first High King and his Queen, of the way of the ancient fae, of the mother and the cauldron, of generals and wars and battles and the strategy used to

win them. For hours, after mornings with her tutors, afternoons with her dance instructors (she was still too young to have begun training), she would sit in a cozy corner of the Library of the House and read. Many of the priestesses doted upon her. Nova assumed they were under orders to keep an eye on her. She had been a quiet, although haughty, child, which allowed her the chance to observe the adults around her, and to overhear conversations she wasn’t meant to. She knew they desired to protect her, and wished to keep her shielded from the world. They often spoke of  these things when they thought she wasn’t listening. 

To Nova, these potential threats were little more than stories she thought her parents concocted out to keep her from running off. She was so protected that she couldn’t even imagine anything that could nor anyone that would want to harm her. 

As she sat in the library that night, reading of some long forgotten princess from a kingdom that no longer existed, she gladly and unknowingly existed in that little bubble. And because of that, she felt no suspicion nor caution, when a cat poked its head around the corner of one of the bookshelves and peered at her with big blue eyes. 

Nova slowly put her book down, tilting her head to match the way the cat stared at her. She waited for it to grow bored and move on, as cats were prone to do, but it stayed, staring at her in an unnerving way. 

“Hello,” Nova giggled, swinging her legs down from where they were propped on the arm of the chair. “Where have you come from?”

The cat purred, nodding its head towards the aisle behind it. 

Nova, delighted by this, beamed down at the kitten. “Come here, come with me and I’ll find you some warm milk.”

The cat meowed and as she reached for it, about to scoop it into her arms, it bolted down the aisle.

“Come back!” Nova squealed, darting after it. She was young, and hindered by her skirts (the dress being a gift from Aunt Mor), and the cat was much faster. She was only halfway down the aisle when the cat paused, looking back at her, as if to check she was still following. And she was. She chased the cat around the library, not truly paying attention to where either of them were headed. She only hesitated for a moment when she realized the cat was leading her down further and further into the lower levels of the library. 

If Nova had been smarter she would have wondered why none of the priestesses had come to stop her, or even her ever watching Uncle Azriel. She would have wondered why the cat kept on stopping, turning to look at her as if waiting for something. She would have turned around and ran back upstairs. But instead she followed it down, using her silver flames to ignite the stone path when light would no longer reach them.

She would return upstairs, she told herself, as soon she had the cat in her arms, she would hurry back. No one would even know she left.

Soon, it became hard for her flames to penetrate the darkness and she could barely see three feet ahead of her. 

The cat seemed to slow down as well, always making sure she was just close enough to continue to see him, but just far enough she could not catch it. 

Nova lost count of what level she was venturing onto when the cat made a sharp turn, hiding itself away behind a stone bookshelf.

She was young, and knew nothing of real danger, which meant she was fearless. And so she took a fatal step into the lowest level of the library.

Run, a soft, almost motherly voice, whispered in her head. Run away now and do not return. 

Nova did not listen. She was too upset that she’d lost track of the cat. Where was it? It was far too dark and her flame was far too small. 

A meow came from somewhere deep in the center of the library. 

Nova chased after it. Everytime she thought she would never find it, another meow would come, luring her further and further away from the stairwell, from the upper levels. 

It didn’t dwell on her in that moment that was among some of the few who ever stood on this level, among these books. The knowledge, the history one could discover…the possibilities were endless. But at the moment she was far more curious about white cat and its incessant meowing.

“Come here kitty,” she called.

Another meow.

Finally, she spotted a familiar gleam of white fur, her face lighting up with delight. 

“There you are! I’ve been trying to—” Her voice trailed off, and she came to a stop as she realized where the cat sat. At the edge of a very deep, dark hole, illuminated by faint moonlight. Her flames extinguished.

Nova was naive, but even she knew what lived down there. It was the reason her father had forbidden Caelum and her from going into the library unescorted. 

“Hello, child”, a chilling voice whispered. Nova shivered. When did it become so cold?  “Do not come closer. Turn around, child, and do not come back.”

Nova cocked her head. A strange warning coming from a monster’s mouth. It reminded her about the stories Aunt Feyre told her of Bryaxis, so different from how her father described him. Just a creature who wished to see the stars. 

Nova glanced up at the window that her uncle had installed into the ceiling of the library. It and its light was barely visible but it was there.

Maybe if she left, it wouldn’t hurt her.

“It’s not me you have to fear,” Bryaxis warned, “now leave—”

A hand pressed itself to Nova’s mouth. The cat perked up, staring at her one last time, before disappearing once more, this time for good. Nova kicked and struggled and tried to scream.

The male who was holding her leaned down to say into her ear. “Now, now. Enough of that.”

All of a sudden, Nova wished Bryaxis would come out. But she knew that was impossible, the impenetrable wards sealing him within. 

She dared to glance up, to see who was holding her. She wished she hadn’t. Endlessly dark eyes and a strange, twisted grin stared back.

Nova began to scream once more, but it was too late. 

 

—

“We’ll be fine, Cassian,” her mother assured. “And Gwyn’s right. The lower we go into the library, the older the books, the more likely we are to find something.”

Her father frowned. “Nesta—”

“Cassian.”

“Maybe this is a conversation best left for another time,” Uncle Rhys said pointedly.

“There’s no need to have another conversation, because I have decided,” her mother declared.

“Have you?” Her father asked.

“Yes. We’re going to research in the library.”

Her father turned to his brother. “Surely you see how badly this could go, Azriel.”

Uncle Azriel pursed his lips, as Aunt Gwyn turned to him, eyebrows raised. “I don’t like it. There’s a reason we closed the lower levels off…but there’s a good chance what we need is in there.”

Nova’s mother grinned triumphantly. 

“Fine. Fine,” her father huffed, “but don’t go alone.”

Aunt Mor snorted as Aunt Emerie murmured something about overprotective Illyrian males. 

“Asher can come with us,” Aunt Gwyn said, turning expectantly to her son. “Since this was his idea.”

Asher blinked as all eyes turned to him. “I would but I already promised Nyx I would go with him and Nova to Moonstone.”

“It's alright, Caelum can come,” her mother said.

“I can?” Caelum asked.

“Yes, you can,” her father replied. 

Caelum sighed, before shooting a glare at Asher, who winked in response.

“We’ll go after breakfast.”

“Speaking of breakfast, where are Alora, Catrin, and Helia? They haven’t come down yet,” Aunt Elain noted. 

Aunt Feyre frowned. “They were up so late last night, giggling and talking until dawn. They’re most likely still asleep. I’ll check on them in a minute.”

“Let’s get going,” Nyx said, turning to Asher with a pointed expression. Asher nodded, standing up. Nova followed suit. They had another long day ahead of them. 

 

—

 

Evalin woke to the sound of giggling. Her frustration and anger from the days before had numbed significantly, leaving behind nothing but a fierce determination to get home. And her senses, now relieved from the effects of faebane, were on high alert. 

She sat up quickly, eyes darting around the room for the source of the sound. She was surprised to see three faces staring at her from the foot of the bed. 

Three little girls stood there, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“She’s awake,” one, the redhead, whispered, not taking her eyes off Evalin.

“Obviously,” another hissed.

“Be quiet,” the third ordered, “don’t scare her.”

Evalin noticed that the third girl sported a familiar pair of violet eyes. 

“May I help you?” Evalin asked, trying to keep the amusement from her voice.

The three girls shared a glance. 

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” the redhead explained, “We wanted to see if there was really a girl from another world staying with Nova.”

“That’s alright,” Evalin replied, smiling softly. They must be around the same age as Elentiya. Gods, she missed her sister.

“So,” the one with the short black hair began, “are you really a princess from another world?”

“Yes. I am,” Evalin said simply. The girl's expressions turned awestruck, as if Evalin was from a story come to life. 

“What’s your name?” The violet eyed one questioned. “No one would tell us anything,” she pouted.

“I’m Evalin.”

“I’m Alora,” the girl pronounced proudly, chin tilting up slightly. “This is Helia and Catrin.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Evalin suddenly became unsure if she should even be talking to them. No one in the family had been particularly happy when Nova approached her, and she doubted they would be okay with the three little girls associating themselves with Evalin, especially unsupervised. Of course, Evalin wasn’t going to hurt them, but she understood the severe lack of trust her relationship to the fae of this world was built on. 

“Should you three be here?” Evalin asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

They shared a glance before Alora nodded her head vigorously. “Oh yes, we were given permission to visit you.” 

“Really? So if I were to go get Lord Nyx, would he confirm this?” Evalin had a sneaking suspicion of Alora’s relation to him. She shared her mother’s golden brown hair and her father’s eyes.

Alora blanched slightly. “Uhhhh….”

“It was Catrin’s idea!” Helia burst out. “We aren’t supposed to be here but it was Catrin’s idea!”

Catrin glared at her companion. “I only told you where she was sleeping. Alora wanted to say hello. And she made us winnow here!”

“That’s not true,” Alora cried, clearly outraged by the injustice of everything being blamed on her.

The three started bickering, and Evalin, a pounding headache forming at her temple, raised a hand to silence them. “If you all leave now I won’t tell anyone.”

“You swear?” Helia asked.

“I swear,” Evalin promised. 

“All right,” Alora said, “come on. If we leave now we’ll be back before breakfast at the House and no one will even know that we’ve gone.”

Evalin threw the covers off, revealing her pretty golden nightgown. It was shorter than what she usually wore, but she’d been particularly hot and irritated after her confrontation with Nyx the night before.

“Goodbye,” Helia chirped as Evalin slid off the bed, intent on making sure they actually left before anyone got in trouble.

“Goodbye. Now try to get home without causing too much trouble.”

“We will, don’t worry,” Alora promised. Evalin wasn’t sure if she trusted that, but she didn’t question it, instead she herded the three girls towards the door, glad she could get them out before anyone figured out they were here. She didn’t want to be blamed in case anything happened. Nothing could jeopardize her leaving this place. 

Evalin opened the door for them and froze. Nyx stood in the doorway, hand raised as if he were about to knock. 

“Nyx!” Alora cried, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring upwards.

Evalin nearly swore. She really had the worst luck. 

“Alora, what are you doing?” He demanded.

In a moment, her grand display of irritation at her brother disappeared and was replaced with a sheepish expression. 

Behind him, laughter rang out. “You three really have a penchant for trouble, don’t you?”

Evalin peered over Nyx’s broad shoulder, and his large wings, surprised to see an unusually pretty male standing there with an amused expression on his face. He too sported the demon-wings, and his scaly armor was decorated with large cobalt gemstones. Evalin swore a shadow writhed its way around his wrist before disappearing. 

Nyx ignored his companion. “Come here now, all three of you. Father told you to stay away.”

Alora pouted, but obeyed. “We just wanted to say hi,” she explained as she went to her brother’s side. Catrin and Helia followed, glancing at each other as they went. 

Evalin half expected him to start shouting, but instead he crouched in front of her and gently grabbed her hands. Nyx scanned her quickly with his eyes, checking for injury Evalin presumed (what a bastard! Like she would ever hurt a child!). 

She wasn’t sure what went down, most likely a mental conversation between the two, but in a second Alora went from pouting to smiling broadly and throwing her arms around her brother. 

“Thank you!” She squealed. 

Nyx pressed a kiss to her head before standing up and turning towards his companion and the other two. 

The other male was smiling down at Catrin and Helia, who seemed content with him. Evalin noted the similarities between the male and Catrin. Both shared the same dark hair, tan skin, and hazel eyes. And they were both far too pretty for their own good. 

“You won’t tell our mother and fathers, will you?” Helia pouted up at the male.

He chuckled, “I won’t but you know how mean your cousin is. I doubt Nyx will let you get away with this.”

Helia turned to Nyx and threw her arms around him, giving him an impressive impression of puppy dog eyes. 

To Evalin’s surprise, he also offered her a soft, nearly indulgent smile. 

“I make no promises,” Nyx said, “but I might be persuaded if you let us take you back right now without any protest.”

The girls all nodded vigorously, making promises about how they would never do anything like this again. Evalin doubted that, and barely stifled her smile.

Nyx glanced up at her, noting her smile, and he grinned wider. His eyes sparkled like all the stars in the sky. Then he stiffened, as if realizing who exactly he was smiling at, and his face became stony and distant. 

“Asher will take you back.”

“Come on girls.” Asher beamed at them. “Aunt Elain might have some chocolate pastries leftover.”

This seemed to perk the girls up. Asher scooped Catrin into his arms as Helia and Alora stood at either side, each grabbing a hand. 

Evalin blinked, and shadows swarmed around the male, coming out of nowhere. In a second, all four of them had disappeared into the darkness. 

“How did he–”

“What were you doing with them?” Nyx demanded. 

Evalin stiffened. “I wasn’t doing anything! They came into my room. I was just–”

“I don’t care who you are or where you come from,” Nyx growled, voice dropping in such a way it sent shivers up Evalin’s spine. “If you so much as lay a hand on any of them, you will spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

She clenched her fists, extinguishing the sparks that threatened to fly out from her palms.

“I did not ask them to come here. If you wanted them to stay away, perhaps you should  keep a better eye and if I wanted to harm them, I would have, but I didn’t!,” Evalin fumed. “I would never harm a hair on any child’s head. Not even if it granted me my way out of this hellhole of a court. So don’t you dare throw an accusation like that at me!”

He stared at her and she stared back, neither looking away. She felt his power radiating off him in waves, felt the tremors of the floor as he slowly lost control. Or perhaps he was in full control, and this was all meant to intimidate her.

Evalin Galathynius would not be cowed by an arrogant, self-important, full of oneself male. 

He seemed to believe he understood her, understood her desires and intentions. He seemed set to believe the worst of her. Just like everyone else. She didn’t know which she hated more. Those old, vile lords who viewed her as a spoiled princess, whose only value was to attract a male suitor and bring apart an alliance that would  benefit everyone but her. Or the male in front of her, who saw her as some sort of plague on his home, a villain set on harming those he loved.

She allowed flames to wreath around her fists, to spark in her eyes.

Darkness began to fill the corners of the room, inching forward as if trying to swallow her whole. 

It was a shame such a handsome face was wasted on a male as dreadful as he was. 

“That’s enough,” he ordered, voice as cold as ice. 

Part of her wanted to obey, the other part fought the urge to burn his face off. Evalin nearly smiled at the thought. But, she doubted she would win in a fight of magic against him. Her fire could burn through darkness, yes, but it also burnt out quickly. 

She inherited what was left of Mala’s flame. And there wasn’t much left. Unlike her siblings, she was given nothing of her father’s. The only thing she inherited from him was the ability to shift, and even then, a doe was no good in a fight. 

Calm yourself , Evalin urged, do not get into a fight you’re not able to win. 

But she couldn’t. Something about the male in front of her overrode any and all of her good sense. 

And anyway, everyone had a weakness. The odds did not need to be in her favor to win, she just needed a single advantage, a single way in, and she could destroy him, disadvantage or not. An old sparring injury, a secret fear…

“I leave you alone for five minutes and this is what I come back to?”

Nova stood in the doorway, Asher behind her, both watching Nyx and Evalin closely. 

In a second, Evalin snapped out of it, flames extinguishing. Nyx followed suit immediately, the darkness retreating back. 

Asher grinned but said nothing, seemingly happy to watch what was about to go down.

“Come Evalin,” Nova beckoned with a wave of her manicured hand. “Let’s leave Nyx and Asher alone. They have important business to attend to.”

Evalin didn’t protest, wanting to get away from Nyx as quickly as possible before her anger boiled over. 

Asher pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against and came to Nyx’s side, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Very important business,” he agreed, throwing a wink at Evalin.

Asher seemed much more easy going than anyone else in his family–although was he even part of the family? She was confused about how they were all related–but as she drifted to Nova’s side, watching Nyx carefully, she noted out of the corner of her eye how his smile disappeared and was replaced with something far colder. It was clear his jovial front hid something darker underneath. 

Evalin followed Nova down the halls of the moonstone palace. She refused to look back on principle, but she knew what she would see if she did. Nyx with his violet, starlit eyes trained on her back. 

 

—

 

“So,” Nova began, “you had a chance to meet the three little angels of the family.”

The two females sat in the sitting room of Nova’s chambers, the exact same place Evalin had attempted to go home just yesterday. The thought brought an ache to her chest. 

Deciding to choose her words carefully, Evalin nodded. “Yes. They’re quite…angelic, aren’t they?”

Nova smiled softly. It was the most gentle expression Evalin had ever seen the female, and it only lasted a moment before it disappeared behind the cool, unfeeling mask of an empress. 

“They enjoy causing problems,” Nova said plainly, “no one will blame you. Alora, Catrin, and Helia haven’t been able to keep quiet about how much they wanted to meet you.”

“Your cousin acted as though I lured them to my rooms to kill them,” Evalin pointed out.

Nova shrugged gracefully. “Nyx is protective. It's how he’s always been. And the girls can’t protect themselves, not yet at least. I’m sure you understand.”

She sighed. She supposed she did understand. If that had been Elentiya, Ress, and Gavriel, her reaction would have been similar. 

“I still think he overreacted.” Evalin tossed her hair haughtily. 

“It's better an overreaction than anything else. Especially when one comes from a family like ours.”

Evalin raised an eyebrow. Nova shrugged once more. “Our family is powerful. Our bloodline and magic is both feared and…desired. I know nothing of what your world is like, but ours is bloodthirsty. The courts of Prythian are beautiful, but behind that beauty they hide a certain brutality. Balls end in bloodshed, dinners in death, and a single insult can lead to battles so bloody it paints the field red. The High Fae will do anything to get ahead, and when power is worth more than any currency, those who have it will always be at risk.”

Evalin was high fae, and she’d lived among plenty of them, but even she forgot what it was like in a place like Doranelle, which had little to no human influence. How primal and savage it could be. 

“Sounds exhausting,” Evalin admitted.

Nova smiled, a wicked, savage smile. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

Evalin could understand why a female like Nova would thrive in an environment like that.

“Tell me about your world,” Nova demanded suddenly, swiftly changing the subject.

Evalin obeyed, if only because she missed it so much. 

“My world is…My mother’s kingdom is beautiful. Terrasen is an ancient land of snow and pine. It was founded by a long distant ancestor of mine, King Brannon and his wife, the sun goddess, Mala Firebringer. My mother now rules from her seat in the capital, Orynth. It’s an exquisite city with grand libraries and parks and festivals. When I was there last, we were celebrating the Summer Solstice. Everything was decorated and a large festival was being hosted in the city center.”

For a moment, all her worries were replaced with fond memories of her home, of her family. 

“It sounds lovely,” Nova acknowledged.

“It is,” Evalin smiled. As she gazed out one of the large windows, she could picture the rolling green hills and snow capped mountains of her home. She could just taste the sweet ice that they served during solstice and smell the fragrant flowers they used to decorate. 

“And you're the heiress of it all?”

Evalin refrained from cringing as she nodded her head. “Yes.”

“Then why did you run?”

Evalin stiffened, whirling around to face Nova. “I told you. I came here by accident!”

“Nyx shared the memory he has of you right before you came to the steppes. You did run, even if you did not mean to run here.” Evalin did run. She ran instead of facing her duty. She was a coward.

She opened her mouth, a lie already formulated on the tip of her tongue, when she hesitated. Why not tell her the truth? The guilt and self-loathing and fear had been building up in her since before her birthday. And when she got home, it's not like she could admit this to her family. They wouldn’t understand. Nova did not care about Terrasen, about Evalin’s destiny. She had no stakes in Erilea. Evalin could tell her anything and it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t really mean anything to her. 

“I was expected to find a suitor to marry on my 118th birthday,” Evalin admitted, the words tasting sour on her tongue. “My court and people had waited long enough and I told myself I would do it. No matter my own feelings, I would push them aside and do my duty. But when the time came, I failed.”

Nova stared at her for a moment, unmoved by Evalin’s confession. “Are all the males of your world so repulsive?”

“No. Of course not. I–” Evalin froze upon noting the slight uptilt of Nova’s mouth. A joke then. Or as much of a joke as the female could make. 

She sighed and explained, “It’s not them that bothers me, not exactly. It’s true I don’t care for any of them beyond friendly affection, but it’s more of what they represent that repulses me. The people of my court see me as too wild, too volatile to be queen. I think they hope that marriage and children will calm me down, make me more amiable. Once I marry, it will be as if I’m accepting this version of myself they want me to become. My life will never be my own again, I’ll be tied to the throne, to the kingdom more than ever before.”

“You do not wish to be Queen?”

A simple question with a far too complex answer. 

“I wish to be Queen,” Evalin said, “I wish to serve my people, and make them proud. I wish to be an asset to my family and court. But sometimes, I also wish to be free. Sometimes I wake up in the palace and I feel as though I am suffocating within its walls.”

Nova considered this with a tilt of her head. “Can you not leave them?”

“Of course I can. But there are protocols and rules and security and expectations, all very boring and mostly useless. But whenever I break them, I gain scorn. As an heir and as a Queen, my life is invaluable to my kingdom. It is seen as selfish when I risk it. Though, I’m sure some lords would love to see me out of the way.” Hoping to change the subject before Nova could pry further, Evalin asked, “what about you?”

Nova raised a dark eyebrow. “What? Like am I arranged to be married?”

Evalin shrugged. “Most females in a position like ours are. It's a rarity and a blessing that my parents allowed me to choose my own suitor.”

And, to her shock, Nova began to howl with laughter. Evalin nearly jumped with surprise. The normally composed, emotionless female was laughing so hard she was turning red in the face.

Once Nova finally calmed enough to speak again, she explained, “No. I’m not getting married.”

There was such finality in her voice. As if this were a fact. 

“Why not? I can’t imagine it's a lack of physical desire. Don’t they want…well, you?” Evalin gestured to the striking female’s body, which was expertly displayed between swaths of black silk and delicate chains of silver and diamonds. It was toned, and long, and graceful, not to mention the admirable chest she had. That combined with her stunning face, there would be no male in the world that would say no to that.

“Of course they want me,” Nova huffed, “but I rarely want them. And on the off chance I do, it’s a one night affair. But those males don’t know who I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“If a male knows who I am, it usually results in one of two ways. One, they run away–”

“Run away?” Evalin exclaimed, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Yes,” Nova replied simply, “There are some horrible rumors about me that people love to circulate. And if it's not those rumors that scare them away, it's the fear of my family’s wrath.”

Evalin couldn’t even imagine what those rumors were. But she could imagine what Nova meant by her family’s wrath. They seemed to be an overprotective and far too-powerful group of individuals. 

“Allright, and what’s the other way?”

“The other way is that the male knows who I am and wants to make an official alliance with my family. Something that won’t result in him getting killed. Unfortunately, these males see me as nothing but a breeding cow to pump their bloodlines with power and prestige.”

“Sounds so very male of them. They truly can be the most dreadful creatures.”

“So incredibly irritating,” Nova agreed. 

“But it seems you've successfully held them at bay. And your family doesn’t seem in any hurry to marry you off.”

“If they had it their way, I would remain celibate and secluded within the city limits for the rest of my life.”

“I’m assuming they don’t have it their way?”

“Of course not. I would never allow that to happen.”

“Do you ever face backlash for doing what you do? Ruling over the city, refusing to marry?”

Nova’s blue-grey eyes sparkled with a wicked sort of delight. “From my family: no. From others: all the time. But that’s the fun part, making them all mad. I learned a long time ago that anything I do will anger someone, so it's best just to do what I wish and watch them simmer silently, unable to do anything about it. There’s little sense in waiting around for others to dictate your life when you could be commanding your path yourself.”

Evalin considered these words. She thought of how she waited in pensive silence for one hundred and eighteen years, doing nothing but dreading when her day would come. 

“Anyway,” Nova said, interrupting her thoughts. “That’s neither here nor there. I wanted to speak to you for a different reason. I have to admit something about the other day.”

Evalin raised an eyebrow, tensing slightly as an unsettling feeling came over her.

“When you attempted to open the portal, it was my magic that stopped you.”

Evalin blinked, processing what Nova just said to her. “What?” Her voice was dangerously low. She felt the temperature in the room rise.

“Calm down,” Nova snapped.

That gave Evalin a pause. It was the most bothered she’d ever heard the female. 

Nova shifted slightly. She was very uncomfortable. Something was wrong.

“Let me explain,” Nova urged. “Just…calm down.”

Evalin took a deep breath. The temperature in the room returned to normal.

“When you first came here. I sensed you, felt you. It was like a tidal wave came over me as my power responded to whatever strange magic you used to come here. And it happened again when you attempted to return home the other day. I felt it. But my wards, those around my room and around the palace, stopped you.”

“What magic do you possess?”

The thought had never occurred to her, in all her time here. She’d studied how Nova moved and talked, speculated on her training, acknowledged how powerful her family was, but never once did she consider the female’s own set of powers. 

Nova opened her palm where a small, silver flame danced.

“Moonfire,” Evaline breathed. She’d heard of moonfire, of the silver flames that Deanna used when she possessed Evalin’s mother in skull’s bay. 

The flame extinguished in Nova’s palm.

“What?”

“Moonfire. Where I come from, we call that moonfire. It is the magic that the old goddess of the moon and hunt used.”

“It does not matter what it is called. I want to know why our magic is connected. Why my magic is connected to your strange runes.”

“I don’t know,” Evalin admitted, mind reeling. How on earth did this female possess moonfire? “I have no clue how that is even possible.”

If Nova was telling the truth, if her magic was connected to the wyrdmarks…

She was beginning to get a headache. No. She needed to focus. To use this to find a way back. Nova wanted answers about her magic, and Evalin wanted a way home.

“Let’s make another bargain,” Evalin declared. “I’ll tell you what I know about the wyrdmarks, try to help you understand how it's connected to your magic, if you agree to allow me to open another portal, without interference.”

Nova met her gaze, her eyes sparking silver. Evalin refused to look away.

“Fine,” Nova decided, “it’s a—”

“Wait!” Evalin interjected. “One more thing. One day. You only get one day. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything I know, but by midnight, I will be back in my world.”

“If it is possible that without my interference the portal will work, by midnight tomorrow, you will be able to summon one and go home.”

Evalin grinned. “Then it's a bargain.”

 

—

 

Nyx wondered what he was doing, if not making a complete fool of himself.

After Nova dragged Evalin away, Asher and him were left to their important business. Which involved pummeling each other into bruised and bloody bits in the training ring.

He’d been so distracted by thoughts of Evalin that Asher had managed to land one square hit to his jaw after another and he now firmly resemble a piece of tenderized meat.

It was only after Caelum joined them, complaining endlessly about how much he hated libraries, and Nyx was beaten a second time, that he realized he had to do something about this.

An hour, and one much needed bath, later, it dawned on him that he felt incredibly guilty about how he’d treated her that morning.

Nyx still felt it was his duty to protect those in his family and court from potential dangers, but it might have been a slight overreaction on his part, especially considering that all three girls had been completely unharmed.

So he healed himself as best he could, combed back his hair, straightened his wings, and…was currently waiting outside Evalin’s door debating whether to knock or to turn around and go back to his own rooms. 

Gods, he felt like he was fifteen again. It had been that long since he felt any sort of uncertainty when dealing with the opposite sex.

He was trying to avoid angering her, but at this point he was sure his presence alone would be enough to piss her off. Maybe the best thing to do was to go away and leave her alone. 

It’s not like he had any good news for her. Aunt Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie had barely gotten through the first stack of books, and there was nothing helpful in any of them.

He could only imagine what it was like, to be worlds away from one’s family and home without any hope of getting back. She must be devastated. And he…he had made it so much worse.

He certainly didn’t trust her, nor did he particularly like her, and he still maintained his suspicions, but for some reason he couldn’t bear the thought of her being miserable because of him. Or more his foolish behavior. 

Yes. It was decided. He raised his hand and was about to knock—

“What are you doing?”

Nyx whirled around and found himself face to face with a frowning Evalin. 

“Well, I was coming to–Wait, what are you doing?”

Evalin rolled her eyes, inspecting her manicured pinky nail. “I was going to my room. A room which you are standing outside of.”

Nyx stiffened, feeling suddenly hot and stuffy in his jacket. “I was coming to see if you were alright.”

She tilted her head to the side, green eyes inspecting him from head to toe. Nyx could count on one hand the people outside of his own family willing to so much as look him in the eye, much less do what she was currently doing. 

It was as if she could see right through him and whatever she found was incredibly dissatisfying. 

Tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she shoved past him and opened the door. He caught a whiff of honey and rose.

“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern.” And with that she slammed the door in his face.

Nyx blinked. What the hell just happened?

If he were smart, he would have turned around and gone back to his room, tail tucked between his legs. But something about this female made him irrational, so he knocked on the door. 

It took a ridiculously long amount of time for him to even hear footsteps that suggested she was answering, and even longer for her to make her way to the door and open it.

“Yes?” She inquired, batting her emerald green eyes innocently at him.

He clenched his jaw. What was it he wanted to say? 

Right. He was here to apologize.

Unclenching his jaw, and forcing his shoulders to relax, he let out a sigh. “I came here to say sorry for what I did earlier. It was unfair of me to accuse you of trying to harm the girls much less treat you in the manner that I did.”

This time, Evalin seemed slightly taken aback. Then her face softened slightly.  

“Thank you. But you don’t need to apologize. I understand why you did it.”

“Still my behavior is unacceptable. You are a guest not a prisoner.”

“I would have done the same in your position.”

Nyx bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I was hoping to make it up to you.”

What was he doing? This was not in the script of things he’d planned to say. 

Evalin raised both eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Will you accompany me to dinner? I’m sure you’re tired of dining alone.”

Evalin paused, considering. “You’re asking under the assumption that your company is better than none.”

“I deserve that. But I hope you’ll also see me deserving of a chance to change your mind.”

“I suppose I could give you that chance.”

Nyx smiled, and, to his surprise, she smiled back. 

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Evalin had sent Nyx away, telling him she needed at least forty five minutes to get dressed. He didn’t protest, instead promising to return and escort her to dinner. She appreciated how he didn’t complain over how long it would take for her to get ready. Usually she found males to be incredibly inconsiderate and impatient. Nyx had even sent over the handmaidens to assist  her.

The two females had appeared in the doorway, each holding one end of a gorgeous golden gown. Evalin had come to adore the clothing in this world. It would definitely be what she missed most when she went home. 

When not if. The thought filled her with excitement. She was absolutely furious with Nova, but in a way, she understood the female’s need to find answers. 

Magic was volatile, unpredictable…And for Nova, someone who seemed so in control , not knowing something so vital would be unbearable for her. 

“Do you like it, your highness?” Anaya asked, her shadowy form appearing at Evalin’s side. 

Evalin regarded herself in the mirror. The silky fabric draped across her chest, falling in elegant folds to the floor, reminding her of the dresses that the long gone goddesses of Erilea wore in the ancient statues that lined the palaces of Rifthold and Orynth.

 The dress shimmered under the light of the chandelier, creating a soft golden glow against her skin. The handmaidens had procured a stunning necklace, made of delicate golden chains and tiny emeralds. They were the exact shade of green as Evalin’s eyes. Vaela and Anaya had even found matching earrings, which were showcased by her long blonde waves that the females had painstakingly curled and pinned.  

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“Of course, your highness,” Vaela replied.

“Lord Nyx will be coming soon?” Evalin inquired, even though she knew very well what time it was. He’d be at her door in exactly five minutes. For some reason the thought made her nervous. Which was ridiculous, no male had ever managed to intimidate her, and she refused to allow him to be the first. Even if he was outrageously attractive, and strangely alluring. If one considered clenched jaws and consistent looks of irritation to be appealing. Evalin didn’t, so she didn’t understand why she was thinking of this. 

“Yes, your highness. But before he does…” Anaya began.

Evalin glanced over her shoulder, half not wanting to look away from her reflection, to see what Anaya was holding. 

A golden tiara, studded with more emeralds, rested in her hands. It was beautiful. Exactly something that Evalin would have chosen for herself. She didn’t care how much Vaela and Anaya were being paid, they deserved a raise. 

“It's beautiful,” Evalin murmured again, not sure what else to say. She bowed her head slightly, allowing for the female to place the tiara on. 

And when she turned around to inspect her appearance once more, she was awestruck. For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself. More than that, she felt like a Queen. And she looked like a goddess. Like Mala Firebringer herself.

Usually, she would have finished accessorizing with a dagger strapped to her thigh, but unfortunately neither of the handmaidens would  accommodate that request. 

A knock sounded on the door and Evalin startled slightly. Vaela and Anaya shared a glance before bursting into a set of giggles.

She frowned at them but didn’t dignify their reaction with a response.

“I’ll get the door,” Vaela offered.

—

 

Vaela opened the door, bowing her head politely. 

“My lord,” she murmured.

Nyx opened his mouth to respond but before he could, Vaela had stepped to the side, revealing Evalin. 

His breath caught. She glowed. Radiant as the sun on solstice. 

He’d known Evalin was beautiful, he’d be blind not to notice. But tonight…Her golden hair was swept back over her shoulders, revealing the bare expanse of her collarbone. The silk of her gown clung to every one of her perfect curves. And the crown…He’d sent it along with the gown hoping that she might like it, hoping she’d notice how the emeralds matched the exact vivid green of her eyes, but he should have guessed that the sight of her in it would have knocked his breath away. The way her chin lifted slightly, the way she seemed to wear the crown, instead of it wearing her, if Nyx didn’t already know she was a princess, he would have guessed her a queen. Perhaps a goddess for the way her eyes blazed with that inner wildfire. 

Not trusting himself with words, he simply held out an arm. Maybe she hadn’t noticed his gawking.

The slight uptilt of her lips suggested otherwise, but she didn’t comment, instead accepting his arm.

He could feel how warm her skin was, even through the fabric of his jacket. 

“You look beautiful. The gown suits you, princess,” Nyx murmured softly as he led her down the halls of Moonstone. 

She gasped mockingly. “A compliment, I think I may die of shock.”

Nyx let out a dry chuckle, and Evalin looked up at him smiling. “Laughter too? This is a treat.”

A strange feeling stirred in his chest. 

“Am I that bad?”

“No, just a little stiff.”

Nyx frowned. “Stiff?”

Over the years, females had called him many things. Mostly compliments. And mostly when he was inside them. They’d fawned over his looks, his status, his wealth, and his power. They’d never seemed to mind his personality, although he doubted they cared much.

“Don’t get your wings in a ruffle. It’s a compliment.”

He gave her a disbelieving look, wings tucking tightly into his back.

Evalin laughed, clearly delighted by his reaction.

The sound brought back that strange feeling in his chest.

They entered the dining room, still arm and arm, and Nyx led her to her seat as she inspected her surroundings, chin upraised. 

He’d ordered the cooks to make a plethora of different dishes, unsure of what Evalin preferred. He had no idea what they ate in her world, if it was anything similar to theirs. 

But he doubted anyone could find a reason to dislike the spread of traditional night court dishes. He glanced over to gauge Evalin’s reaction, but her attention was elsewhere, eyes looking towards the great open balcony off the side of the dining room and the mountains beyond that.

“You’re not the first to be awed by the view,” Nyx said, inspecting her closely for any flicker of response. “Even I find myself in awe of it sometimes and I’ve lived here all my life.”

She finally tore her aways to look at him.

“Your forests are nothing in comparison to Terrasen, but your sky…I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars before.”

He led her to her seat, pulling out the chair and helping her down. 

“Really,” Evalin continued as Nyx took his own seat across from her, “the sky looks so vast and endless from here. It makes me wish I had wings.”

He nodded in agreement. “My wings are a gift, especially on nights like these.”

Evalin considered him. “Do you often fly? Or is it saved for special occasions?”

He shook his head. “I fly as often as I can, princess. Usually every morning at dawn, and every night at dusk.”

“If I could fly, I don’t think I would ever come down.”

Nyx was surprised by the admission. It wasn’t necessarily out there but the way she spoke, so wistful and dreamy, it was as if she was speaking about a desire deep within her soul. 

“Then I suppose it's a good thing you can’t.”

Evalin straightened, eyes narrowing at him suspiciously. 

“Only because I’m sure everyone down here would miss you so much,” Nyx explained.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Ah. You're, of course, correct. Their grief would be unimaginable if they were unable to be in my presence anymore.”

Interesting. Whatever she’d thought he’d implied upset her. 

“You must be well loved in your homeworld,” Nyx commented as he began to serve himself food. 

Evalin took a long sip from her glass of wine.

Deciding to change the subject and because he couldn’t help his curiosity, Nyx asked, “what is your world like?”

He’d known that other worlds existed beyond theirs. Bryce Quinlan had proved that long ago. But to meet another female from a different world…How many existed? As many as there were stars in the sky? Were they constantly being created or were there a finite amount? How were they all connected?

Evaling blinked at him, surprised.  

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Nyx clarified, unsure if it would bring up unpleasant memories. 

“I don’t,” she replied slowly, carefully. 

 

—

 

“Your cousin asked the same question,” Evalin pointed out as she placed a deliciously roasted potato in her mouth. 

“Did she?” Nyx seemed unsurprised by this. “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her of the rolling green mountainsides and the pine tree forests. Of the libraries and festivals and holidays of Orynth. I told her of my mother and her crown, our history.”

Once again, her heart ached for home, but this time it was mingled with something else. Guilt. 

It was just moments ago she was staring at the night sky, wishing with all her heart she could sprout wings and fly away. How good it would feel to be so free, to leave everything behind.

Evalin looked at Nyx, really looked at him. Gone was the rigid, formal, and aggressive male. He was staring at her earnestly, as if he really cared for what she had to say. 

“You will be home soon,” he swore, mistaking her silence for homesickness. “I have made a promise to find you a way back home and I will not let you down.”

Evalin doubted Nova had informed anyone of her bargain, and she didn’t want to risk letting anyone know of their plan in case it brought an end to it.

“That is quite a vow to make.”

Nyx bowed his head slightly. “It is one I intend to keep.”

A strange feeling overcame Evalin. Like someone or something was tugging on her chest. 

“The food is delicious,” Evalin said, changing the subject.

“We have the best food in Prythian,” Nyx agreed easily. “There’s one restaurant, Sevanda’s, and the food’s so delicious I salivate at the thought of it. It’s a favorite in our family.”

Evalin tried to imagine the male in front of her eating with his family in a restaurant. His powerful, mind reading, possibly evil family. It seemed too domestic for the image of them portrayed to her so far. 

“What’s with the face?” He asked, noting her expression.

“To be honest, whenever you weren’t here I assumed you had locked yourself in a dark cave where you could brood in peace. Isn’t that what bats do?” She gestured to his folded wings. 

He gave her a dry look. “I try to limit my time in my cave to the weekends only.”

Evalin laughed, enjoying this version of Nyx much more than she thought she would.

He huffed, wings rustling. “Just for future reference, I’m not a bat.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head to the side, “Are those not bat wings?”

“Illyrian wings,” he corrected.

“Illyrian?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not fully high fae. My Grandmother hails from the Illyrian tribes that reside in the steppes of the night court. Illyrians are not high fae. They’re not really fae at all. But they are immortal and born with wings that grant them the gift of flight.”

Evalin was slightly surprised by that explanation. She assumed the wings were some half-shifted form that the high fae in this world were capable of. 

“The male that was with you? Asher? He’s also Illyrian.”

It wasn’t a question but Nyx nodded anyway. “He’s half-Illyrian, as is his younger sister, Catrin,  through their father, my Uncle.”

“Catrin doesn’t have wings though.”

“No. She takes after her mother, who is both high fae and water nymph.”

Evalin nodded. “And your sister, does she take after the high fae side of the family as well?”

“She was born without wings, if that’s what you mean. But she can summon them through her own magic.”

She raised her eyebrows. “A shapeshifter then.”

Nyx hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

“Nova is your cousin too. Is she also part-Illyrian?”

“Yes. She was born with wings as well but she often conceals them using her own magic.”

“Why would she do that?” If Evalin was blessed with wings she would never hide them. 

Nyx chuckled. “It’s not what you think. She usually only does it around strangers or if she needs to blend in better. Wings are difficult to hide under a cloak and an identifiable feature anywhere but the Illyrian steppes. They also can be hard to maneuver in small spaces.”

“You didn’t hide yours when you met me,” Evalin pointed out.

“No. But I’m afraid I’ve never been as skilled at spells and enchantments as my cousin.”

Evalin could tell that wasn’t the full story but she decided no to push it by asking more. 

Her eyes drifted towards the mountainside once more.  What she wouldn’t give to leave this palace, magically summon Roswell here, and go riding through whatever trails she was sure wound through the mountains. Maybe it wasn’t as good as Illyrian wings nor shifting into a falcon but it was the best she could do. Perhaps she could explore the mountains as a deer, surely this world had deer in their forests, but she didn’t wish to be hunted down by another one of those beasts. Not again. The wound in her side was still sore. 

“I could take you flying.”

 

—

 

Nyx nearly swore. Why the hel did he say that? He’d never taken a female flying who he was not related to in some way. And she wasn’t supposed to leave the moonstone. 

Evalin blinked at him, surprised. “Really?”

He should shake his head no, refuse, apologize and say maybe next time.

“I don’t see why not.”

If his father found out about this…

“All right,” Evalin agreed, “try not to drop me.”

“I could never drop you, princess.”

She gave him a strange look but didn’t protest when he held out his hand.

“Don’t bite my head off but I’m going to pick you up.”

Evalin huffed, rolling her eyes and raising her chin haughtily. “Don’t ruin my hair. I quite like it.”

Nyx scooped her into his arms, carefully adjusting her so she was comfortable. “I don’t make any promises.”

And with that, he shot into the cool night air.

Evalin shrieked and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest.

She smelled like honey and roses. 

“I thought you wanted to fly.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Evalin hissed, shoving him lightly on the shoulder.

He laughed, enjoying this version of the Princess. 

“You could try opening your eyes,” he offered.

“They are open.”

“Barely. And while I’m sure you're enjoying your view of my face, I promise the mountains are almost as pretty.”

Evalin rolled her eyes but loosened her grip on his neck, slowly and deliberately twisting her body so she could take in the view. 

“Oh,” she breathed.

Her grip on him was still so tight, and he was struggling to breathe normally, but he said nothing, not wanting to ruin this moment for her. 

He remembered his first time flying this high, how free and wonderful he felt. Then a strong gust of wind hit him and he immediately plummeted hundreds of feet, being saved just before he hit the ground by his Uncle Azriel. But despite that near deadly end to the night, it was one of his most cherished memories. 

Nyx didn’t know exactly how long they flew for, because for once in his life, he wasn’t focused on the thousand different things he had to do, he was focused on one single thing. Her awed face, illuminated by starlight. 

This was dangerous, she was dangerous for making him feel this way. For making him forget what was most important. His family. His duty. His court. 

Evalin shivered against him. Gods, her skin was starting to feel like ice, even her fire magic unable to keep back the icy winds of the north for long.

“Let’s get you back inside, princess,” he murmured, banking left back towards the palace.

She didn’t protest, didn’t say anything, her eyes still focused on the sky around her.

He still watched her carefully, even as he landed once more on the balcony and gently set her down on her feet. 

Evalin peered into one of the polished moonstone columns and began smoothing down her hair, tucking it underneath the crown. “I suppose you didn’t mess it up too badly,” she sniffed.

Nyx gave a dramatic bow. “My deepest apologies, princess.”

“Thank you, Nyx,” Evalin said, face becoming serious as she stood to face him. 

Nyx straightened as well. “It was my pleasure.”

She hesitated for just a second. “I suppose I should head to bed now. It was a lovely evening, truly.”

Evalin turned to leave, gold skirts rustling around her. 

“Wait! I–” Nyx cleared his throat. “Let me escort you.”

“You do not have too–”

“What sort of male would I be if I did not?”

“A poor one,” Evalin smiled.

He smiled back and held out his arm once more. 

Together they walked arm and arm in companionable silence.

When they reached Evalin’s room she let go of his arm. Nyx immediately missed her warmth. 

“Thank you again for tonight,” Evalin said as she opened the door to her room.

“Thank you for indulging me.”

“I think you’re the one who indulged me. Flying…it was incredible as you said it would be.”

“I’m glad I was able to share it with you.” 

A truth, one he was surprised he felt. And even more surprised he admitted to her. 

“Goodnight, Nyx.”

“Goodnight, Evalin.”

She shut the door gently leaving Nyx standing in the hallway and staring at the closed door like an idiot. 

He was just about to winnow back to the River House when he heard footsteps down the hall. Turning around he found himself face to face with his cousin.

“What are you doing?” Nova inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m–Wait, what are you doing?” Nyx demanded.

Nova was fully dressed in a black gown, her hair pinned underneath a sparkling silver tiara. 

“I have dinner plans.”

“It's past midnight,” Nyx pointed out. 

“Right. It’s past midnight and you’re standing outside Evalin’s door staring like a creep.”

“I’m not a creep. I was saying goodnight!”

“To the door? Are you feeling alright? Did you hit your head?” Nova asked, clearly enjoying his flustered state.

“No. To Evalin, we had dinner together. I just escorted her back to her room.”

Nova tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. “You had dinner with the ‘biggest threat to our court’? Those were your words, yes?”

“I’m talking about this with you, not right now. And, by the way, when I said that, I had every reason to believe it.”

Nova rolled her eyes. “Well now that you’ve had dinner with her, has your opinion changed?”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Answer the question.”

“Goodnight, Nova.”

Nova laughed, delighted, as Nyx walked past her, shaking his head in disbelief.

Did everyone in this family have to meddle in his business? 

—

 

As Evalin got ready for bed, she couldn’t shake the feeling of the cool mountain air blowing through her hair. Of how weightless she felt flying in Nyx’s arms. It was as wonderful as she imagined it to be. 

And, even more concerning than that, as she lay in bed that night she could think of nothing but the look on Nyx’s face as she saw him smile at her for the first time. She could think of nothing but the way his hands felt on her body as he carried her. She could think of nothing but his citrus and sea salt smell that she was sure still clung to her skin. 

When she dreamed that night, it was not of the mountains of Terrasen,  but of the Night Court. This strange, wondrous, freeing place she’d stumbled into.

 

—

“I can’t believe Nyx invited her to dinner,” Andraste said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her arched ear.

“It’s a miracle,” Brielle muttered under her breath, bringing a glass of wine to her lips.

“I still can’t believe a portal opened between worlds and a princess walked through it,” Artemisia pointed out.

“Yes,” Nova hummed, “It's all very strange isn’t it.”

Vaela and Anaya were notably absent, still watching over the visiting princess.

The four of them sat in a private dining room in Sevanda’s, one that overlooked the Sidra, waiting for their dinner to arrive. A late night meal, even past midnight, was not necessarily unusual in the Night Court, despite Nyx’s whining. Many preferred to live under the stars. 

Nova preferred the night herself, but often had to fight her Illyrian instincts, which wished to go to sleep at dusk and wake at dawn. Daylight was a precious resource in the camps. 

Nova had made sure to put up a number of wards around the room, so no one would be able to overhear their conversation. The last thing she needed was for news of Evalin to get leaked. Gods know that would spread like wildfire all over Prythian. So far only Night and Day were privy to this information, and even then the secret was closely guarded from everyone but their own family. 

Nova had only told her own friends because they would have figured it out sooner or later. There was no way the princess's presence in moonstone would have gone unnoticed by females who often spent their days in the palace as well. 

And, of course, Anaya and Vaela had been tasked with spying on the princess.

When Vaela and Anaya had first come into her life, she was twelve and had been irritated with what she’d deemed to be two nursemaids sent by overprotective family members who wanted guards to remain between Nova and any would-be assassins. Or whatever else they were worried about. 

Her Uncle Azriel had trained them specifically to be inconspicuous when they trailed Nova in public, but deadly if she was threatened. It was around the time in her life that she didn’t want to be seen with anyone in her family (she considered them to be the most embarrassing thing in the world) so this was the solution proposed (she still often found herself with both her handmaidens and a overbearing family member though). 

But as she grew older, and as she became more capable of defending herself, they became friends more than protectors. And now they assisted her in anything and everything she might need. Spies, assassins, messengers…the list was endless. And Nova was eternally grateful for them. 

She’d met Artemisia and Brielle when she trained in the Valkyrie Temple, and now Brielle, who was Illyrian herself, oversaw the Valkyrie forces in the steppes. And Artemisia, who was born to a noble family with powerful darkbringer gifts, led the Valkyries in Hewn City.

Andraste was also from the city, and while she had powerful magic of her own, she was no warrior, serving Nova as a political advisor instead.

“Have you figured out how she came here? Or how you’re going to get her back?” Brielle asked.

“Not exactly,” Nova lied. No one could know what she was going to do with Evalin the next day. 

“I’m assuming the library had no answers,” Andraste interjected.

“No. But they’re still searching.”

“Maybe the libraries of Hewn City might yield better results,” she suggested.

“Maybe,” Nova hummed. She brought her glass of wine to her lips and took a long sip. 

She’d been meaning to search the libraries herself, but was distracted by her nightly dreams that kept her up and ever worsening headaches. She felt it slipping, that control she kept over her magic, she felt it giving way. It wanted to be released. Or something was coaxing it out of her.

Those damned marks that Evalin showed. Nova was called to them. Like calls to like. 

“Nova!” 

She glanced up to find all her friends staring at her as servers filled the room with steaming plates of food. 

Andraste gave Nova a knowing look. She pointedly ignored it. 

“We should go dancing after this,” Brielle announced excitedly, switching the subject in front of the new company. “I didn’t dress up for no reason. I want to have a fun night.”

“We all know what your idea of a fun night means,” Artemisia snipped back, smiling.

Brielle stuck out her tongue.

“I don't think—”Andraste began.

“I’d love to go dancing,” Nova declared just as a delicious smelling plate of food was put in front of her. “We can search the city later.”

An ache was beginning to form at her temple. She needed to let her magic out, to release it. Why wouldn’t it just obey her as it used to? 

She could tell Andraste wanted to protest once more but she refused to even look in her direction. No one could know that she was failing to keep her magic in check. And Nova found that dancing was an effective method to tiring her body out so much that exhaustion could prevent any magical mishaps. 

Not to mention how much she enjoyed it. 

Brielle cheered. 

Nova busied herself with her food, savoring every bite of the meat and rice plate she ordered. 

“What about those strange beasts?” Artemisia asked, looking towards Brielle. “The ones that you were sent to patrol in the steppes? Any news on them?”

Brielle huffed. “No, unfortunately not. They’re elusive, only coming out to kill before disappearing again. I’m surprised Nova was able to track one down.”

“It was surprisingly easy,” Nova shrugged. “It just appeared almost as soon as we set out.” 

“Sounds like it was hunting you,” Andraste muttered.

“What?”

She blinked, looking up, as if surprised everyone heard her. Lowering her fork and folding her hands in her lap, she said once more, “it sounds like it was hunting you. No one else managed to come close to even seeing it and yet it appears where you are almost immediately.”

Nova tilted her head to the side, thinking. That had been one of her suspicions, that the Kristallos demons were after someone specific. She assumed if anyone, it was Evalin, since it seemed intent on killing her, even going to moonstone to do it. 

But the soldiers who died in the steppes were killed before Evalin ever set foot in their world. Those were the soldiers Caelum had said he’d known.

Evalin had been attacked after she had breakfast with Nova. 

And the last time they’d seen the Kristallos was when Nova and Caelum were together…

She hissed as a stabbing pain filled her head. 

“Are you alright, Nova?” Artemisia asked, reaching out a hand.

Nova shook her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

The table fell into awkward silence.

“We should order dessert before we go dancing,” Andraste suggested, changing the subject.

Nova shot her a grateful look. 

Thankfully the topic of conversation continued to drift away from beasts and world-walking princesses. Brielle gave updates on the training of young Illyrian girls in both the camps and temples closest to the steppes. There were nearly enough female Illyrian Valkyries to make up their own legion. The thought filled Nova with pride for her people, for those girls who pushed through prejudice and violence to train, if not as a warrior as a scholar, or healer, or whatever they wished.   

After they finished up dinner and dessert, they stumbled, half-drank into the streets of Velaris. 

Nova was using her wings to balance herself, trying to maintain some composure. She’d drunk way too much wine. Nova never drank too much wine. Being drunk was a one way ticket to losing control. But it eased her headache, at least temporarily. 

They entered one of the many dancehalls that lined the streets of the city.

Glittering chandeliers, marble columns, music that made Nova forget herself and her problems. It was perfect.

She danced and danced and danced. It was not how she usually danced, as she preferred Ballet, which was the epitome of control, but sometimes she just needed to feel free. Free of her magic, free of her worries, free of her nightmares, free of her own haunting thoughts. It was wonderful. 

She prayed that night would be a quiet one.

—

 

Caelum and his father entered the House of Wind late that night, both having to blow off steam after a day at the camps. Still no leads on what those creatures were or where they came from, and of course, the ever agitating camp lords that were breathing down their necks for answers.

Caelum was a good warrior, a worthy successor of the Lord of Bloodshed, bearing not three, not seven, but an unprecedented nine siphons. And one day, he would beat his father in hand to hand combat, but unfortunately today was not that day, and his face bore the consequences of it. He was thoroughly battered. And upon seeing the disapproving look on his mother’s face as they walked into the living room, it was worse than he realized.

“Cassian,” she hissed, coming forward and pushing her mate off the way, angling herself in front of him so she could better see Caelum’s face. She cupped his cheek gently and he barely refrained from wincing.

His mother turned towards his father, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised.

He laughed good naturedly. “He holds up well for someone his age.”

“I’m a hundred and eighteen,” Caelum muttered.  

His father clapped him on the back. “Another four hundred years and you might win.”

Caelum scowled.

“Stop teasing him, Cass,” his mother ordered, rolling her eyes and reclaiming her seat on the plush armchair by the fire. 

“Yes, Nesta.”

She shot him a glare. He winked. She rolled her eyes again. Caelum looked away, not wishing to see the part where they began kissing. 

“We’re not going to show any affection in front of you, don’t worry,” his father said.

“That’ll be a first.”

That elicited laughter from both his parents, who seemed delighted in his misery. 

His father cleared his throat, “but, in all seriousness, I mean it Caelum. You did well. You're better than I was at your age.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever been better than you,” Caelum replied humbly, but his chest puffed slightly anyway. 

Ever since he was a little boy, watching his father and uncles in the training ring, he wanted to be a warrior. He wanted to be exactly like his father. 

He knew he was better than any warrior his age, better than most older than him, but he still had a way to go to hold a candle to his father, who was christened as Enalius reborn by his soldiers. 

“If anyone will be, it’ll be you.”

Caelum nodded.

“Anyway,” his father continued, “I’m going to wash up or your mother won’t let me on the bed.”

His mother hummed in agreement, not looking up from her book. 

His father disappeared down the hall, leaving Caelum standing in the doorway. He was about to say his goodnights and excuse himself to his room when his mother spoke again.

“Come here, sweetheart, sit down.”

Caelum raised his eyebrows but knew better than to disobey.

Once he had sat down on the couch across from his mother she began again. “Something’s bothering you, what’s wrong?”

He chuckled, rubbing his chin. “My face is four different shades of purple, but besides that, I’m fine.”

She sighed. “You two and you're brawling. You’d think it would get old by now.”

Caelum shrugged. “Unfortunately not.” 

“But that’s neither here nor there. I’m your mother Caelum, I know when something is bothering you. Now tell me.”

“I–” He groaned, knowing very well he wasn’t leaving until he told his mother the truth. Somehow she always knew. “I wanted to know more about Bryce Quinlan. About Gwydion.”

His mother seemed unsurprised by this. “Why Gwydion?”

Caelum knew his mother could wield the legendary sword of the High King, just as he knew his sister could wield it. He had little of his mother’s magic though, only being able to make the tiniest of flames, and the power of sword was difficult for him to handle. 

He preferred good old fashioned steel to his mother and sister’s made weapons. It was easier, more reliable. And if he ever needed magic, he had his killing power, which made decent weapons. 

“I don’t know. It’s just strange, isn’t it? That another female has fallen into our world.”

“From a different one though,” his mother pointed out. “Bryce came from Midgard. Evalin comes from a place called Erilea.”

“But why our world? Seems a bit of a coincidence, doesn’t it?”

His mother hesitated a moment before responding. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Damian read through the message once, twice. He’d been awoken from bed this morning by pounding on his door and when he didn’t respond, and the pounding persisted, he was forced to get up from bed and open it. He was met by a haggard looking messenger who claimed he had a letter from Terrasen, brought to one of Adarlan’s edge cities by a witch. He said he was ordered to bring it directly to Damian and that it was of utmost importance. 

Whatever Damian thought was in that letter, it was not what he was currently reading right now.

The Valg had returned. It was in Aedion’s penmanship that he read details of the initial attack and smaller ones that had happened since, some concerningly close to Adarlan’s borders.

They thought Evalin was taken by Valg, dragged through a portal to whatever dark realm they came from.

It made sense, Damian supposed. Made sense, and was far more horrible than any option they had considered previously. 

His mother and father had also written, claiming they were going to the witch kingdom to begin fortifying their borders and that Damian must do the same. 

He needed to raise an army, needed to begin sending messages to allied kingdoms. He needed to get his council under control and hopefully prevent Rhoe and Sam from taking vengeance on the Valg themselves.

They would do that, for their sister they would risk it. 

A knock sounded on the door and before Damian could respond, Torin was already walking inside.

“What is it? What happened?” He demanded.

Damian wordlessly handed him the letter and watched as Torin’s face paled as he read it. Once , twice, three times.

“I would pray to the gods to save us,” Torin muttered, sinking into the chair next to Damian, “but I doubt that would help.”

“Sam and Rhoe won’t take this well.”

Torin let out a humorless laugh. “They’ll try to hunt down the Valg army and save Evalin themselves.”

Damian rubbed his face, trying to massage away the headache building in his temple. “We’ll deal with that later. I need your help to begin drafting orders to our generals. I want all the borders fortified as soon as possible. And we need to make sure that proper supplies are distributed and healers are sent out. If the Valg have truly returned then we won’t be caught unprepared. But tell them to do it quietly. Nothing official has been declared and there are no armies knocking on our doors yet. If anything we don't want them to be alerted that we’re preparing for war. Outside of this room, and our most trusted generals, no one can know.” 

“You think there might be spies?”

“The Valg can turn anyone to their side. My father told me stories about his time under their influence. The collars and the rings. Sometimes the only way to get them off was to cut the entire finger…” Damian trailed off. 

Torin frowned, “What is it?”

His mind flashed to images of the dead lady in waiting they’d suspected of being involved in Evalin’s disappearance. Her finger had been cut off. Her ring finger. 

“The girl, Jessabelle,” Damian muttered. 

Torin’s eyes widened. “You think she was under the influence of the Valg?”

“Her ring finger was cut off. It’s odd, isn’t it? To kill someone and cut off only one finger?”

Torin swore. “If that’s true, then that means the Valg have been able to infiltrate Terrasen’s court.”

“Evalin was spirited away from her own bedroom. The next day her lady in waiting flees and we find her murdered, with her finger severed. We’d be foolish to assume they haven’t infiltrated Terrasen’s court and ours too.” 

Torin swore once more. “Then it’s war? It’s decided?” 

“It’s been decided. Write to the generals, tell them what their King commands. Make sure they know to report any signs of suspicious activity to me, even if it seems insignificant. We can take no risks.” 

Torin nodded slowly. “How are you planning on telling Sam and Rhoe?”

Damian rubbed his forehead. “I’ll figure that out when the time comes. There are more pressing matters at the moment.”

Torin bowed his head, placing a fist to his chest. A sign of loyalty from a soldier to their commander, from a subject to their sovereign. Damian tried not to wince.

He needed to be a symbol of strength, a guiding force for his people. He could not show weakness or doubt. 

As Torin left, Damian sat down at his desk and pulled a stack of papers towards him. He had his own letter to write.

 

Mother–

 

I have a suspicion about what exactly happened the night Evalin disappeared…

 

—

 

Damian should have known that he wouldn’t be able to keep the information away from Sam and Rhoe for very long. He should have guessed their parents sent along a message for them, and he should have been better prepared for what to do when they figured it out.

“Our sister has been kidnapped by the Valg!” Sam roared, slamming his fist down on the oak table. “And you expect us to stand here and do nothing?”

“I expect nothing, it is your mother, your queen , who is ordering you to stand down,” Damian said for what felt like the millionth time. “Don’t be foolish Sam. No one knows for certain what happened and even then, what are you going to do? Rip open the gates between worlds? Hunt down the Valg?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond then shut it. 

Rhoe, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “Evalin is strong, she will endure until we can find her.”

Sam let out a humorless laugh. “These are not petty bandits or even a hostile kingdom. These are monsters.They have no humanity! The cruelty they have wreaked upon Erilea, upon our family, for decades is enough proof of that. If they have Evalin in their clutches, gods know what—”

“That’s enough, Sam,” Rhoe snapped, jumping to his feet. “That’s enough.”

Sam clenched his jaw but obeyed his younger brother. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. 

“Have the armies been called to gather?” Sam asked, too quietly.

“I just sent the messages out,” Torin confirmed.

“We should return home,” Rhoe muttered. “Back to Terrasen, to our people.”

“Your mother wishes for you to stay in Adarlan,” Torin pointed out.

“Our countryside is being attacked by Valg. We cannot stay here and let that happen.”

“The Valg will not concentrate their attacks in one place, especially if their plan is invasion. They’ll poke around, look for a weak link,” Damian said. “Terrasen will not be their only target.”

“It does not matter if Terrasen will be their only target, it is their main target as of now,” Sam protested. “They have taken Evalin. What if their next target is Lyria or Ellie? Josefine is there too, Torin, perhaps the Valg will be seeking revenge against your mother for what she did to Erawan and take your sister as well.”

Torin stood up fast, taking a step toward Sam, eyes blazing. Damian gripped his shoulder, pulling him slightly. “Peace, both of you. This is no time to be ripped apart by infighting. Terrasen has Aelin Galathynius to protect it, that is more than enough.”

Rhoe ran a hand through his silver hair. “You’re right about that. I pity the Valg who would try to go head to head with mother.” 

“Mother is formidable, yes, but she is near powerless,” Sam said. “Is a Queen who can barely summon a flame enough to discourage an army of Valg?”

No one answered that. 

 

Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Nova wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or not as she sat across from the deathless river god. She’d only seen him once since the strange male had taken her from the library and brought her here, and during their initial meeting, Koschei informed Nova that he intended to gift her to one of “his mortal queens”. Before she could question it, a vicious-looking human had grabbed her and dragged her away to some deep, dark chamber far beneath the lake. 

She didn’t know how long she had been in the custody of the evil queen, only that she hated it. The female was cruel, taking delight in alternating between using Nova as a personal servant and torturing her.  One moment, Nova would be brushing the Queen’s hair, the next the Queen would be taking a sharp pin to Nova’s wings, carving into the delicate nerves. As Nova helped dress the female, struggling with the intricate pins and laces of her gowns, the Queen would rant about her plans of revenge, going between her hatred for Nova’s mother and what she planned to do to Nova to punish her. 

‘Koschei has promised me your heart when this is all over. He’s sworn to me that I can have it, that I will be able to carve it out myself. 

And when Nova refused to bow to the Queen’s whims, when she spoke back, unable to hold her sharp tongue, the Queen took one of her pins to Nova’s face instead of her wings. 

It was less painful when she did that, but the words the Queen spoke when she did this hurt more. They were cruel and awful, and Nova barely understood what half of them meant. Worthless. Whore. Slut. Bitch. 

‘Such a fair face you have,’ the Queen would murmur as she cut and cut and cut. The cuts didn’t leave scars like they did on her wings. 

That’s why, when Nova was woken up not by the Queen but by one of Koschei’s guards, she was grateful. Nobody could be worse than the Queen, she thought, not even a death god. 

But now, as she sat across from him, she was no longer sure if this fate was better. 

“Are you hungry, child?” He asked, his voice ancient and steady. It was almost grandfatherly, the way he spoke. But Nova would not be fooled; she could sense his magic, feel the danger she was in just by being in the same room as him. 

Nova refused to reply, lifting her chin in defiance.

Koschei laughed. “My little mortal queen has informed me of your strong will. Impressive, however, silence will not help you.”

She tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. She knew he could tell she was afraid, but she would not act like it. “Why did you take me?”

The question was intended to come out harsh and angry, but even Nova could tell there was a childishness to her voice, a vulnerability to her tone. 

Koschei laughed. “That’s a very long story, child, are you sure you wish to hear it?”

Nova met his eyes, unwilling to look away. She must be strong. She was strong.

“Yes.”

“Well then, if you’d like to hear what happened, you must do something for me afterwards. A small favor, you’ll just have to sit there.”

“I will not bargain with you.” Nova attempted to sound tough, but once more she sounded like the child she was. A child making threats she could not uphold. 

“Of course not,” Koschei smiled, “I would never ask that of you. You simply have to give me your word, and I will tell you what you want to know.”

Nova hesitated. She knew little of Koschei, but she knew he was a trickster. She’d seen his maidens whom he'd fooled and trapped; was he trying to bind her to the lake too? 

Her moment of hesitation cost her. Koschei’s pacific tone was quickly replaced with anger. “I will not be denied, girl, be warned. I will get what I want from you one way or another. This offer is a gift; do not test my generosity.”

Nova felt his magic, smelled the air as it filled with the metallic smell of power. Her limbs began to lock up, forcing her to stay frozen. She could barely breathe as the magic reached her throat. 

“I give you my word,” she agreed quickly.

Immediately, he calmed down, the paternal smile returning to his face. “Very good, child.” 

He released her.

“Now listen closely. It is a very long story.”

—

As many good stories begin, ours starts with a young princess. She was the daughter of a kind King and beautiful Queen, and the eldest of three sisters. 

As the three sisters grew, their roles became clear. 

The third sister was to be a Queen, the second sister was to be a bride, and she, the first sister, was to be forgotten. 

It was not always like this, though. In the early days of her childhood, the princess lived an enviable life. Dazzling courtiers, dancing at balls, eating at feasts, and attending the royal hunts. She dressed in silks and velvets and the finest of lace; she was adorned in golden net and precious jewels, and she was adored. 

However, when she was little more than a girl, her father, the beloved King, was murdered by ancient river monsters in his very own lake. They told her it was old, but the eldest princess was cunning and recognized her own mother’s ambitions. And when her mother took the crown for herself, she was not surprised as much as she was weary. Her younger sisters, naive and innocent, still believed their mother knew what was best and accepted her rule, but the eldest sister refused.

To her mother’s face, she swore fealty, but in secrecy, she was planning something else. 

So, one day, gathering her courage, she escaped her mother’s court and went in search of a cottage, where they whispered a powerful witch lived. The princess hoped the witch could help her.

Upon finding the cottage and the witch that lived within, the princess begged for assistance. And the witch, moved by her humility and bravery, agreed. 

The princess trained with the Witch to use her powers and remain hidden from her mother, who’d sent soldiers out to find her. 

One day, she sat down with the Witch, whom she now considered more of a mother than her true one, and admitted what terrible deeds the Queen had committed against her husband. The Witch assuaged her guilt, saying there was nothing that she could have done to prevent her father’s fate, but warned her to stay away from the lakes, for they were as dangerous to her as they were to her father.

The princess swore she would. 

Soon after, the princess, still worried over the fate of her mother and sisters, summoned a vision. She prayed to the Mother and demanded to see the future of her family. The Mother refused, however, concealing the truth behind swirling mists. 

Out of frustration, the princess searched for other ways to get what she wanted, even asking the Witch. The Witch, as all witches were, was an expert on finding alternative routes to magic. On summoning more power than was allotted to them by the gods.. If anyone could do it, it would be her.

“It is not a matter of can or cannot, princess,” the Witch told her, “but a matter of what you should do. Angering the mother, defying fates, it never ends well. Not even for a witch.”

The princess refused to accept this answer. She did not believe the gods should limit her. Not when her throne and family were at risk. 

So that night, when the Witch was asleep, she snuck the Witch's personal collection of spellbooks into her bed and began to read. What she discovered was that by using a body of water, such as a lake, she could help clear the mists of obscurity that withheld the visions from her. 

The princess was wary at first, knowing that the Witch had warned her to stay away from the lakes, but she believed she would be strong enough to defeat any beast that attempted to drown her. 

The princess told the Witch that she would be going out to collect herbs to brew a special remedy. The Witch, believing this lie, said nothing to stop her. Just a simple reminder not to go near any lakes.

After three days of trekking through her once kingdom, the princess stumbled upon a lake with clear waters, just as the book had instructed. And pushing the witch's warning aside, she began her spell. This time, the Mother was powerless to stop her, and the princess got what she wanted and began to see what was withheld from her.  

She saw war and destruction, violence and chaos. She saw her mother’s death and one sister’s imprisonment at the hands of a cruel prince. She saw her other sister’s near escape and the lifetime of penance that awaited her for her crimes. 

She knew if she returned to court, tried to prevent this fate, her mother would have her killed. 

For days afterwards, the princess wept tears of sadness, wept and wept into the lake about what was to become of those she once loved. 

The Witch, worried about her ward, set out as well. She was a very wise witch and had an idea about where the princess had gone. She was correct and soon found the weeping princess.

The princess, upon seeing her mother-figure, fell to her knees in apology and admitted what she had done, how she had disobeyed the Witch’s warning.

The Witch, understanding of youth’s folly, was not angry and simply told the princess not to go near the lakes again. The princess agreed and swore not to return.

However, in the following weeks, the princess was consumed by guilt and unable to bear the weight of what she discovered, she decided to go back to the lake and pray to the mother to forgive her and give her sight on what to do. 

She told the witch she was going hunting for dinner, and the Witch, believing this lie, said nothing to stop her. Just another reminder not to return to the lake. 

The Princess trekked three days and three nights to the lake, and upon reaching it, fell to her knees in prayer, begging for clarity. But the Mother was not the one who answered.

“What are you doing, princess?” A Lord asked from his perch in a tree branch.

The princess turned, surprised to find herself with company. She was angry when she saw the male smiling down at her.

“None of your concern. Now leave me be,” she ordered.

“You are upset,” he observed.

The princess did not reply.

He jumped down from the branch and sat down beside the princess, peering into the lake’s edge with her.

“Will you tell me what happened?” the Lord asked.

The princess refused at first, but the male began to coax her with gentle words and kind reassurances. Eventually, exhausted by her sadness and guilt, and entranced by the Lord’s seemingly good nature and handsome face, she admitted everything.

For hours, she spoke and he listened patiently. By the end of it, she expected scorn, hatred even, but instead she was met by sympathy.

“It is not your fault,” he told her, “you could do nothing to stop it.”

“Can’t I? It is the future. There might be time.”

“There is no time. What you have seen has already begun. I know because I was there myself.”

The princess was shocked. “Already?”

The Lord shook his head no. “It is too late.”

The princess began to weep once more into the lake.

“You cannot help your sisters, but I can help you,” the Lord offered.

The princess, curious, asked what he meant.

“After what your sisters have done, they will come to you, princess. They will demand your head for running away, for not helping stop it. They will not understand that you could do nothing to prevent it. They will not listen to you when you try to explain.”

The princess's heart was filled with fear as she realized he must be right. 

“It is not fair!” she wailed, “I do not wish to be one of them, I do not wish to be remembered as one of them! I did nothing wrong!”

“Of course not,” the Lord soothed. “Which is where my offer plays its part. If you accept, no one will remember that there was a third princess. Not even your sisters. No one will remember you ran, or blame you for what has happened in your mother’s name. You will be free of guilt, of responsibility, free from the memories of it all.”

The princess thought about this for a moment. It sounded almost too good to be true. After all, she was nothing like her mother or sisters. She was smarter, better, kinder. She should not be lumped in with them or bear responsibility for what they did. She deserved to be free from it all.. 

But the princess thought it would be foolish to trust a stranger. Foolish even more to listen to the honey he spilled in her ears.

So she told him she would consider it.

The Lord frowned but nodded his assent. “I will be here tomorrow if you wish to complete our bargain.”

That night, when the princess was considering the male’s offer, she heard movement behind her and turned to find a female standing there.

The princess at first did not recognize the female until she realized that she could only be one person. The princess fell to her knees at the feet of the Mother.

The Mother, for all her kindness and good graces, instructed the princess to rise.

The princess obeyed.

“I am here, child, because I understand you wish to make a bargain with the Lord of the Lake.”

The princess nodded, unsure of what else to say.

“I will give you what you desire, child, if you swear to me to stay away from the lakes.”

The princess was stunned. “You will do that for me?”

“You are a daughter of this land and therefore a daughter of mine, even if you have been led astray. This is my final gift to you.”

“But what of my sisters? Can you not help them? Can you not stop all this?”

The Mother looked at her sadly. “There is no undoing what has been done, child, there is nothing I could do and nothing I can do anymore. But I will make you a promise. Your sisters have been foolish, and their lines will come to naught, but you, my dear child, one day your line will bear forth an heir that will bring back balance to this kingdom.”

“Why can I not do that now?” The Princess demanded.

“Because nothing can be done now. We must wait. Accept this, and one day there will be justice.”

So, the princess agreed. All was forgotten; she was forgotten. And she never went back to the lake.

Centuries later, the princess was long dead, but her descendants lived on. 

The most notable being a warrior, once the only hope to a lonely god, her blood keyed to the very prison she put him in. 

The god had requested she use her inherited gifts to bring him home. She refused.

None of her descendants did anything that remarkable; however, they soon became interbred with mortals. Mortals who forgot everything to do with their exceptional heritage. Only vague mentions of a witch here or there. 

 

—

Nova awoke beaded in sweat, heart beating fast. Her magic was pouring out of her in beams of silver-white light. She could not stop it, just as she could not stop the dreams or the headaches. She needed to breathe; she needed to calm down. The ground underneath her trembled as she quelled her magic, packing it tightly within herself. 

—

Nyx sat in his father’s office, mind still reeling from the meal he shared with the Princess. Gods, what was wrong with him? That night, he’d dreamt of her. Evalin’s long golden hair and brilliant emerald eyes, the lilt of her smile, and the exact shape of the dimple on her right cheek. He swore his room smelled of rose and honey when he awoke. 

“Maybe instead of just sending her back, we should try to build relations with her world,” Nyx’s mother suggested.

His father tilted his head in contemplation. 

“I’m not opposed to that,” Morrigan chimed, “diplomatic relations never hurt anyone. I’m sure Lucien agrees.”

Nyx glanced at his uncle, who’d winnowed in that morning from the Day Court. 

He shrugged, the morning sun glinting off the gold of his armband. “I wouldn’t say I agree, but there is a point to be made. We have no way of ensuring portals or gateways between worlds remain closed and sealed. Friends are more beneficial than enemies.”

“Remember what happened the last time Prythian was exposed to other worlds?” Amren spat, clearly frustrated. “That Quinlan girl almost released a Daglan onto our court. And before that, we were ruled by them, enslaved by them . They, too, were worldwalkers.”

“Almost is a key word, Amren,” Aunt Nesta replied cooly from her perch near the window.  “And anyway, we know that Ataraxia, Gwydion, and truth-teller are effective against them. As well as any other made weapons that have been infused with my magic.”

Amren rolled her eyes. “Do you plan on supplying entire armies with your weapons?”

“Be civil, will you?” Morrigan moaned, “It’s far too early for this.”

Nyx couldn’t help but agree. They’d gathered around his father’s intricate model of the various universes, which he kept across from his desk, right after breakfast at the River House. And the arguing and back-and- forth had been endless since.

No one wanted to risk a repeat of fifteen thousand years ago, and Amren seemed convinced that opening another portal would be inviting that exact sort of trouble back into Prythian. 

He doubted that opening a portal into Evalin’s world would lead to Daglan armies swarming through the gates of Velaris, but he supposed one could never be sure.

“You’re acting as if we are free from the Daglan influence right now,” Aunt Nesta argued.

Nyx paused. He glanced around him to see if anyone was as confused as he was by that comment, but no one was fazed by it in the least. 

Before he could ask what she meant, the doors to the office burst open and Alora came running in, Catrin on her heels, and Helia behind her. 

“What did I say about coming into my office unannounced, Alora?” Their father demanded calmly, raising a dark eyebrow at his youngest child.

Alora looked the epitome of innocence as she replied, “I don’t remember.”

Their father’s strict facade melted in an instant, and he laughed. “You are a troublemaker.”

“Like your father,” their mother added.

Alora beamed. 

“I thought you girls were going down to Velaris,” Lucien said, as he gently smoothed down Helia’s auburn curls. 

“We were,” Catrin pouted, “but we wanted Nova to take us and she said she was busy! It’s not fair, she’s always busy. Auntie Nesta, tell her to take us.” 

“Please, Auntie Nesta,” Alora begged, turning to face her aunt. 

Aunt Nesta sighed. “Unfortunately, if Nova says she is busy, she probably is. If she were free, I’m sure she’d take you without a second thought.”

Alora huffed. “Alright, I suppose Nyx could take us then.”

Nyx frowned. “Why am I the second choice? I’m your brother.” 

She gave him a look that suggested the answer was obvious, but he was simply too stupid to see it. “You’re not as fun.”

Nova could be described as many things, but Nyx doubted fun would be a choice adjective to do so. Especially considering Nova’s idea of fun most notably consisted of bloodshed.

“Nova is teaching us how to throw daggers,” Catrin confirmed, “and she helped us curse our history tutor.”

“She did what?” Uncle Lucien looked slightly horrified.

“Curse is a strong word.” Nyx glanced up to find his cousin standing in the doorway, her lips slightly uptilted. 

“I thought you got over that habit years ago,” Aunt Nesta sighed. 

Nova shrugged gracefully, the grey silk of her dress flowing behind her as she entered the office. “The girls made it sound as though he was torturing them, so I offered my assistance.”

“He does,” Alora pouted. “All he does is talk and talk and talk about the most uninteresting things.”  

“That’s his job,” Nyx’s father pointed out. “And I’d rather not have to find you girls a new teacher. You’ve already had three.”

Alora, Helia, and Catrin had a special habit of scaring away their tutors in a surprisingly short amount of time. And their version of events never matched up with what the haggard scholars and priestesses said when they quit. 

“It’s of no matter now,” His mother quipped. “Nyx will take you to the city since Nova’s busy. Try to refrain from cursing anyone while you're there.”

“Yes, mother,” Alora chimed. 

“You know, I never actually agreed to take you,” Nyx said playfully.

Alora began to pout once more. Nyx sighed dramatically. He struggled to deny his sister anything when she looked at him like that. “I suppose I could make time.”

His mother gave him a knowing look before turning back to the girls and ushering them out of the room, murmuring something about not causing any trouble when down in the city like last time.  

Aunt Mor followed them out, claiming she had to return to Vallahan soon to continue some trade negotiations. And Uncle Lucien had to return to the Day court for a meeting, so he would come back later to pick up Helia. 

“I’m going back to Moonstone,” Nova announced. 

“Going back so soon?” Amren inquired. 

“I only came to drop some things off for Uncle Rhys,” she said, a stack of papers appearing in her hand. “Keir has a message for you.”

“Wonderful, I can not wait to read that. Thank you, Nova,” his father said, accepting the papers. 

“Good luck in Velaris, Nyx.” And with that, Nova winnowed away.

 

—

Nyx knew his cousin’s final words to him were more of a warning than anything. Being in charge of three mischievous and headstrong young girls was no easy task. 

Especially when they would not stop asking after Evalin. 

“She’s very pretty, isn’t she, Nyx?” Helia began as they walked through the Rainbow.

Nyx opened his mouth to answer, paused, and then replied carefully, “She is not unattractive.”

“Do you spend a lot of time with her when you go to Moonstone?” Catrin continued.

“No. I wouldn’t say that.”

“Really? Asher said you did.”

Nyx swore under his breath. Why could Asher never keep his mouth shut? 

“I have to spend time with her to ensure that nothing happens.”

“To ensure that nothing happens to her or she doesn’t do anything to us?” Alora inquired.

“Both.”

“But—”

Nyx glanced around, hoping to find a suitable distraction. Spotting a street performer, he gestured over, grabbing the girls’ attention. Before he could even say anything, they were already squealing and rushing over. 

Why did he agree to this again?

—

Evalin awoke invigorated by the idea of returning home. Once she was back in Terrasen, everything would be perfect. She would even marry Damian if they asked her to. 

She didn’t wait for either of the handmaidens to come and help her dress, instead slipping into a green and gold silk set by herself. 

When the handmaidens did come in, they simply smiled and began braiding Evalin’s hair. She wondered if they knew what Nova was up to, or if they answered to someone besides the Lady. Perhaps to Nova’s mother or aunt. 

Once they were done, they curtsied and stepped back, giving Evalin no further instructions before they disappeared into the shadows.

Evalin found Nova in the same dining room they’d met in, head buried in some ancient-looking book. And, to Evalin’s surprise, a cat was curled in her lap, sleeping peacefully. 

The female glanced up as Evalin entered. The cat perked up as well, its white tail swishing as it inspected Evalin from head to toe. 

Before Evalin could ask, the cat leapt from Nova’s lap and onto the floor, leaving the room with its head raised. 

“Cute cat.”

Nova didn’t reply to that, flipping to the next page in her book. “Don’t mind him, he’s in a bad mood.”

“Noted.” Evalin sat down in the seat across from her.

Silence stretched between them. And Nova, still enamoured by what she was reading, seemed uninterested in breaking it.

“Well?” Evalin asked, “You wanted to know more about your magic, wanted to know how ours are connected. Are you just going to sit there?”

Nova finally looked up, her face passive. “And you want to go home.”

Evalin snorted, “Is that book a step-by-step guide on how to open portals to another world?”

“It might be if we use it correctly.”

“I know how to open a portal,” Evalin argued, “As you pointed out, your wards stopped me, somehow, from doing so. Wyrdmarks are the easiest way to access a portal.”

Nova shut the book and placed it on the table. “If you say so.”

Evalin was already too agitated and anxious to return home to argue with Nova over how she was going to do it. 

“Now, tell me about the moonfire you mentioned the other day.”

Straight to the point, then.

“Moonfire is a type of fire. It’s silver, it’s cold, and it’s used by the old goddess Deanna. I’ve never heard of a fae harnessing it before without being possessed by the goddess.”

Nova tilted her head to the side in consideration. “Possess ed?”

“It happened to my mother. When Deanna presided over our world, she invaded my mother and used her to further her own goals. For the time she was possessed, she was able to access the Goddess’s moonfire, but Deanna took over her body. Made her a prisoner in her mind.”

“Does Deanna not live in your world anymore?”

“My mother banished the gods to a distant realm.”

Nova blinked. Then she nodded slowly. “Out of revenge for what Deanna did?”

Evalin shrugged. “Not exactly, but I’m sure that didn’t help. The Gods were cruel and had one goal: to return home. My mother made sure they never would. After she sent them to that distant realm, she closed the gates between worlds.”

Nova raised her eyebrows at that. “Yet here you are. And you seem sure you can open another portal without interference?”

That was the question that had been plaguing Evalin’s mind as well. Her mother had closed off all worlds. Yet, for some reason, here she was. 

Evalin shrugged. “Something happened. Something shifted. I’m not sure what, but it seems the portals are opening once again, or at least can be opened once again.”

“Is something about your magic special? Or your mother’s magic that allowed her to do such a thing?”

She hesitated for a moment. How much should she reveal about her line? About her family? 

“If you don’t tell me the truth, our bargain is null and void, and you're stuck here until my family’s attempts become successful. Or whenever they stop fighting about what to do with you.” 

“They’ve sworn to send me home,” Evalin protested. Nyx had sworn to send her home. 

“They’ve also sworn to protect this world, and if you pose a threat to it, by tearing portals through the fabric of our universe or whatever else, they will lock you up and throw away the key.

Our world comes first. Our family comes first,” Nova informed her, plainly. 

Evalin felt her anger rise in her body, heat and fire with it. “Then I’m sure you haven’t informed them of this! Aren’t you threatening the stability of your world by allowing me to open a portal? Have you not sworn to protect it?”

“I have. And I am.” Cold words that left no room for argument. “How? If I may ask.” Sarcasm leaked into the sentence, painfully obvious.

“You may not,” Nova replied calmly, firmly. She didn’t seem angry and hadn’t had this entire conversation. Evalin wondered what it would take to see some flicker of rage. 

“Fine then. If you must know for whatever nefarious purposes you're cooking up in your head. My line, my mother’s line, is descended from Mala, another Goddess my mother banished and Deanna’s sister. She had made herself a mortal body to take a fae lover, the first king of Terrasen, Brannon. Her children inherited her gifts, including her flame. Which have been passed down. However, before you ask, my mother gave up most of her magic, and I inherited what little was left.”

Evalin saw something flash in the female’s eyes. Something like understanding, before it disappeared. 

“Perhaps you and I have more in common the after all,” Nova said finally.

Evalin gave her a curious look.

Nova shook her head. “Next time, if you want answers, add that in the wording of your bargain.”

“You know, you’re a very difficult person.”

The look Evalin received suggested Nova could not care less about her opinion of her. Evalin could certainly respect that. 

“Do you know what realm your mother sent those gods to?”

“I don’t even think my mother knows. Just that it was some dark, miserable place.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the moonfire? About Deanna?”

“Let me see your flames again,” Evalin demanded.

To her surprise, Nova obeyed, holding out her hands. Silver-white flames sparked.

Evalin held out her palm, allowing Mala’s flames to ignite. And she felt it, what Nova must have been feeling this entire time. A pull, a tug. Something so similar, yet different about their gifts. 

One cold. One hot. One golden. The other silver. One like the sun, the other like the light of the moon and its stars. 

Evalin glanced at Nova’s face, slightly horrified to see the silver creeping into the female’s eyes. Exactly as her mother described when she was possessed. But Nova seemed to be in almost full control. No vengeful goddess was coming out and attacking Evalin. But something was so…unnatural about it. Like death itself had entered the room to sit with them.  

At that very moment, Evalin wished there were gods for her to pray to. 

Nova closed her palm, extinguishing the flame. “Let us eat and then you may go home.”

Evalin was slightly surprised by this declaration, but she did not argue. If Nova had gotten what she wanted, who was she to object?

They ate in near silence, neither caring to speak as the sun sank below the mountains and cast the room in shades of orange and pink. Nova seemed contemplative, choosing to stare out the grand windows instead of at Evalin. 

Evalin wondered, not for the first time, if the female was betraying her family to do this. Or at least their trust. Whatever answers she sought seemed to take precedence over the potential fallout over what she was doing.

Evalin didn’t doubt it was a calculated risk; Nova did not seem reckless or particularly attached to emotions, but it was a risk nonetheless.

She couldn’t help but be thankful the female was taking it, even if she was sure it had nothing to do with goodwill between the two of them.

After they finished their meal, and Evalin savored her last bite of the most delicious food she had ever had, they sat down on one of the plush carpets facing a large open balcony. 

A quill and ink appeared in front of her.

Nova looked at her expectantly, and Evalin, giddy with anticipation once again, began to draw. She’d learned these marks out of curiosity as to what had created the Wyrd gates her mother destroyed, never to use them. But she was glad she learned them. 

For the final symbol, she drew a mark of Terrasen, her home, and she began to summon a portal.

It was only as the marks began to glow that she felt a tug on her heart. Regret over leaving so soon. This world was vicious, and the people were not particularly pleasant, and she’d seen very little of it, yet she’d managed to grow attached. She thought of Nyx, for some reason, and his promise to her. How gallant it had been, like a knight in a storybook. He had such beautiful eyes. 

The marks continued to glow. Then they stopped. They flickered. And they died out.

Evalin paused, processing what had just happened, before she whirled around to where Nova was sitting.

“You swore not to interfere!”

Nova looked curiously at the marks. “I didn’t interfere.”

Evalin wasn’t inclined to believe the female at the moment, but, deciding it was not best to blow up at the one person offering her a chance, she took a deep breath. “Then. What. Is. Wrong.”

Nova gave her an irritated look. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one with the portal-opening magic? I am helpless in such endeavours, as you pointed out earlier.”

“Are you seriously being petty?”

Nova tossed her hair. “I’ve never resorted to pettiness in my life.”

Evalin groaned, rolling her eyes. 

A sense of panic was starting to set in her chest. Was she going to be stuck here? Was Nova right when she said her family was considering locking Evalin away instead of helping her, or was she just bluffing?

Evalin clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her palms. Why. Wasn’t. It. Working. It was supposed to work. 

“What if you need a weak point, not just to be untouched by my wards?” Nova asked.

Evalin glanced at her. Glared. “What do you mean?”

“A weak spot in your world to open a portal? You say you only inherited a small amount of your mother’s gifts. Perhaps it's not enough to force a portal open wherever you wish.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” 

“I have. They say that there are weak points in the mist, places that portals are prone to pop up or that are easy to make one open. Rifts between worlds, pathways, even, that old worldwalkers used to traverse realms.”

Evalin froze at that. Considered it. Before her mother destroyed the wyrd gates, before the wyrdgates were even invented, some legends suggested portals appeared at random, unhindered by the runes that later bound them. Perhaps they appeared at these “weak points”, as Nova called them. 

“I appeared at random here,” Evalin pointed out.

“You appeared in the Illyrian steppes. Old and powerful magic is said to still live there.”

“So, what do you suggest? I figure out a weak point in my world, a place where I can open a rift—”

Oh. OH. Evalin erased the mark of Terrasen she had drawn on the floor and began to think of what mark to use to symbolize the Mountains outside Rifthold. The ancient city of Adarlan. 

If she was right…

Nova watched her with barely guarded curiosity, eyes roving over the marks. 

“Where are you—”

But Evalin was already pouring her magic into the wyrdmarks, the last of her fire, begging silently for it to work. 

First, it was sparks, appearing in the center of the room. Out of thin air. Nova leaned forward.

Then the portal began to form, and in a second, instead of a view of the Night court’s mountains, they were greeted with a view of the forests that surrounded Rifthold. Evalin nearly wept from relief.

Finally, she was going home.

“Evalin,” Nova said, quietly yet urgently. 

Evalin turned to her companion, ready to embrace her for this, when she noticed the tense look on Nova’s face, and noticed how Nova’s eyes were pinned behind Evalin’s.

She turned to find herself face to face with that same awful creature that had attacked her when she first came here.

It lunged. But not at Evalin, at Nova behind her.

In less than a second, Nova had leapt to her feet with that familiar fae grace, a dagger appearing in her hand. It didn’t escape Evalin’s notice that her dagger glowed a bright silver-white. 

She too leapt to her feet, wishing she had access to weaponry, and that the damned creature was not standing in front of the portal she needed to get home. 

Nova summoned her flames and wrapped them around the creature. It wailed as she flung it against the wall and raised her dagger, about to strike it in the neck.

“Now, now, don’t do that.”

Evalin’s eyes widened. Her first instinct was to look towards the portal, to make sure no one would get in, but the male who spoke wasn’t standing anywhere near the portal, but on the opposite side of the room, near the door.

The male had wings, but not the demon-like ones that those in this court sported. His wings were feathered, and his eyes were impossibly dark. Evalin felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

She’d never come face to face with a valg before, she couldn’t even be sure that this was one, but something about him…She wished she hadn’t just wasted the last of her fire. The Valg hated flame. 

Nova was staring at him, too. And something like recognition flashed across her face. It was only a second, but a second that cost her. The creature bit into her shoulder, its dark venom dripping down her arm.

Nova groaned, shoving it off her before it could continue ripping her to shreds. The creature itself was injured by her magic, and when it hit the floor, it struggled to get back up.

Evalin moved towards Nova, standing slightly in front of her. She may have had no weapon or magic, but she was not a coward. 

The male walked closer and closer, slowly, as if taunting them. As if he knew they could do nothing to stop him. The creature’s venom, as Evalin remembered, was nearly debilitating. Its venom is capable of blocking magic from being used. At least it had been on her.

If Nova’s pale face and lack of movement were any indication, it had similar effects. 

Evalin glanced at the wound, which was already looking sickly. That could kill a Fae in seconds, magic or not. She was surprised Nova was still standing. She needed a healer. 

The dark-eyed male inspected the portal, then inspected them. He smiled. It made Evalin’s stomach drop.

They needed to get out of here now. 

The portal was still open as well, and Evalin prayed that the long-gone gods would close it on their own. That thing could not enter Erilea. She would never forgive herself if it did. Her people would not be subject to the Valg for another time. 

Nova, it seemed, had the same thought, but in the opposite way. She began slowly moving towards the portal, eyes remaining on the male.

“Are you from Dawn?” She asked as she came on Evalin’s other side.

Evalin felt something cool pressed into her palm. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt. Another dagger, one that did not glow. 

Nova raised her magic weapon. The Valg took a step back, clearly unwilling to get close to it.

“No,” it hissed. “I am not from this world.”

Nova continued moving towards the portal.

“How long have you been in this world?” Evalin demanded.

The thing laughed. It sounded wrong, grating. “Longer than you can imagine.”

Evalin glanced once more at Nova’s wound. She barely bit back a curse.

Then, she lunged at the Valg. She was fast, but it was faster, knocking her down. She kicked at it, in a spot she knew would hurt, and when it groaned, she dug her dagger into the soft spot of its stomach. 

She’d trained countless hours with her mother and father, each going over every possible scenario of what she might have to deal with. They’d even warned her what to do if she ever saw a Valg. Look for what was binding it to the body of the creature it possessed. 

Evalin looked for a ring as it had no collar. Not a prince then. 

But it had no ring either. At least not one she could detect. Fuck. 

Perhaps it was not a Valg, or it was, and something else was binding it to its body. 

It didn’t help her case that the body of whatever creature was attacking her was that of a warrior, well-trained and strong. 

Evalin knew there was only one way to stop this thing before it killed both of them. Or worse.

Suddenly, she was slammed against one of the low wooden tables, which broke underneath the force of her body.

She bit back a groan, rolling over just in time to avoid a sword to her face. 

As she struggled with the warrior, she began to dig deep inside her soul. Just a spark of a flame, just a tiny spark was all she needed.

She felt it tingle at her fingertips. Quickly, she reached for one of the broken-off table legs. In seconds, she had a flaming torch in her hands.

The Valg, as she suspected, jumped backwards, hissing in pain and disgust. Evalin waved it at him, and before he could do anything, she stuck it right where she had to stick her dagger.

The sound he let out was a horrid screeching noise, but Evalin refused to let in until it stopped making a sound.

When she pulled back, she immediately looked around for Nova, unwilling to let the female die, but Nova wasn’t there, and neither was the creature. And neither was the portal. Nothing but a puddle of blood remained from where Nova was dragged into Rifthold. 

 

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Pain burned through Nova, pain like she had never felt before. It was near paralyzing. The Kristallos still had its jaws locked onto her shoulder as it dragged her through the dirt. 

She couldn’t even struggle, knowing very well that if she pulled her arm, it would come off. The beast, despite showing itself to be a mindless shredding killer previously, seemed determined to keep Nova alive long enough to take her wherever it was taking her.

Her other hand was still gripped around her dagger, which she kept close to her side. She needed a moment to strike. The beast was already injured, both limping and seemingly slower than it had been in the palace. 

Nova waited for when the Kristallos paused for just a second, its injured body struggling to pull her. She gritted her teeth and raised her dagger, infusing it with her magic. She struck right between its eyes, or at least where its eyes should be. 

She winced as it wailed. Tried not to pass out as her arm burned from debilitating pain. But she continued to bury her dagger into its head, twisting it as clear blood squirted in her face. She pushed until it was impaled to the hilt. 

It struggled, its strange, near-humanoid body collapsing underneath itself. With a final whine, it went still. 

Nova's mind blurred as the venom took quick effect. She couldn’t move her left arm. And she was losing far too much blood. 

She knew she wasn’t in Moonstone anymore. Where exactly Evalin decided to open a portal was also unknown to Nova. 

She needed to stand up. Biting her lip to avoid crying out, Nova rolled over onto her stomach.  

I am the rock against which the surf crashes and nothing can break me. 

She breathed and she breathed out. The pain was nothing, meant nothing; she refused to feel it. 

Using her right arm, she pushed herself up onto her knees, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit her as she did. 

Kristallos's venom was deadly in minutes. She learned that in her reading. 

There was no time to get help. She was trapped in a forest in a world she didn't know. No one was coming to save her. No one needed to come to save her.

She could not stand, so she began to crawl on one hand, her other arm hanging loose and useless, dragging against the dirt floor. Every step was a fight against allowing the pain to take her over.

As she crawled away from Kristallos' corpse, she began to dig. Its venom did not fully repress magic, but the pain and weakness that it caused made it difficult to access.

It was draining her life force, but Nova continued to attempt to access the last reservoirs of her power. Something, anything that could help her.

Silver began to spark under the palm of her hand. A cold spike traveled through her body, jolting Nova momentarily from her stupor. 

She could barely make out where she was going, her vision flashing in and out. Dirt, roots, a flash of moonlight, darkness. 

Nova pulled herself another inch forward just before her arm gave out underneath her. 

Her hearing shot out, a loud buzzing noise filling her ears.

She forced herself to roll over. More silver light sparked in her limp palm. 

I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.

Nova could not see, could not hear, but she refused to give in. She began to pull on the barely visible threads of magic buried deep inside her. 

She swore she felt a cool touch on her forehead; a comforting touch. 

Keep fighting. At this point, Nova wasn’t even sure the voice was her own.

Her magic wrapped around her, as if forming a protective cocoon. 

More and more, she forced her body to give her what it had left. 

—

“We found something!” One of the guardsmen shouted. Damian glanced in the direction the voice was coming from. He couldn’t see the soldier as the further they ventured into the woods, the thicker the trees got, and the less light was allowed in to illuminate the forest floor. It didn’t help that it was now nighttime. They had been at this for hours. 

His horse bristled as the King of Adarlan tugged him along. Even before they had entered the forest, the animal had been opposed to it, and now that it had gotten too hard to ride in and everyone had been forced to dismount, Florian seemed ready to bolt given his chance. 

Florian, Damian thought, as he gracefully avoided tangled roots and poison ivy, was a dumb horse with an ever dumber name. On principle, he disliked riding horses simply because wyverns were so much better, and his wyvern would never have balked in fear of a couple of trees. But it was a necessary skill for any young prince to know, and as far as horses went, Florian was bigger, stronger, and faster. It was Damian’s fault for allowing Marion to name him. And then allowing her to train him with that name before it was too late. 

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he didn’t need to turn around to know it was Sam. The eldest of the two princes of Terrasen had been determined to continue the search of the woods at the base of the mountains that surrounded Rifthold. 

Ever since Evalin’s disappearance and the realization of Valg reappearance in Erilea, the atmosphere had been both tense and desperate. So when reports of disturbances in the woods outside the city reached the palace at near midnight, they’d ridden out without hesitation. 

Sam, leading his own appropriately named horse, fell into step beside Damian. Together, along with Torin and Rhoe, they led sixteen men, all of whom had split up in groups of two to try to search a bigger area. 

“He better have found something,” Sam muttered under his breath.

Damian didn’t reply, unsure of what to say to bring comfort to his friend, who’d seemed to have aged fifty years in a few days. Somehow, he became more serious than he usually was.

The Prince of Terrasen cursed as he barely missed the trunk of a rather large redwood. Even with his Fae sight, the darkness was overwhelming. A human without a lantern would never be able to find their way out this deep into the forest, especially at night. 

Damian sighed and removed one of his leather gloves from his hand, ignoring the sting of cold, and held it out so a small fire was alight on his skin. 

No animals, at least not the cute fluffy ones from fairytales, lived this deep in. No birds chirped, no fawns pranced, no squirrels scampered. It was suffocating silence. 

They weaved through the trees, the path between them so narrow that they filed into a single line, Damian at the head, Sam in the rear. 

He could occasionally make out a flash of flame between the trees, more of his soldiers heading towards the guard who called out, torches in hand. Or perhaps it was Rhoe, using his mother’s flame to light the way.

“I don’t think he found anything,” Sam muttered, but Damian knew the prince would not turn back. Not if there was a chance it would be something that would lead them to Evalin.

They came across a huddled half circle of soldiers, Torin and Rhoe at the front. No one was moving; they didn’t even seem to be breathing. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam demanded, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Come here,” Rhoe breathed.

Damian and Sam shared a glance.

Their soldiers shifted to the side to allow them through. 

That’s when Damian saw it. Light, streams of moonlight and starlight that shouldn’t have been visible, illuminating the woods. Somehow it seemed brighter than usual, like all the power of the night sky was shining in one spot. He closed his palm, snuffing the fire out. 

Lying in the center of this clearing was a female, her body illuminated by silver light. The light seemed to pour from her as if she were some ancient goddess. 

Sam said something which Damian completely ignored. He took a step forward, past Rhoe and Torin, and towards the female. 

He felt it then, the metallic smell of magic crackling around her like a protective force field. 

Suddenly, he was very cold. 

He took another step as Torin called out a warning. He felt the change as he stepped from the forest into this bubble. 

Something crunched under his feet. Frost. Ice and frost covered the ground and trees, as if while the rest of the forest was in the height of summer, this small part was stuck in winter. 

“She has to be dead,” One soldier murmured.

“It’s for the best,” another shot back, “whatever brought her here is not natural.”

“Damian! Don’t touch her!” Sam shouted, trying to reason with the Crown Prince, but Damian ignored him expertly. 

Thick, raven hair framed an unnaturally beautiful face, and small springs of lily of the valley had sprung up around her limp body.  The female was dressed in torn grey silk, and upon further notice, Damian saw speckles of blood across the fine fabric. 

She looked almost peaceful lying there. 

It was clear the magic was emanating from her. It was impossible to ignore. 

She reeked of death and rot and flame. 

He kneeled by her side, the cold burning through his pants, but he ignored it. Damian’s eyes wandered over her body, landing upon her left arm. His nostrils flared. That’s where the smell of rot and death was coming from. 

It was perhaps the worst wound he’d ever seen. He could see the bone of her arm through torn muscles and shredded flesh. Black venom and blood dripped into a small puddle underneath her. 

He didn’t know how long she had been there, but he knew she should be dead. The small, even puffs of breath emitting from her mouth should not exist. 

“Is this what Valg look like?” Rhoe asked.

Damian glanced behind him to find Sam, Rhoe, and Torin hovering, eyes all glued to the female.

“I don’t think so,” Torin replied, though he sounded uncertain. “Either way,” he continued, “she needs to be healed.”

“She needs to be questioned,” Sam retorted. 

Damian nodded. He wasn’t sure if there was any connection between the female before him and Evalin, but Sam was right. Something about her was…wrong. Different. Not of this world. 

Torin kneeled by the female's other side, his healing magic poised and ready.

Damian held up a hand, quickly coming to his senses upon realizing what Torin was doing. She had powerful magic, Valg or not, connection to Evalin or not, and that was a danger to everyone.

He summoned iron chains. “Whatever her magic is, whoever she is, she can’t be let loose.”

They bound her wrists and ankles quickly and tightly, ensuring she would be unable to move or access her magic if and when she woke. 

When they were done, Torin began, his magic wrapping around her wound, the flesh and muscle and sinew repairing itself.

As soon as Torin finished, his magic released her, Damian felt the change in the atmosphere. Her magic let go, as if it was able to rest, the warmth of the summer night flooding in.

But she didn’t move.

“Did you accidentally kill her?” Rhoe asked. 

Torin glared at the Prince. “No.”

Damian placed a hand underneath her chin to feel for a pulse, to ensure she was still breathing, but as soon as his bare skin touched hers, her eyes shot open and she lurched forward. 

Damian caught her arms, attempting to steady her, but she ripped away, chin going defiantly upwards. His breath hitched as her wild and angry, and confused eyes met him. She was the most beautiful female he had ever seen in his life. 

She paused as well, taking him in, then she looked behind him. 

The female did not seem to care that she was surrounded by nineteen fully armed warriors; she only leveled a stare at them that would make most grown males go running. And it worked, all sixteen of Damian’s soldiers as well as the two princes and Torin, flinched, finding other places to put their eyes. 

“Damian,” Sam warned, “step away from her.”

The female’s eyes narrowed at Sam, wrists flexing against the chains. 

“She’s bound in iron, Sam,” Damian replied, keeping his eyes on her. But he understood his friend's warning. Even bound in iron, something about her made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

 “Tell me your name,” He demanded, turning his full attention to the female. 

She blinked, unimpressed. And said nothing.

Damian reached for one of the daggers strapped to his belt.

“Tell me your name.”

The female’s face remained passive. 

Damian pressed the tip of his dagger into the soft tissue of her throat, gently pricking her skin. 

“Tell me your name.”

The female began to speak, and Damian did not understand a single word that came out. She was talking in some foreign tongue, one he did not recognize. While he didn’t understand what she was saying, he understood her threatening tone. She was certainly more angry than intimidated. 

He stood up, facing Sam and Torin.

Before he could say anything, Rhoe called out.

“Over here! I found something!”

Immediately, Sam was off in the direction of his brother’s voice.

“Stay with her, Torin,” Damian ordered before he followed Sam off into the forest.

When he caught up with the brothers, he found them kneeling beside a spindly, humanoid creature with strange greyish skin. Buried in its head, splitting its skull, was a dagger.

Rhoe reached for the dagger, but just as he wrapped his hands around the hilt, he hissed, quickly letting go.

A red welt was left on the palm of his hand. 

“It’s freezing,” he muttered.

“It’s burning,” Sam replied.

“Here.” Damian reached for it with his leather-gloved hand. He still felt the cold, but it was bearable enough for him to wrench it free. 

He could feel the magic pulsing through the weapon, and feel it resist his touch. It didn’t want him holding it.

Tucking it in his jacket and praying it didn’t curse him or something, he turned his attention to the actual beast.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Sam demanded.

“Whatever it is,” Damian said, “it’s certainly not from around here.”

“Do you…” Rhoe trailed off, before beginning again, as if he was scared of speaking something into existence. “This thing is not from here, and neither is she. It can’t be a coincidence, not with what has happened to Evalin.”

“Your parents seem to think the Valg are responsible for what happened,” Damian said, “She is high fae.”

“So was Maeve,” Sam challenged. 

Damian had never encountered an actual Valg, but he’d heard stories. Their magic was of shadows and darkness, not the icy death that was exuded by the female in the woods. She reminded him more of the statues of ancient goddesses that decorated their now unused temples, not of the darkness and gloom that was said to shroud the Valg. 

“Valg or not, we’ll find a way to question her. If she knows anything of Evalin, we’ll know it soon enough as well,” Damian swore.

Sam nodded his agreement.

Rhoe glanced towards the corpse on the forest floor. “Are we taking this with us?”

Damian nodded. “Torin can take a look, see if he recognizes it or its venom or knows of something similar.”

“I’ll have some of the men collect the corpse,” Rhoe said, disappearing once again into the forest. 

Damian and Sam returned to where Torin was watching over the chained female. She still maintained the defiant glint in her eyes, as if silently cursing them for eternity. 

“We’re going back to Rifthold then?” Torin asked.

“If we want to be back by morning.” Damian met the female’s blue-grey eyes. “I’ll take her with me. You two focus on the creature.”
“What creature?” Torin demanded. As Sam began explaining, Damian grabbed the female, and before she could protest, he threw her over his shoulder.

Her body was tense, but she didn’t struggle against his grip. Perhaps she knew it was pointless, or perhaps she was waiting for the right moment to bury the dagger.  

Florian, the useless horse, was still where Damian left him. 

He placed her on the leather saddle, quickly tying her hands to the pommel and her legs on either side of the horse.

Despite the fact he was the one who held the power in the situation, and despite the fact she was powerless and unable to move, she looked down on him with an imperial tilt to her chin, as if she were his Queen, and he her subject. 

But her attention quickly moved behind him, to where Torin and Rhoe were hauling the strange creature. Her eyes narrowed directly on the gaping wound in its head, to where the dagger once was.

Damian was once again reminded of the pulsing weapon tucked into his jacket. With every passing moment, it was becoming less easy to ignore. It was as if it was rejecting Damian’s entire being. 

And he wasn’t the only one it seemed to bother. The female’s gaze was now pinned exactly to where he had stashed the weapon. Her dark eyebrows raised in silent challenge at him, and her lips uptilted slightly as if she could sense his discomfort. 

Damian refused to rise to the challenge. It was beneath him as King. And anyway, any reply he would have would be lost, considering she couldn’t understand a word he said. 

It suddenly dawned on him how quiet the forest had become, the bustle of soldiers and horses and boots having come to a stop.

Turning around, he found himself face to face with two of his guards, except their eyes were glued above him towards where the female sat. Every other soldier, save for the few who were attempting to secure the corpse between two horses, was in a similar state of awe and fear.

He could sense the mix of anxiety, caution, and lust. 

“That’s enough,” he ordered, voice leaving no room for disobedience. “Mount your horses, we are returning to Rifthold.”

That seemed to snap some sense into them, and they all began readying themselves for the journey back. 

It was dangerous for everyone in this gods forsaken forest if his soldiers were too enamoured by their prisoner to focus on their duties. 

She was an obvious threat to this world and needed to be treated as such.

Damian mounted his horse, settling himself in the saddle behind the female and reaching around her to grab the reins. She tensed as he brushed against her bare skin, shifting slightly forward as if she could avoid touching him at all. 

The dagger pulsed in his jacket, clearly sensing its mistress and wanting to be closer, wanting to return to her. Damian ignored it, flicking the reins and guiding Florian back towards the barely visible path that would return them home. 

Torin was close behind, followed by Sam and Rhoe, and everyone else.

The first rays of dawn were beginning to penetrate the trees, casting the forest in orange and pink. 

Damian couldn’t help but notice that she smelled of vanilla and jasmine.

It was clear she was High Fae, her pointed ears giving her away, but she was different from any High Fae he’d ever met. Not as earthen as they usually smelled. And on top of that, there was something else mixed in with her scent. Another species he did not recognize. Iron and mountainsides. Then there was, of course, the still-permeating smell of her magic, which burned through his nostrils. He swore he could even smell a bit of iron teeth witch underneath it all, almost buried beneath everything else.

Together it was all…strange and intoxicating. What was she? 

For two hours, they rode in near silence, no one daring to speak above a whisper. Her presence had cast a shadow over the group, the chill of her ancient power creating an unsteadiness in the air. 

The dagger in his coat was becoming intolerable. He was beginning to feel a very real and unfounded sense of dread. He looked away from the female, tried to focus on his surroundings, to center himself. His eyes snagged on the distant cliffside, an indicator that they were close to the palace; however, he felt no sense of excitement or relief or even apprehension over what was to come, instead, he felt the urge to launch himself from his horse and run towards the cliff, run and jump onto the sharp, jagged rocks below. 

It would be so quick and easy, painless really, how good it would feel to not have to feel anything. He would no longer bear the weight of the crown, of the expectations and disappointment that followed him. 

“Damian!” Torin’s urgent plea dragged him out of his spiral.

“What?” he stood to attention, one hand going to the sword at his waist. 

Torin gave him a look that suggested he feared for Damian’s sanity. “You stopped and stared at the distance for five minutes straight without moving.”

Damian blinked. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Did you see something?” Sam inquired, riding up to his other side. 

Damian shook his head.

Sam and Torin shared a glance.

Damian ignored them and continued ahead. A good ten minutes and they’d be entering through the side gate.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Rhoe called out.

He ignored his friend, choosing to focus ahead. He desperately needed to rid himself of this dagger; perhaps he should throw it into the sea. 

The female let out a breathy laugh. Damian stiffened. Did she understand the effects of the weapon? Was she causing this somehow?
Torin frowned deeply, clearly unnerved by her amusement.

“We should get going,” Sam declared, eyes never leaving the girl. 

No one argued.

With the sunrise came a heavy veil of mist, and the grey stone wall that surrounded the castle was nearly invisible. The gates swung open without hesitation, allowing them passage into the inner courtyard. 

The soldiers saluted him as he entered, a fist to their chest and a bow of their head. But Damian could tell their attention was not on him, but on the female in front of him. 

She commanded their attention with ease, as if she were their Queen.

Damian dismounted and was only slightly irritated to find that even the stableboys had paused to stare. He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at them expectantly. 

They rushed forward to take the reins from him, mumbling apologies under their breath.

One of them, Drew, if he remembered correctly, dared to glance up once more.

The female flicked her eyes over him briefly, smiling ever so slightly at his antics. He flushed the deepest shade of red Damian had ever seen. 

Barely refraining from rolling his eyes, he untied the female from the saddle, hauling her by the waist and placing her on the ground. 

He offered no explanation to the gaping men, clearly curious about who she was, and tugged her along behind him. For the first time that day, she resisted slightly, perhaps feeling the indignity of being dragged behind her captor in chains. 

He didn’t wait for his companions, desperate to lock her in a prison cell and free himself from the effects of both her and her knife. 

He went immediately towards the well-guarded external entrance to the prison, which was constructed hundreds of feet beneath the palace. A remnant of what was there before his father destroyed it in his battle against the Valg Prince who infested the first King Dorian. 

They let him in without hesitation; the prison guards were well-trained enough not to show an ounce of surprise or curiosity on their faces.

One took a step in front of him, holding a guiding torch; the other behind the prisoner, and as a group, they descended.

The steep and narrow pathway down the cells was carved of dark stone and dimly lit with a torch every few feet. 

“Where would you like to place her, my king?” The guard in front asked, turning around and illuminating them with firelight.

Damian noted how unbothered the girl was by the flames. So definitely not Valg. 

“On the bottom level. I don’t want her near any of the others.”

The guard nodded, giving a final glance to the girl, clearly trying to figure out what made her so dangerous.

Damian supposed it was a rather ridiculous sight. The king himself was escorting a prisoner into the cells, but instead of some monstrous beast or horrid villain, it was an unusually attractive high fae female dressed in silk, diamonds hanging from her arched ears. With her magic now suppressed by iron, and without the context in which she was found, it made more sense for her to be a guest upstairs at one of the grand balls or feasts they threw every other night. Or had thrown until all this mess. 

It was a long and arduous walk down the seven flights of stairs until they reached the bottom, and he continued to drag her along the damp stone floors. 

Most of the cells on this level were empty, but they led her to the one furthest down anyway. It was little more than a circular stone room and a heavy iron door.

The first guard opened the cell holding door so Damian could lead the female inside.

She didn’t seem very concerned by the cell, her blue-grey eyes passing over everything with boredom.

He fastened her chains to the wall, ensuring that they would hold in place, and then he left without looking back, only double-checking that the wards were in place before he left the prison.

 

—

 

They spent the rest of the day in one of the healer’s workshops located near the western end of the palace. 

Rhoe was scouring through books to try to find some resemblance between the otherworldly beast and something they recognized. Torin had put his focus on extracting the dark venom and blood from the beast, a task that he was struggling with immensely.

“This is more Josefine’s territory,” Torin muttered, sweat beaded on his brow.

“Maybe we can send for her,” Rhoe suggested, tossing another book aside.

“I hope you’re actually reading those and not just skimming the pages,” Sam said to his younger brother.

“Of course.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Damian agreed, “to send for Josefine. This is her specialty, and perhaps she can help with the girl as well.”

Torin raised an eyebrow. “What could Josefine do about her ?”

Rhoe jumped in quickly, exclaiming, “Maybe she’ll feel less threatened around another female, open up more. If brute force doesn’t get her to talk.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We still can’t talk to her, and neither can Josefine, female or not. Finding a way to interrogate her is what we should be focused on.”

Damian nodded, “Sam’s right. Something about her is…off.”

“You think she’s Valg as well?” 

“No. She has no aversion to fire, and her magic is nothing like the Valg’s. But she’s not high fae, at least not just high fae.”

“I sensed that as well,” Sam confirmed. “She’s not of this world. Her magic is different, her scent is strange, and her language is unheard of. It’s too much of a coincidence.” 

“I’ll send a letter to Josefine,” Torin mumbled, collapsing in one of the simple wood-carved chairs that decorated the small room, his magic and mind exhausted. Damian always thought Torin was a contradiction: a warrior with healer’s gifts. 

“But,” he continued, “she shouldn’t be around the female. Not until we can figure out who or what she is.”

“Of course not,” Damian agreed easily. Torin was right; putting Josefine in that type of danger was wrong. And he doubted that Chaol would agree if he were informed of that part.

“Ask for Josefine but don’t send word of the female yet,” Damian ordered, “let us at least talk to her first before we have Aelin and Rowan and the rest of their court descending on us.”

Torin nodded. 

Truth be told, Damian did not wish to send word of failure to his mother and father, or at least suggest he was not capable of the task before him. It would also be unfair to get anyone’s hopes up before they were sure of anything.  

There was no guarantee any of this was connected to Evalin. 

“What of the dagger?” Rhoe asked suddenly. 

Damian stiffened. As soon as he left the female’s cell and sent the prison guards away, he found an oak box, warded it within an inch of its life, and stashed the weapon inside before tucking it away in his room. 

“If anything, it confirms she is not from around here. I’ve never felt anything like it. It should be tossed in the sea,” Damian swore.

“That bad?” Rhoe questioned.

“It was as if it was fighting me, and I wasn’t even using it. It made me feel strange, lost, confused.” He chose not to mention how it caused him to yearn for his own suicide by throwing himself off the very mountain. 

“Where is it?” Sam asked. 

“Hidden. Until we figure out what she is and where she’s from. No one is to touch it.”

“What if it is useful?” Sam demanded.

“It will not allow us to touch it without trying to curse us. Trust me, Sam, wait until we can get answers out of her.”

He looked as though we were about to argue for a moment, then grimaced and nodded. 

Torin handed over a sealed envelope to Damian, who quickly teleported it away to Josefine’s rooms in Terrasen. Hopefully, she'll see it soon. He didn’t know what chaos had befallen them there.

“Let us eat dinner,” Rhoe begged, “we are finding nothing tonight and I’m starving.”

Damian, who was in desperate need of a distraction, quickly agreed. And Sam and Torin followed, the latter looking particularly eager to put his work as a healer behind him. 

—

 

Nova really, really despised Evalin’s homeworld. As she sat chained to a wall in a prison cell far below the earth, she wanted to kill someone. Specifically, the irritating male who’d dragged her in here in the first place. And that was not mentioning how he’d stolen her dagger.

It only brought her a small amount of joy to see him suffer under its effects. Mother knows what those animals would try to do to it. Idiots. 

When she awoke, bound in chains, she quickly came to the realization that while she was healed, she was in no way able to use her magic or escape. Whatever they had chained her in smothered her power, her strength, and her speed. Trying to escape would have been useless; trying to fight back would have made her life more difficult. She needed to play this smart, to figure out how this world operated, its magic and politics, before she could think of escaping. 

And now she was at least a hundred feet beneath the earth. Nova considered herself better than most Illyrians, particularly her brother and cousins, when it came to being in dark, small, underground spaces. However, even she was starting to feel the instinctual panic that came with being unable to see the sky or feel the cool breeze on one’s skin.

The group of males that had captured her seemed strange, mismatched in a way. One was mortal, yet Nova swore she could sense something else, something akin to magic radiating off him. The next two were both clearly Fae and clearly related to each other; both had silver hair and similar enough faces. And one, the perpetually frowning one, had pine green eyes that Nova swore were identical to Evalin’s. The last one, the seeing leader of the group, well, she couldn’t figure out what he was. He was outrageously handsome with coal black hair and golden eyes; immortality radiated off him, but his ears were rounded. 

She decided she hated him the most. Maybe it was the way he had arrogantly grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, maybe it was the way he had chained her up, maybe it was the way he carried an air of infuriating superiority, maybe it was the fact that he had stolen her dagger, but whatever it was, it irked her. She despised males like that. Males who thought they owned the world, and for whom, for some reason, the world bowed. 

She often found that underneath the facade of wealth and power was weak-will and a child-like temper, a horrible contentment with the way things were, yet an overwhelming sense of entitlement to how things should be. Nothing that made them worthy of the lives they lived. They wanted power and titles and acclaim, yet refused to fight for it themselves. It was cowardly and pathetic. 

Maybe, when Nova inevitably escaped, she would find a way to work stabbing him into her plan. 

 

Chapter 23: Chapter 23

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait! Chapters should be coming in quicker from now on! Thanks for your patience and I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far!

Evalin swore. She needed to open another portal to Rifthold. But her eyes caught on the dead Valg. It appeared along with the portal, what if it was attempting to cross through? What if the Valg were trying to penetrate the safeguards that protected Erilea? Could she risk opening another portal? 

Before she could decide on what to do, a shadow slammed onto the balcony. 

Nyx looked furious, his violet eyes blazing, darkness and shadows swirling around him. 

Once again, Evalin was struck with the realization of how much he reminded her of the stories of Maeve, the Valg Queen. He could rip into minds, could control darkness. Had he been messing with her head this entire time? Maybe it was her own paranoia talking, or perhaps this world was infested with Valg just as much as her own had been. 

“What. Happened.” It wasn’t a question. 

Nyx’s eyes darted to the burnt-up corpse, to the puddle of blood. He sniffed. Evalin could tell the exact moment he realized whose blood it was. 

 

—

 

Evalin had never been held in a prison before. And she decided she really did not like it. 

It wasn’t as if she expected understanding from her hosts, and she certainly didn’t receive it. Nyx hadn’t even waited for her to finish her rambling explanation before teleporting her into a dark cell. 

The only explanation he offered was a vague warning that the High Lord and Lady would be there soon. 

Evalin swore she could hear monsters rumbling underneath the stone floors of the cell. Was that their plan? To terrify her into obedience? To let her stew in her own fear to get easy answers?

Defiance and anger built in her. Nyx had imprisoned her based on assumptions that she was to blame for what happened to Nova. She wondered if he realized how truly vicious his cousin was, or that she was the furthest thing from a victim of Evalin’s plans. She doubted Nova’s family would care though. 

They were clearly distrustful of Evalin, promising to help her or not. And she was beginning to feel more distrustful of them by the second. They’d broken their promises, imprisoned her once again, and not only were there Valg in their world but there was a possibility they were Valg too. 

She thought of Nyx’s fleeting kindness, how he had taken her flying. Was it all a mind trick?

Nova hadn’t seemed Valg to her, not in the way her cousin was, but Evalin swore there was something unnatural, dangerous about the magic she possessed. It wasn’t Fae magic. 

A headache was starting to form at her temples. 

She swore she could hear screaming from a few cells down. Then she heard the familiar echo of footsteps. 

The door to her cell swung open, revealing the High Lord of the Night Court. 

Nyx and his father were remarkably similar. The same crushing violet eyes, strong jaw, and raven black hair. At first glance they could pass for twins, but upon further inspection, one could tell the small differences between them. The first and most obvious one was that while Nyx was certainly powerful, more powerful than any High Fae she ever met, his father was on another level. Either that or Nyx had been holding out on her. She could feel the power radiating off the male. Dark and terrifying.

Nova informed her that this world was run by power, and if all its rulers were even half as powerful as this, Evalin could understand why. 

“Let me go,” She demanded, jumping to her feet and baring her teeth. “With every moment we waste, your niece—”

“That is enough.”

Evalin froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the quiet rage in his tone set her on edge. 

Valg. They could very well all be Valg. Her mind was strong but if he decided to rip into it, like Maeve had done with her mother, she doubted she’d be able to stop him. Not now, not like this. 

“You have a choice, Evalin. And I will only offer this once. Either allow me into your mind to see exactly what happened or my spymaster will come and force the answers out of you.”

A choice. She nearly laughed out loud. 

On one hand, she could allow a could-be Valg into her head, and on the other hand, she could be tortured by one of his winged beasts. 

“I don’t know what your son has told you, Lord, but the only crime I have committed is trying to go home. Nova is the one who—”

“I strongly suggest you stop mentioning her name.” The High Lord prowled closer to her. “Any allies you once had in this world are no longer on your side and I doubt anyone will intervene on your behalf. Your best bet is to comply.”

Evalin lifted her chin defiantly, meeting the High Lord’s crushing gaze. “You will not enter my mind.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not the first to make that choice, but I will warn you, they always regret it in the end.”

Evalin held his gaze, unwilling to bow down. 

He shrugged, turning towards the door. The High Lord moved slowly, as if waiting for her to give in. They all knew time was of the essence, and ripping into her mind was the easiest way to get what they wanted. 

The door shut with a click and Evalin was once again left alone in the darkness.

—

Nyx had been an idiot to let his guard down when it came to the princess. He’d known it was foolish. And somehow, it ended worse than he imagined, his cousin having literally disappeared off the face of the earth. 

He would never forget the look of horror on his Aunt’s face when he told her what happened. Nor his uncle’s quiet rage. Neither accused him directly of allowing this to happen, no one had even suggested it, yet he felt the guilt build in his chest. 

His mother placed a warm hand on his shoulder, as if sensing the whirlwind of thoughts inside him. But he refused to meet her gaze, not willing to stand witness to the mix of sympathy and worry he knew would be there. 

They’d all gathered in Hewn City, awaiting his father to return with word of Evalin’s choice. Even Aunt Elain and her sons had winnowed in, and she despised the city with her whole heart. She always quipped that there was never enough sunshine below the mountain. 

Currently, his two aunts were speaking in hushed voices to each other. He could only make out every other word, but it was clear Aunt Nesta wanted answers sooner rather than later. Despite her apparent soft spot for worldwalkers, Nyx didn’t doubt that if given the choice now, she would rip through Evalin if it meant getting Nova back. 

The door of the small antechamber clicked open, and Azriel appeared in a swirl of shadows. “We identified the body. It was Prince Drakon’s newly assigned emissary. Rhys invited him to Hewn City. He arrived just yesterday.”

“What was he doing in the palace in the first place?” Aunt Nesta demanded.

Azriel frowned. “It’s hard to interrogate someone when they’ve been burnt to a crisp.”

Amren snorted derisively. “Hardly appointed a day and already killed on our soil by someone who should have been imprisoned in the first place.This will be a mess to sort out. That girl better have an explanation for the headache she’s putting us through.” 

“Did Nova know him?” Aunt Elain inquired curiously. 

Nyx glanced towards Nesta but her gaze was focused elsewhere. 

“No.” They all turned towards Caelum, who was leaning against the wall, a dark expression fixed upon his usually sunny features. Nyx felt the guilt build again. Nova and Caelum, despite their differences, were thick as thieves. They knew everything about the other, and Nyx couldn’t remember the last time they went a day without talking to each other, either in person or through letters. 

Cassian frowned. “Are you sure? She could have met him before he was appointed.”

“She didn’t. She never liked the Creteans. She avoids them. I doubt she would have even bothered to greet him when he arrived at court.” There was a finality in Caelum’s voice that no one dared question. 

Nyx never got the impression Nova disliked Cretea or its people, considering that no one had ever been invited there, so their contact with Drakon and Mariam was through the occasional emissary. 

“She wouldn’t have even known he was coming. It was a last-minute invite on my part. I didn’t have time to mention it as I was planning to handle it all myself.”

Nyx turned to find his father standing in the doorway, hands shoved too casually in his pockets.

He knew that his parents had been working to include the Creteans in trade agreements, and, finally, Drakon was warming up to the idea after decades of negative answers. 

“What did the girl say?” Amren interjected, eyes flaring.

His father answered his second’s question by turning towards Azriel and Mor. “We’ll need both of your expertise.” 

One to get the information. The other to confirm its validity. 

Nyx’s stomach twisted. So she’d made her choice. It shouldn’t matter to him either way; they needed answers, right now, it didn’t matter how they got them. But the idea of her alone in a dungeon as Azriel…interrogated her brought a sour taste to his mouth. And anyway, this was 

“Allow me to talk to her,” Nyx said before he could think it through.

Everyone stared at him. 

“Nyx, this isn’t exactly your area of expertise,” his father explained, slowly, as if he feared for his son’s sanity. “She doesn’t want us in her mind.”

“I know,” Nyx snapped, “five minutes is all I need. If I can’t get answers out of her then Uncle Azriel can take over.”

“We don’t have time to lose,” Cassian objected, voice harsh, “my daughter is mother knows where. This isn’t a game.”

Nyx met his Uncle’s gaze, knowing very well it wouldn’t be the fun loving male he was used to, but the General of the Night Court Armies. Nyx knew if the choice was up to him, he would have already ripped a portal open and sent the entire Illyrian army through to find Nova. 

“Five minutes,” Nyx swore.

His uncle held his gaze for another second, hazel eyes boring into his soul, then he nodded. 

It reminded Nyx of when he trained in Illyria. His uncle showed no special treatment, often more brutal towards Nyx than anyone else. Punishments for him were harsher, training was longer, and standards were higher. It was rare that his Uncle would let that mask down and praise him, acknowledge his progress and skill. This was just another test to prove his worth as eldest son and heir of the court. Except his cousin’s life, and his entire court, was on the line.

“Let me come,” Caelum said suddenly.

“That’s a bad idea,” Nyx’s father interrupted before anyone else could agree or object. “You’re angry, and rightfully so, but—”

“We’re all angry,” Caelum snapped, his nine siphons flaring, casting a bloody shadow over the room. “I’m no less levelheaded than anyone else. She is my sister, I know her better than any of you.”

“Caelum,” Cassian stepped forward, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I understand but that’s enough. You will get your turn.”

Caelum met his father’s stare, and whatever he saw there was enough to calm him. He nodded, shrugging off his father’s hand. “Fine.”

—

 

Evalin shone in the darkness of the cell, her blonde curls and golden silk dress in stark contrast with the obsidian carved walls. Even her skin, unusually pale, seemed to glow in the shadows. 

Shackles bound her hands and ankles, dampening some of that light, but her eyes remained vivid and clear, unshaken. 

She raised an eyebrow as Nyx entered, unamused. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly when he stepped forward. 

“Has daddy sent you to do what he can’t?” She taunted, anger winding its way in her voice. 

Nyx regarded her coldly, ignoring how his heart skipped slightly. Part of him felt the urge to unbind her and whisk her away somewhere safe, to throttle his own father for doing this to her. The other part wanted to throttle her himself. 

She was enchanting. Too enchanting. He’d come in prepared to torture her if need be for answers, yet…She was in his head. Had that been her goal this entire time? He thought of how she smiled at him after their dinner together. How his heart had warmed. She had been messing with him, getting him to drop his guard.

His chest ached at the thought. He’d never particularly cared about the false honey females loved to pour into his ears, but the idea that Evalin had been trying to trick him wounded a primal part of him.

Oh mother above! Was he so easily unraveled by a pretty face? 

Five minutes, he reminded himself, to get the answers he needed.

Focus. He was trained for this. He knew his entire family was watching, listening in, on this conversation. They were too nosy and too protective not to. 

“Without permission, I will not enter your mind.”

“Again,” she corrected, “you’ve already done that once.”

He clenched his jaw but nodded in admittance to her point. “I will not enter your mind without your permission again. You made your choice and they will be here soon to see it through.”

Evalin was undeterred by this information, dismissing it with a flick of her emerald eyes. 

“ They will be sorely disappointed because I don’t have the information you seek.”

“I hope for your sake she isn’t dead,” Nyx said calmly, evenly, as if it was no difference to him. He was a prince of nightmares, of darkness and snow and ice. “Trust me, if that is the case, you better start praying for mercy now.”

—

 

Evalin was fighting a mental battle with herself. Part of her wanted to throttle the male in front of her, both out of anger and out of sheer suspicion that he wasn’t truly Fae at all. But the other part of her felt inexplicably pulled towards him. 

His voice was cold and unfeeling, and he was shrouded in darkness like a villain from her childhood stories, but she swore she could sense worry for his cousin underneath it all. Or maybe it was her imagination. Or, even worse, he was in her head, the choice he was swearing to give her just an illusion to lower her guard. 

Either way, she didn’t doubt his threat. If Nova was dead, whether her fault or not, she wouldn’t be leaving this prison. 

“I don’t know if your cousin is dead or alive.”

 “You don’t know?” His voice was deadly, she barely repressed a shudder. 

“She was dragged through a portal that she helped create. She was alive when I last saw her but she was injured.”

He tilted his head to the side, predatory. “What do you mean helped create ?”

Ah. So Nova hadn’t informed anyone. “She made the bargain. I give her information and she would assist in opening a portal for me.” 

“Was this before or after you slaughtered an emissary and summoned another one of those creatures?”

Evalin stiffened. There was no denying that the charred remains of that strange male–an emissary apparently– were her doing, but she had not summoned any beast. “The creature was not my doing.”

“But the emissary was?”

“He attacked both of us first,” she protested, “it was self-defense.”

Again, no visible reaction. No confirmation that he believed her or not. 

“So far, the story you’re asking me to believe is that my cousin willingly struck a bargain with a stranger, telling no one, in order to get “information” and in return, she, who has never opened a portal in her life, would help you…what? Return home? And while this was happening, both an emissary and a deadly creature appeared out of thin air and attacked for no reason. Nova and the creature both gone off this face of this Earth, and you, still stuck here, with only a corpse as witness.”

“Believe me or not, I am telling the truth.”

“Why did the emissary attack? Surely there was a reason.” He was mocking her. Bastard.

Evalin did not want to admit her suspicions about the Valg, not if she couldn’t prove they were all associated with them. The story was far fetched now that she truly considered it.

A sinking feeling crept into her. Was this all a ploy? To force her hand? Had she potentially led an enemy straight into the heart of Rifthold? Had she fallen into their trap? Did they plan on imprisoning her on false charges of murder? 

He seemed to notice her shift, crouching down in front of her to meet her eyes. His were violet, like Maeve’s had been. Her mouth went dry. 

“I’ll make you a bargain of my own,” Nyx began, “open another portal, to the exact place you sent my cousin, and you’ll be released.”

“Or?” Evalin challenged. Like hell would she ever let more of them into her world. She would rather rot in prison than potentially infest Terrasen with Valg. Hopefully, Nova had died via poisoning or blood loss before any damage could be done. 

Nyx stood, shoving his hands in his pocket. “Don’t be foolish, Evalin. I’ll give you time to think about it. And when I return, consider telling me the full truth.”

—

 

His five minutes were up, and he felt more confused than ever. 

“She was telling the truth, mostly,” Morrigan piped up, as Nyx entered the chamber once more.

No one replied for a long moment, then, “Azriel,” his father muttered. “We need her to open that portal.”

The request was clear. Force her to comply through torture. Nova could be dead or dying in another world. Nyx had scented the blood, the venom, and the remnants of the creature himself. He’d seen how vicious it was first hand. This wasn’t a time for diplomacy or drawn out interrogation.

“Why not just rip into her head at this point?” Aspen demanded. Nyx’s day court cousin, who also had an aversion to the dark city, hadn’t spoken since he’d arrived with his mother earlier that day, save for cursory hellos. “Nova could be dead as we speak. This isn’t the time to question morality.”

To Nyx’s surprise, Asher nodded in agreement. “Command her to open another portal. It has to be done, willing or not.” 

His father raised a hand, placating, “If what Evalin said is true, which Mor confirmed it was, Nova bargained for this. She assisted in opening the portal.”

“But she didn’t summon that thing, nor did she ask to be dragged through,” Aspen protested. “And how do we know that girl isn’t wording her answers to shift the narrative? She slaughtered an emissary and somehow came out unscathed from the beast’s attack, while Nova, who is better trained than anyone here, did not.”

Nyx glanced at Caelum, who seemed torn. Unlike Nova, Caelum wasn’t one to dance the line of wrong or right. He always had a strong sense of justice and never crossed that line. But if anyone could convince him otherwise, it would be Nova. 

“I understand and I agree,” Nyx’s father sighed, “we don’t have enough information. Azriel will fill in the gaps, and I swear, by tonight, a portal will be opened one way or another.”

Nyx felt his gut twist. His uncle was an expert in inflicting pain, and while he knew it was necessary for the sake of his cousin, he revolted against the idea of Evalin being subjected to this cruelty. He needed to try one more time.

 

—

 

Nyx managed to winnow out of the room as everyone gathered around Azriel, discussing logistics and questions, timeframes and strategy. 

His father would be furious with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

If he could just—

“Nyx?”

He froze, knowing very well the owner of that voice would not let up easily nor listen to any petty excuses. 

“Aunt Nesta, I was just—”

“Going to see the girl that potentially caused my daughter’s death?”

It wasn’t a cruel question, nor was it accusatory, she was simply stating a fact, no judgment or emotion. 

“I have a few more questions,” Nyx explained, hoping his aunt wouldn’t see through the lie. 

“Then go with your Uncle and ask them. Pain is a powerful motivator. You might get better answers this time. More thorough.”

“I–”

“Nova told me you two had dinner together. And that it ended with a nighttime flight over the mountains.”

He nearly swore. Of course Nova had told someone. 

His aunt gave him a knowing look. The two of them had always had a mutual understanding of each other. When Nyx was younger and fought with his mother or father about something, it would be his aunt that he would fly to. She would serve him chocolate cake and play chess with him until his mother would come to collect him, usually the next day. When Nyx went to train for the first time in Illyria, his first week was brutal, and it was Aunt Nesta who convinced him it was worth it to see it through. It was Aunt Nesta who he went to for book recommendations or morning tea. 

“If I had known–”

“Nova spoke her praises, strangely enough, and Nova rarely praises anyone.” 

Nyx was suddenly unsure of where this conversation was going.  “Nova has a strange taste in companionship.”

To his surprise, Aunt Nesta let out a light laugh. “I suppose she does. But she also has good judgement. She liked Evalin and it seems that you warmed up to her as well.”

His shoulders straightened. “I would never risk this court for anyone or anything. She was a guest, so I treated her as such, now she is not.”

Aunt Nesta nodded. “Of course.”

Silence filled the hallway, and Nyx shifted as his aunt regarded him, her eyes more silver than blue in the darkness. 

“Is everything alright, Aunt Nesta?” He ventured to ask.

“My daughter is many things, but she rarely has ever been a victim of circumstances. I have no doubt Nova made that bargain of her own free will and with ulterior motives in mind. Most likely, it seemed she took advantage of a female who wishes nothing more than to return home. I’m sure she had reasons but…”

“You don’t think Evalin did anything?”

She shrugged. “She might have, we don’t truly know her. But, she might just be a girl caught up in something bigger than herself.”

He wondered if Nesta was also talking about her daughter.

“What do you suggest? She’s refusing to allow us into her mind and she’s only providing half-answers to our questions.”

“She doesn’t trust us anymore than we trust here. I can’t blame her for not wanting to open a portal into her world. From her perspective, we are the ones who have a nefarious scheme.” 

“There’s no way I can force her to trust me, Aunt Nesta. She knows I’m a daemanti. Surely she’ll question every thought she has the moment she has it.”

“I want my daughter back, Nyx, and if that takes Azriel torturing her all afternoon, then so be it. You are the one who doesn’t wish that to happen. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Nyx protested.

“Figure it out.”

 

—

 

To Evalin’s surprise, it was Nyx who came back in again, except something was off about him. 

“What would you like me to do?” He demanded.

She raised her eyebrows. Had he gone insane since they last spoke?

“We need that portal open. What can I do to convince you to do that?”

Evalin was about to laugh, to tell him to burn in hell, but she paused. A strange tug on her chest. Then an idea. 

“Let me burn you.” 

Nyx blinked, pausing in his rant to stare at her like she was the crazy one. “ What? ”

“Release me from the iron and let me burn you. It doesn’t even have to be my magic. A match would work.”

For a moment, he just gaped. Then he nodded, slowly, as if he was questioning his own sanity as well. “Fine.”

“Well,” she huffed, “come here.” She raised her shackled arms. 

Nyx waved his hand, and they fell off her wrists. 

He slowly approached her. 

“I’m not going to burn that pretty face of yours, if that’s what you're worried about.”

He frowned. “I wasn’t, but now I am.”

To Evalin’s surprise, she laughed. And to her even greater surprise, the corners of his mouth uptilted. 

He held out a hand. Soft, warm, not Valg-like at all. 

Flames flickered on her fingertips, and she hovered over his skin, waiting for some sort of adverse reaction. He didn’t flinch. She pressed the flames into the soft skin of his inner wrist. He tensed. And then…nothing. 

His skin wasn't melting off, and he wasn’t screeching in pain. 

Their eyes met. Another tug on her chest. 

“I’ll tell you where to open the portal, and I’ll help you do it. But there is something you should know first.”