A SONG IN DARKNESS

  GISELLE ANASTASIA

  A Song in Darkness

  Copyright © 2025 Giselle Anastasia

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or scholarly articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Independently Published

  First Edition, 2025

  ISBN: 9798265297853

  Formatted with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Trigger Warnings

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  43. Ashterion

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Epilogue

  The Crown’s Last Guardian

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Trigger Warnings

  This book contains explicit content, violence and other elements that may be triggering for some.

  Death and grief

  Violence, including battle scenes and torture/interrogation

  Children in danger (none are harmed)

  Psychological trauma and PTSD

  Domestic violence (not between love interests)

  Implied sexual violence (occurs off-page, not between love interests)

  Self-harm and suicidal ideation

  Torture

  Profanity

  Explicit consensual sex scenes

  Your safety matters more than any plot twist.

  If you need to set this book down or skip a scene, do it.

  The story will still be here when you’re ready.

  DEDICATION

  To the mothers who’ve survived the kind of days that would’ve broken queens.

  You don’t need wings or a sword. You’re already dangerous.

  Also?

  I know you’re one more “Muuuum” away from burning something down.

  So here. Take this book.

  Vanish. Breathe. Rage. Escape.

  You’re doing amazing.

  1

  The forest tore at us. Branches sliced my arms. The mud sucked at our feet. Mireth’s small hand clung to mine, slick with sweat. Eryx’s weight sagged against my chest.

  “Mireth, run!” I dragged her forward. “We’re almost there!”

  Behind us, hooves thundered. Twigs snapped.

  Mireth’s breath hitched, teeth pressed into her lower lip, but she didn’t cry out. She just ran.

  “I can’t,” she panted.

  I squeezed her hand, not sure if I was steadying her or myself.

  “I know.” My voice cracked. “Keep going.”

  Ahead, the Veil shimmered—the boundary between Braerlith and Aethermire.

  My husband’s final words echoed in my mind. If you don’t run, they’ll take them from us. Run, Isara.

  But running had brought us to the one place that even monsters didn’t follow.

  “Mama!” Mireth stumbled, her small legs buckling. I hoisted her up, muscles screaming under the burden of both of their weight. We were close now.

  A piercing whistle split the air, followed by a barked command. Armour clinked, and blades hissed free. The air reeked of sweat and steel.

  “Hold on, Mireth,” I said as we broke through the last line of trees.

  Cold seeped from the Veil ahead, its strange energy humming through my veins.

  Crossing meant stepping blind into a land whispered in warnings, a place from which no one truly returned.

  At the edge, I hesitated.

  I pressed my face to Mireth’s, her skin warm against mine. “Close your eyes.”

  She did, scrunching her face as she buried it against my tunic. I shifted Eryx higher against my chest. He barely stirred, lost in sleep.

  Then, I stepped forward.

  The air imploded sharp and sudden, like lungs collapsing mid-breath. The ground convulsed beneath our feet, heaving upward in a sick, unnatural lurch. For a breathless instant, the forest peeled inside out.

  Pressure roared in my skull. My body buckled, weightless and wrong. Time stretched, then snapped. My children tore from my arms.

  The Veil was meant to be a threshold, not a living thing.

  It wrapped around my limbs like silk and starlight, clinging, refusing to let go.

  I had braced for pain, for heat or slicing light.

  But it didn’t burn. Instead, it held me suspended, humming, the magic seeping into my skin and deeper still, into my bones. It pulsed, as if it had found a second heartbeat to echo.

  A scream. High. Frantic. “Mama!”

  My head snapped toward Mireth, already across, clutching Eryx tight. His jade-green eyes were wide, lips trembling. He whimpered, cheeks streaked with silent tears.

  I lunged.

  Then music—just a single note. Faint and far away, yet impossibly clear. Not a voice exactly, but close.

  It moved through me, resonant and deep, bending my breath to its rhythm. My vision blurred. Light fractured behind my eyelids, shattering like glass under water. My pulse faltered, panicked, spiralled out of sync.

  “Please,” I gasped as I struggled against the hold.

  A hand breached the Veil, long fingers, pale as bone. Gold embroidery shimmered at the cuff. I looked up and silver eyes met mine.

  The Veil struck.

  Light flared, it hurled him backward. He hit the earth hard, a harsh breath escaping clenched teeth. Smoke twirled from his wrist. His skin was scorched where the Veil had lashed out.

  He rose and dusted soot from his sleeve calmly, as if it had never happened.

  His gaze dropped to his wrist, then lifted to mine.

  Wordlessly, he reached into the Veil again. His fingers twitched just once before steadying. This time, his hand locked around my wrist. In a single, swift motion, he pulled me free.

  The Veil unravelled from my body like a living thing, reluctant to release me. I hit the ground hard, my knees slamming into damp earth.

  2

  The air pressed close, dank and cloying, thick with a scent I couldn’t name. I gasped for breath, the remnants of the Veil vibrated beneath my skin, twisting inside my bones. An echo that hadn’t quite faded.

  Mireth’s arms cinched around my waist. Her fingers dug in like she thought the earth might open and take me again.

  “Mama!” Her voice trembled with relief as she clung to me, Eryx tucked between us, his tiny fingers fisting my tunic. I buried my face in their hair and inhaled their warmth, their scent.

  But a man stood over us.

  Instinct roared to life. I moved fast, grabbed my blade from my belt and pushed to my feet. I stood between him and my children.

  He towered over us with a stillness that made my skin crawl.

  Not loud. Not showy. But the space bent around him.

  There was youth in his face, an illusion of his early thirties. But it was not the kind that belonged to mortals. It was timeless. Untouched.

  Long ashen hair framed eyes with irises of liquid silver and a face that was almost too perfect, except for the scar, a single brutal line across his cheekbone. As if someone had tried to carve the beauty from him.

  And then I saw his wings. Folded neatly behind hi
m, the dim light skimmed the feathers where hints of gold shimmered faintly. Silent and immense, they radiated strength.

  His face gave nothing away. His silence gave even less.

  I gripped my blade. Everything in me screamed to attack, but he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t struck. Just watched.

  His wrist smoked faintly at his side.

  I forced my hands steady and levelled my dagger between us. “Stay back.”

  “I would worry less about me,” he said, low and smooth, “and more about what lurks in these woods, human.”

  The smirk that followed made my dagger feel like a twig in a hurricane. “I have no interest in killing you.”

  I let out a bitter laugh, my pulse pounding. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “If I wanted you dead, I would’ve left you in the Veil.”

  Mireth slipped past me, her steps cautious but unafraid.

  “Are you… a hero?” Her eyes shone as she stared up at him. “Like Fenric the Fierce?” She named the hero from tales I’d read them a hundred times, a mythical warrior with wings and strength beyond mortal limits.

  The fae’s glare cut toward Mireth, his gaze sharpening as he saw the bloody scrapes on her legs, the dirt smudging her cheeks. His expression darkened, and he looked at me with an accusatory glint, as though her wounds were proof of some cruelty by my hand.

  “What happened to her?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Mireth was faster.

  “My mama saved us,” she said, pointing back to the Veil. “She’s a hero too. We ran from monsters. She got us here safe.” Then, leaning towards him, her voice dropped to a hopeful whisper, “Are you Fenric the Fierce?”

  A soft snort escaped Eryx, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes. He grinned and pointed at the imposing fae. “Den… ric,” he babbled, beaming, face filled with admiration.

  The fae blinked. His wings twitched faintly as he shifted his weight and muttered under his breath. A hint of exasperation crossed his features.

  He turned his attention back to me.

  “You crossed into my lands.” His head tilted. “You will not last alone.” A pause, deliberate. “Come with me. Or take your chances in the wilds.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Mireth nestled back against my side as she clutched my tunic. Eryx whimpered. A hollowness opened under my ribs. We wouldn’t survive the night alone.

  I lowered the dagger slightly. Not surrender. Just acknowledgement.

  “Fine,” I forced out. “And if you try anything⁠—”

  A dry chuckle rumbled from him. “I’m already trembling.”

  And without another word, he turned.

  I adjusted Eryx on my hip, ready to trudge after him, but I hadn’t taken a step when Mireth’s small arms reached up. I parted my lips to tell her she needed to walk.

  The fae looked down at Mireth.

  He stepped closer and leaned down, scooping her up effortlessly.

  My heart stalled. My mind screamed, move, grab her, don’t let go. But my legs locked, paralysed by her laughter. And then she was settled on his shoulders.

  He didn’t flinch, though his jaw clenched as she tugged on his hair. He muttered again, a prayer or a curse, I couldn’t tell.

  He didn’t try to set her down. That terrified me more than anything.

  I should have ripped her from his arms. Screamed. Fought.

  But I didn’t. Because in that moment, with Eryx heavy in my arms and my body hollowed by fear and fatigue, I let it happen.

  Not because I trusted him. But because I couldn’t carry them both anymore. Because I needed five damn seconds to breathe.

  Eryx giggled, delighted, and clapped his hands at the sight of Mireth atop the fae’s shoulders.

  For a moment, it wasn’t a fae warrior carrying Mireth. It was my husband. Navaire. The pair of them laughing as Mireth rode high on his shoulders, her fingers tangled in his hair. Sunlight spilling through trees, gilding them both in gold. “Careful now, little bird,” he’d say, his laughter filling the air. “You’ll steer me straight into the river.”

  When I looked up, the fae’s eyes were on me, almost wary, as if he’d stepped too close to something delicate and didn’t know how to hold it. But as quickly as it had come, his features steeled. He turned and headed deeper into the forest, his wings partially unfurled as he moved.

  I adjusted my hold on Eryx and pressed a kiss to his hair. Then I followed the dark figure ahead, deeper into the wild heart of Aethermire.

  He led without looking back, his stride cutting clean through the underbrush. Mireth, perched on his shoulder, peppered him with questions, her delicate voice bright in the forest’s quiet.

  “Did you really save a village from a giant?” she asked.

  His answers were clipped. A grunt. A nod. A word.

  Mireth, undeterred, only pushed harder. Her tone turned solemn. “There was this one time when Fenric helped his best friend stop wetting the bed,” she said.

  I stifled a laugh as I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, expecting annoyance. His expression didn’t change, not outright. But his wings betrayed him with a twitch, and a faint exhale—dangerously close to a sigh—escaped him.

  The absurdity of it all made my chest ache with the irrational urge to laugh.

  As we walked, I studied him. The make of his clothing was both elegant and practical, a dark jacket adorned with intricate gold accents, functional yet finely crafted. One insignia caught the light: a golden shield marked by an eye, flanked by a griffin and a stag crowned in starlight. Above it, a single opal shimmered, holding light itself.

  No one who wore that kind of craftsmanship had ever knelt in mud or prayed for another mouthful of bread.

  In the distance, something sang.

  A melody woven into the air itself. It lingered on the cusp of hearing, threading through the trees, a whisper that never quite faded. I turned, searching for its source, but it came from everywhere. A pulse of unease ran through me, but I swallowed it down, turning my attention to the more immediate strangeness.

  It wore the shape of a forest, but that was a lie.

  Towering trees stretched into an impossibly high canopy, their bark a deep, cool grey, yet every few seconds, they shimmered beneath the surface, molten silver weaving in their veins before disappearing. The wind should have rustled their leaves, but instead, they moved in unison, their branches shifting with a slow, deliberate motion.

  The ground was uneven beneath me, thick with moss that carried an emerald glow. Tiny flecks of light embedded in the undergrowth flared beneath my steps before dimming again.

  It smelled of earth after rain, crisp and rich. Another scent flowed beneath it. Sweet. Floral. Metallic. A smell that belonged nowhere I had ever known.

  Eryx’s head had dropped against my shoulder. His breathing was slow and even, the fragile weight of him pressing warm against my chest. I adjusted my grip slightly, careful not to wake him, and brushed a curl from his temple.

  “He sleeps deeply,” the fae said without looking back.

  I glanced up, startled that he’d noticed. “He’s exhausted.”

  “Still,” he replied, “the forest doesn’t usually allow such rest.”

  Mireth nodded solemnly from his shoulder, matter of fact in that way only children had, so young they didn’t yet understand the weight of what they said. “He always does that. The monsters came to our uncle’s house. Mama made us hide under the bed. I thought Eryx was pretending at first. But nope. He just snored through it.”

  The fae’s stride didn’t falter, but I felt the change in the air.

  “I didn’t even cry,” Mireth added, head held high. “Not until after.”

  I swallowed hard and adjusted Eryx’s weight, searching for steadiness in the familiar motion. The silence that followed stretched a little too long, a little too thin.

  I looked to the fae’s back. He didn’t respond to her, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed.

  Mireth leaned down toward him, voice hushed. “Do you think he’s dreaming?”

  “If he is,” the fae said quietly, “let it be of something kinder than where he’s been.”

  My mouth opened, then closed. No words came.

  I just kept walking.

  Eventually, the forest thinned. The trees broke. The world opened.

  A city loomed, carved from bone and mist. Towering structures gleamed pale against slow-curling fog, their surfaces smooth and untouched. Figures drifted through the haze, their conversations hushed to murmurs I couldn’t quite catch. As though they knew the city listened.