The conversation drifted around me for a while, the fae speaking of border tensions, trade negotiations, minor disputes that sounded as though they held greater importance than they let on.

  Varyth turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, Isara. Now that you’ve crossed the Veil, what do you plan to do?”

  My mind flicked back to my children. To Mireth’s laugh. To Eryx’s sleepy weight against my chest. I had fought so hard to get here. To get them here. And now, for the first time, I was being asked what came next. I didn’t know.

  And somehow, that felt like failure.

  “I just want my children safe,” I admitted, my words tempered by honesty. “That’s all I’ve thought about.”

  “Your children are safe here.” Varyth’s impatience coloured his tone. “I’m asking about you.” His gaze was cutting. “Do you understand what you’ve begun by crossing that border?”

  I hesitated and glanced briefly at the others, then back at Varyth. “I know I’ve crossed a line that can’t easily be uncrossed.”

  Varyth leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming not out of restlessness, but calculation.

  I dragged a breath past the pressure in my chest, the tightening in my gut. But there was no escaping it.

  “I need time.”

  Varyth gave a slow, measured nod. “You can have time. But surely you know there is a price to returning, should you choose to do so.”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” I said quickly. “I understand what it means to cross back.”

  “Then you also know it is not only your cost to bear,” he said, his voice a shade softer. “Your children crossed with you. The price is theirs as well.”

  My grip on the edge of the table tightened, nails pressing into wood.

  A scream rose in my chest, but I buried it, shoved it down beneath my ribs where it could rot quietly beside the guilt.

  I knew. Gods, I knew.

  Varyth exhaled through his nose. “Few humans survive the crossing.” He shot me a knowing look. “You could count yourself lucky.”

  The laugh came out wrong—bitter, more truth than I meant to show. “Lucky? I had a choice between death or the land of trickster fae.”

  Across from me, Darian let out a bark of laughter and slapped a hand on the table.

  “She’s got a point.” He grinned as he nudged his goblet toward me in a silent toast. “Though not all of us are tricksters. Some of us are too dumb to pull it off.”

  “That much is obvious,” Shaelith said dryly.

  Darian sighed and threw an arm over the back of his chair. “And yet,” he said, lifting his goblet in mock solemnity, “I persevere.” He clinked his cup against mine before I could stop him, sealing some absurd, unspoken agreement between us.

  I couldn’t help it, a glimmer of amusement broke through the tension, a fleeting smile pulling at my lips. Varyth’s gaze flicked downward, catching on my mouth for the briefest second before rising again.

  The look made my pulse jump, just for a second. I quickly smoothed the reaction away.

  “You are welcome to remain here,” he said, “Until you make your decision. You and your children will be safe within these grounds.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Why does there have to be one?”

  “Because there always is.”

  “Well,” Shaelith mused. “Perhaps humans aren’t the complete buffoons we thought.”

  I arched a brow at her. “And perhaps fae aren’t as clever as the stories portray.”

  Darian let out a low whistle, grinning between us. “I like her.”

  Varyth sighed, the entire exchange clearly testing the limits of his patience.

  I turned back to him and fixed him with a level stare. “So, what’s the price?” I asked again. “What does it cost?”

  For a moment, he said nothing, studying me with that same calm intensity. Then, finally, “When you crossed the Veil, I sensed a power.”

  A breath of ice blew down my spine.

  “It is not uncommon for humans who cross to develop… minor magic. Traces of the Veil left within them,” he continued. “But with you, I sensed something greater.”

  My gut clenched like it wanted to run without me.

  Something greater. I didn’t want greater. I didn’t want any of this. But the way he had said it slithered beneath my skin into a place I didn’t want to examine.

  Because I had felt it, hadn’t I?

  That moment, at the Veil. When the world had split open around me. When the air pulled at me, reached for me, singing.

  Varyth didn’t waver. “If you choose to remain, I would have you explore that power. Train it.”

  I had been forged once before. I wouldn’t be someone else’s weapon again, not even if it came wrapped in silver promises and velvet chairs.

  Varyth watched me, his eyes glinting with quiet calculation, waiting for me to react, to recoil. To give myself away. I wouldn’t.

  “And,” his voice was light but laced with a tension I couldn’t decipher. “You could work for me.”

  Silence stretched between us.

  I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. “And what exactly does working for you entail?”

  “That would depend on your power, and what experience you have.” His fingers tapped against the table. “What sort of education did you receive in the human lands?”

  I hesitated, debating how much to share. But there was no point in hiding it.

  “Extensive training in combat.” I shrugged. “Hand-to-hand, archery, blade work.”

  For the first time since I’d sat down, Cindrissian turned toward me. It was brief, nothing more than a glance, but it was the first sign of interest he’d shown in anything since the meal began. He said nothing, gaze moving over me as though he was a blade measuring where to cut, then he returned to his meal.

  Varyth appeared mildly intrigued. “That will be helpful.” He took a casual sip from his goblet. “Perhaps a military role might interest you. But we can assess that.” His eyes locked on mine. “When you make the change permanent.”

  Not if.

  When.

  The word hit like a brand against my skin.

  “What sort of power do you think I have?” I asked warily.

  Varyth didn’t answer immediately. He studied me for a beat longer before setting down his goblet.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Truly.”

  That should have reassured me. But it didn’t. Because it meant that whatever I carried—whatever had called to me through the Veil—was a magic even he had never seen before.

  And that was worse.

  That was so much worse.

  Varyth shifted in his seat slightly. “But what I sensed. It was… powerful.”

  I let my fingers move, idle and practiced, masking the way my pulse clawed at my throat. “You’re a High Lord,” I said. “Surely you’re already powerful enough on your own.”

  A ghost of amusement, or perhaps calculation, passed over his face.

  “You were a noble before,” he countered. “You know the game. Power doesn’t grow in solitude, it’s curated.”

  I pursed my lips.

  He had a point.

  But I wouldn’t acknowledge it aloud.

  “I’ll give you a few days to settle in.” Varyth’s tone returned to one of cool indifference. “After that, you’ll need to decide. If you stay, you train.”

  “And my children?” I asked. The idea turned my stomach. That he might look at them and see potential instead of people. “Do you wish for them to be weapons too?”

  For the first time, his expression shifted. It was subtle, so fast it could have been a trick of the light. For just a moment, I swore there was a trace of anger. But it was gone before I could be sure.

  “They will be given access to the castle’s school,” he said. “They will receive an education, as all fae children here do.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” A muscle in my jaw twitched as I held his gaze. “An education, a place in your court… and all for what? My supposed potential?”

  Varyth sighed, long and slow, my scepticism apparently exhausting him. “I don’t offer generosity, Isara. I offer practicality. Purpose brings order. Order protects those within.”

  I arched a brow. “A purpose that serves you.”

  “Of course,” he said, unbothered by the accusation. “That is the foundation of any well-run court, is it not?”

  He studied me, waiting for my response, but I merely stared back, refusing to give him even the slightest hint of agreement.

  “You have a choice,” he said finally. “You can train. Discover what lies within you. If the power I sensed is as strong as I believe, you will become a formidable force.”

  “And if I want to leave?”

  “Then you leave. If you think the world beyond is safer, then by all means, walk back into it. Do you truly believe the soldiers who chased you have forgotten? That they aren’t waiting?” His voice lowered. “And what of your children? Will you drag them back to a life of running, of fear?”

  The ghosts of those months clawing at my mind. Mireth’s hollow eyes, the way she bit her lip raw to keep from crying when she was starving. Eryx’s tiny body, so fevered I thought—I thought I would lose him. Hiding in that damp, stinking cave, holding him, waiting for the moment he would stop breathing. And the fear, gods, the fear that every night would be our last.

  “My children are mine to protect.”

  “Perhaps,” Varyth replied smoothly, “but you do know, don’t you?”

  He was waiting for me to crack, to say it aloud.

  “What the Veil takes from children. If you choose to cross back.”

  The words didn’t leave. They breathed with the walls.

  For children... the Veil could take their speech, their sight, or worse—their very essence, leaving behind hollow shells of who they once were.

  I clamped my jaw shut before anything reckless could slip out. But I felt Varyth’s scrutiny like a physical touch.

  “You’re trying to frighten me.” I spoke evenly, presenting a calm that existed nowhere within.

  “I’m stating facts.” Varyth rolled his eyes. “The choice is yours, but it should be an informed one.”

  I glanced toward the window, where sunlight streamed in, painting the room in golden hues. Somewhere in those gardens, my children might be playing. Running. Laughing.

  Not looking over their shoulders.

  Not hiding in damp caves, starving, shaking, waiting for the next night to bring worse.

  My children were safe.

  And I could never take that from them again.

  “I don’t make decisions lightly,” I bit out. “I won’t be coerced into this.”

  Varyth sat back again. “Good. I have no interest in the weak-willed.”

  I sighed and rubbed my fingers against my temple. “I’ll think about it.” The words were poison on my tongue.

  Varyth inclined his head, as if he’d expected that answer all along. “See that you do.”

  I opened my mouth to snap a retort⁠—

  When the doors to the hall exploded open, crashing against the stone with a force that rattled the air.

  5

  Mireth tore into the room like a storm in boots, dragging a bewildered, impeccably dressed fae warrior behind her, a victory clutched in her tiny hands.

  My pulse snapped to readiness. My hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.

  Why was she⁠—

  But then, Lira followed close behind, Eryx walking at her side, his tiny fingers entwined firmly in hers. A few strands of her pastel pink hair had come loose from their twist, falling to frame her flushed face. But her expression was calm.

  Relief crashed over me, but there was no time to dwell on it because Mireth was tugging the unfamiliar man forward, Eryx dashing ahead to join her. They both spoke at once, words tumbling too fast for me to catch.

  I scooped up Eryx, pressing a pastry from the table into his hands, the sweet treat an easy distraction.

  “Breathe, my love,” I said calmly to Mireth, pressing a steadying palm to her back.

  Mireth sucked in a big, dramatic breath, her chest rising and falling as she prepared for a great declaration.

  And then she beamed. “Mama, I found him. The real Fenric the Fierce!”

  I looked up at him, and blinked. My brain stalled. My mouth parted on instinct.

  He was unfairly beautiful, the kind of beauty that should arrive by prophecy, not over breakfast. Tall, with a lean, elegant strength, his dark clothing perfectly tailored, embroidered with intricate silver thread work.

  His midnight-dark hair was a study in precision-disguised-as-casual, every strand meticulously out of place. His aristocratic features were framed by high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a mouth designed for wicked wit and whispered ruin.

  But it was his eyes that caught me most of all. A piercing, steel-blue beneath the shadows of his lashes. Intelligent, calculating. Assessing me as much as I was assessing him.

  Gods.

  He did look like the male from the books. The warrior hero I had read to my children late into the night, the one who slew monsters and defied impossible odds with only his wits and steel.

  Pink tinged the male’s cheeks. An almost imperceptible flush that might be embarrassment, or amusement. Before I could decide which, a choked noise came from the table.

  I turned just in time to see Varyth angle his body away, coughing violently into his hand. His shoulders hitched suspiciously.

  I didn’t speak. But I stared. Hard.

  The coughing continued, his entire frame trembling in a way that could have been distress, if not for the way his fist had curled against his lips.

  My gaze flicked between him and the very real, very much standing in the dining hall Fenric the Fierce.

  Varyth finally straightened, though his hand concealed the lower half of his face.

  “I see you’ve met Fenric, then,” he said to Mireth, his voice slightly muffled.

  I gaped. Actually gaped. “You’re—” I started, my brain tripping over itself. “You’re actually named Fenric?”

  He gave a dry nod. “Last time I checked.”

  “Fenric is my third in command,” Varyth added casually.

  Fenric gave Mireth a small bow. “At your service, little one,” he said, which only made Mireth’s eyes shine brighter.

  I stared at Mireth, who was positively glowing with excitement. Then back at Fenric the Actual, Real, Not-Imaginary Fierce. Mireth had just casually plucked a figure of myth from the corridors and dragged him into breakfast.

  And then, finally, I glanced back to Varyth. He’d managed to arrange his face into a mask of too perfect calm.

  “Oh, you’re enjoying this,” I said.

  His lips ticked up, the barest hint of humour before he composed himself once more. “It’s not every day one of my most formidable warriors is immortalised in children’s stories.”

  “He’s a hero,” Mireth declared proudly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Because he’s brave and strong and noble⁠—”

  “Flattered,” Fenric said, his tone silk-smooth. “But I do wonder what exactly my fictional counterpart has been up to.”

  “Oh! You fight terrible monsters and evil knights and once you saved a whole kingdom from ruin.”

  “Only once?”

  “Well, Mama only had time for one story before bed. But I’m sure you’ve saved lots of kingdoms.”

  “Naturally.” Fenric chuckled, deep and rich.

  Varyth let out a breath, though it was just shy of steady. “It’s good to know my third in command has such an esteemed reputation among the younglings.”

  Mireth nodded eagerly. “Mama always says stories have truth in them!”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  Fenric pressed a palm to his chest. “A wise sentiment.”

  Beside me, Lira appeared to be actively fighting for her life trying not to laugh.

  Eryx threw both arms in the air, his mouth stuffed full of pastry. “Glory!” he shouted, crumbs spraying in every direction as he launched himself off my lap and took off galloping around the room at full tilt.

  I barely had time to react before he was a blur of sticky fingers and shrieking laughter, his tiny feet thundering across the stone floor.

  “Oh gods,” I muttered.

  “A warrior spirit,” Fenric declared, tilting his chin at Eryx as he nearly barrelled into a chair. “Fearless and swift.” He looked far too pleased to be at the centre of this tiny disaster.

  Mireth returned her full attention back to Fenric with furrowed brows and an expression of utmost importance. “Yeah, but where’s your horse?”

  “My… horse?” Fenric blinked.

  “Glory. The big white one.”

  Varyth made another coughing sound, and I had the distinct suspicion he was seconds away from disintegrating.

  To his credit, Fenric took it in stride. He looked down at Mireth and said with deadpan seriousness, “I had to leave Glory behind. She’s currently indisposed.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Only the best stables for a warhorse of her calibre.”

  “That’s good. She’ll need her rest if you’re gonna keep fighting the monsters.”

  Fenric grinned down at her. “Exactly.”

  “Well, Mireth.” I dragged a hand down my face. “You’ve certainly made some important friends.”

  Mireth jabbed a finger toward Varyth like she was delivering a final verdict. “Varyth is very lucky to have you, Fenric.”

  “Indeed, Mireth. Very lucky, indeed.” Varyth inclined his head in Fenric’s direction.

  A smirk lit Fenric’s face as he dipped his head. “I do try to be useful.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Still buzzing with excitement, Mireth turned back to Fenric. “Can you tell me about the time you helped your best friend stop wetting the bed?”

  The entire room went silent.