And then, Varyth collapsed.

  Not figuratively. Literally.

  The High Lord folded in half, one hand bracing against the edge of the table as his body shook with a violent, ill contained fit of laughter. His other covered his face, his shoulders heaving as muffled, wheezing sounds escaped him.

  Across from him, Darian threw his head back and roared. The sound bounced off the walls as he clutched his ribs, gasping for breath. Lira gave up entirely and let out a giggle into her sleeve.

  Shaelith, now leaning against the far wall, arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “Well,” she drawled. “This just became the most interesting meal I’ve had in months.”

  I didn’t dare even glimpse at Varyth. He was gone. There was no saving him. No recovering. He was seconds away from sliding out of his chair and onto the floor.

  Fenric, meanwhile, took the question with all the solemnity of a priest conducting a funeral.

  He met Mireth’s earnest gaze head-on. “Ah,” he murmured. “That was a most delicate situation.”

  “It sounded really hard.”

  Fenric sighed, the sound steeped in the weight of imagined hardship, as if reminiscing about a war he had barely survived. “Indeed. There were many late nights. Much strategising. Trial and error.”

  Varyth let out another choked, gasping wheeze.

  Darian slammed his fist against the table, rattling the plates and glasses, howling.

  “I am in hell,” I whispered.

  Fenric did not so much as blink.

  “It was a long road,” he intoned, completely committed to the tale. “But through sheer willpower and perseverance, my dear friend overcame his nightly struggles.” He placed a solemn hand over his heart. “It was, perhaps, one of my proudest moments.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.” Mireth beamed like he’d won a kingdom.

  “It was a great victory.”

  Varyth made a sound like he had actually stopped breathing.

  I considered walking into the woods, lying down face-first in a stream, and letting the fae realm consume me.

  “Mireth,” I said, desperately trying to restore order. “Perhaps we should let Fenric get back to his duties.”

  Mireth, unbothered by the spectacle she had just created, plopped herself onto the nearest chair and latched onto Fenric’s sleeve with both hands, refusing to release him.

  “You have to tell me another one,” she demanded, her face set with pure, unshakable determination.

  Varyth finally sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t even attempt to look at Fenric, only exhaled roughly and pushed himself to his feet.

  “I fear I may not survive another tale,” he said without looking at any of us. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

  He didn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and making a swift exit, his usual elegance a touch more hurried than usual.

  Fenric watched him go, smirking. “You see, Mireth? That is the power of a well-told story.”

  Mireth grinned, thrilled by this explanation, and clutched his sleeve tighter. “Okay, but actually, you have to tell me another.”

  I sighed, that exhausted kind of smile slipping through, the one that only happens when you stop fighting joy for a second and let it win.

  “Mireth, let the man eat.”

  Fenric lowered himself into the seat beside her with the casual grace of a man accepting his fate and finding it oddly pleasant.

  “It would be an honour,” he said smoothly, reaching for a slice of bread.

  Mireth beamed as Eryx continued to gallop around the room.

  Cindrissian hadn’t looked up from his cup. But his hand hesitated when Eryx ran past him, a subtle pause—barely a flicker—as if some forgotten part of him wanted to reach out.

  Finally recovering from his earlier fit of laughter, Darian shook his head. “You’re in for it now, Fenric. She won’t let you go until she knows everything.”

  Fenric shrugged as he bit into his bread. “So be it.”

  The tension in the room had eased, laughter curling through the morning air. The soft clink of dishes, the scrape of chairs, the quiet murmur of conversation filled the space once more, a rare, fleeting moment of lightness.

  I let the warmth wrap around me, trying to believe in it. Trying to believe I wasn’t about to lose it. Again. So, I smiled. I listened. And I held onto it as tightly as I dared.

  6

  The garden shimmered beneath the morning sun, dew-laced and drowsy, the air sweet with blossoms I couldn’t name.

  I stood at the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden behind a rose-covered trellis, watching my children play.

  Eryx was skipping with a stick he’d decided was a sword, shouting about monsters as he tore through the wildflowers with sticky fingers and the single-mindedness of a warrior king in his prime.

  Mireth, of course, had Fenric. We’d been here a week now, and she’d spent every spare moment dragging him all over the castle.

  The poor bastard was seated on a carved bench beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, his black clothing dusted in petals, his dignity steadily eroding beneath the weight of my daughter’s absolute adoration.

  She had braided flowers into his hair.

  He sat patiently while she wove another daisy chain and launched into the latest tale of Fenric the Fierce.

  I should’ve rescued him. I should’ve done something. But instead, I stood in the shade like a coward.

  Because part of me needed this.

  The sunlight. The laughter. My children running, not hiding. The sound of Mireth’s voice rising with excitement not fear. The way Eryx screamed at a rosebush before falling dramatically onto his back.

  They were safe.

  Gods, they were safe.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  I turned sharply, breath catching⁠—

  And found Darian.

  All sun-drunk and loose-limbed, leaning against the edge of the trellis like he belonged in that garden. Like the wild roses had grown around him, instead of retreating from his recklessness.

  His golden curls were even messier than they’d been at breakfast, wind-tangled and haloed with pollen. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to imply sin without committing to it, and his smile, gods. That smile could start wars. Or end them. Depending on the mood.

  I stiffened. “Are you following me?”

  He gave a lazy laugh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he stepped into the sunlight. “I actually live here, you know. You’re the one lurking behind vines like a scandalous secret.”

  I glared. “I wasn’t lurking.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Scandalous secrets are my favourite kind.” He winked as though we were old friends.

  I turned away, refusing to dignify him with a reply. But he followed anyway.

  “You know,” he said casually, “most people who’ve just crossed into the fae realm are too busy vomiting, weeping, or committing accidental murder to enjoy the garden.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “I gathered.” He glanced toward the children. “They’re incredible, by the way. Fierce. Brave. Mireth already threatened to have her mother stab me if I didn’t kneel to Fenric the Fierce.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  “She’s perfect,” he said. Not in a way that demanded sentiment, just stated it. Fact. Sunlight warmed his features, turned his eyes to honey. “So’s the little one. Eryx?”

  I nodded.

  “Do they know what it cost you?”

  I flinched. “They know enough.”

  Darian studied me then, the grin slipping just slightly. “I wasn’t trying to pry. Just…” He shrugged, as if unsure what to do with his own softness. “You don’t look like someone who’s had time to rest.”

  “Because I haven’t.”

  “You could, though.” He gestured to the bench near the tree. “Sit. Watch them play. Pretend, for one stars-damned second, that you’re not in the middle of a war you haven’t named yet.”

  My jaw clenched. “You think I don’t know what I’m in?”

  “No,” he said, and for once, his voice was quiet. Honest. “I think you know exactly. I just think you’ve forgotten how to breathe through it.”

  Mireth glanced over, spotted me, and immediately screamed “Mama!” like I’d been gone a thousand years. She dashed over, clutching something in her fist.

  “Look!” she beamed. “Fenric let me use his sword!”

  Behind her, Fenric looked like a man who had just been thoroughly defeated by a six-year-old tyrant.

  “He gave you a stick,” I said.

  “It’s a training blade,” Mireth corrected.

  Darian laughed, hands on hips. “Gods save us all.”

  The garden thrummed.

  A pressure beneath the soil, a hum in the stone. I could feel it in the soles of my feet. In my blood.

  As though the world was whispering.

  I tilted my head. Stillness blanketed the air, but under it—under everything—was that low, vibrating pull.

  “What is that?” I murmured.

  Darian glanced over, blinking like I’d just asked him if the sky was real. “What’s what?”

  I took a step forward, toward the tree where Fenric sat cross-legged beside Eryx, both of them threading flower stems into loops. “That sound. That hum. You don’t hear it?”

  He frowned. “I mean, the bees are pretty aggressive this time of year.”

  “Not bees. The world. It’s like…” My voice trailed off, caught on something I couldn’t name. “It’s like the garden’s alive. Breathing.”

  Darian shrugged. “Could just be the crossing messing with your senses. Fae and humans don’t process the world the same, especially not right away.”

  I listened for another heartbeat, the sound pressed against my awareness.

  And gods help me, I wanted to answer it.

  My lips parted before I could think, a wordless note building in my throat. The melody wanted to spill out of me, wanted to join whatever song the garden was humming beneath its breath.

  But then Mireth came tearing across the grass like war incarnate in a dress.

  “Mama!” she cried, nearly tripping over her own feet. “Fenric said he would fly me if you said it’s okay. Can I, can I, please?”

  “He said what⁠—?”

  Fenric approached, already looking apologetic, his hands held slightly out like a man preparing for arrest.

  “I didn’t mean to promise,” he said, his voice apologetic. “Only that I could, if you approved. I wouldn’t take her without your permission.”

  My eyes narrowed. “How high?”

  His lips twitched, but he smothered the amusement instantly. “No higher than the garden walls. I swear it.”

  Mireth clutched my hand. “I’ll be safe. Please?”

  I stared at Fenric, who stood straight and still, a perfect portrait of confidence.

  “I swear on my wings,” he added.

  Gods. That sounded serious.

  I exhaled slowly. “Fine. But if you so much as tilt her toward a roof tile, I will personally shoot you out of the sky.”

  His mouth twitched again, but he nodded. “Understood.”

  Mireth squealed in delight. “Yes!”

  And then⁠—

  Wings.

  With a sound like unfurling silk and a sudden snap of motion, they exploded from Fenric’s back.

  I jumped. Not outwardly—I had some pride—but my heart did try to flee through my ribcage.

  The fabric of his shirt didn’t even ripple.

  How? Why didn’t it tear? Did he have—was it enchanted? Flexible seams?

  But I shoved the thought aside. Because his wings were breathtaking. Massive, blood-red feathers that caught the sunlight and shimmered with veins of molten gold. They were weapons disguised as beauty. And as they spread to their full, impossible span, Mireth clapped her hands in delight.

  Fenric crouched, arms extended. “Ready, little warrior?”

  Mireth nodded so hard her hair fell from its ribbon. He lifted her easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back.

  And then he launched upward⁠—

  Not far. Just enough.

  They hovered. Wings beating slow and steady. Gold catching in the air like sparks. Mireth laughed. A bright, shrieking sound of pure wonder.

  Eryx screamed from the ground. “Me next!”

  Darian barked a laugh behind me. “He’s not getting out of this anytime soon.”

  But I wasn’t watching him.

  I was watching my daughter, held in the arms of a warrior I barely knew.

  “You know,” Darian said, coming to stand beside me. “You could smile a little. Just once. You’ll sprain something otherwise.”

  I didn’t miss a beat. “Careful. Telling women to smile is how wars start.”

  Darian blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then he laughed.

  “Fair. But I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, holding both hands up in mock surrender. “Just that your daughter is flying. Your son is pretending to be a dragon. You’re allowed to enjoy this.”

  I looked away.

  Because he wasn’t wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain that joy didn’t come easily anymore. That letting myself feel it was like walking a tightrope over a pit full of memory and blood.

  Fenric had crept just a little higher, wings flaring wide as he floated in slow, lazy circles with Mireth cradled in his arms. Her shrieks of joy floated through the morning air, so full of life it almost hurt to hear.

  Darian was all sun and swagger and easy banter, but that was the problem. Nothing was that easy in this world. Not kindness. Not laughter. Certainly not trust.

  A rustle came from the hedge behind the flowerbed.

  Darian went still, the tension bleeding into his shoulders even as he kept his voice light. “You hear that?”

  I nodded once. My hand was already moving to my side—no blade. Of course.

  Another rustle. Closer now.

  And then it leapt.

  It was a wolf. Almost.

  But too big. Too wrong. Its limbs were bent at angles that made my skin crawl. Like someone had built a beast from memory and gotten it just enough off to make your stomach twist.

  Its fur was patchy, thick in some places, slick in others. Veins pulsed beneath its skin like something alive was writhing inside.

  And its eyes⁠—

  Violet. Wide, gleaming, pupils blown so far the colour was nearly swallowed whole. And when its mouth opened, its teeth were too long, too sharp, shining like glass.

  I barely had time to move.

  Darian launched first, thank the gods. His body snapped into motion, freeing his sword from its sheath as he shoved me back.

  I screamed Eryx’s name. But Fenric was already moving.

  He dropped, wings folding as he dove.

  Eryx had only just started to run, his tiny arms pumping, face twisted in fear⁠—

  Fenric snatched him from the ground in one fluid motion, wings snapping open with a crack like thunder as he caught the air again, soaring upward with both children locked in his arms.

  Eryx screamed. Mireth shrieked. Fenric didn’t falter.

  My knees nearly buckled from the relief⁠—

  But there was no time.

  I turned back to see the thing clamp its jaws down on Darian’s shoulder. His cry tore through the garden. Blood sprayed. The beast shook him, teeth sunk deep, and I saw his feet leave the ground.

  I threw myself at the wolf. My shoulder slammed into its ribs with a crack that I felt in my bones. It released Darian with a snarl, stumbling sideways, and I hit the ground hard, rolling through dirt and crushed roses.

  Darian collapsed, blood streaming from his shoulder, his sword clattering from nerveless fingers. The beast shook its massive head, those violet eyes fixing on me with something that looked almost like... curiosity.

  I scrambled to my feet, breathing hard, hands raised like I had any prayer of defending myself barehanded against that monstrosity.

  The thing tilted its head. Studied me.

  Then it opened its mouth and spoke.

  “Well, well.” The voice was wrong. Too human for that throat, too smooth for those teeth. “What have we here?”

  My blood turned to ice.

  It took a step toward me, nostrils flaring as it scented the air. “You smell of shadows and flame, little mortal. How... interesting.”

  I backed away, every instinct screaming at me to run. But there was nowhere to go.

  “My master will be very pleased,” it continued, that horrible grin stretching wider. “Very pleased indeed. I think I shall take you back to him.”

  “Like hell,” I snarled, though my voice came out breathless and shaking.

  The wolf laughed. Actually laughed, a sound like breaking glass.

  From the ground behind it, Darian made a sound that was half growl, half curse. He was trying to push himself up, one arm useless, blood pooling beneath him. “Don’t—don’t you fucking dare⁠—”

  The beast’s attention snapped to him, and for a moment I thought it might finish what it started.

  Then the world exploded.

  Something slammed into the earth between me and the wolf with enough force to fissure the stone beneath our feet. Wind erupted around us, whipping my hair across my face and sending rose petals spinning like a storm.

  I caught a glimpse of wings, not feathered like Fenric’s, but gossamer-thin and iridescent, catching the light like a dragonfly’s. They snapped wide, spanning twice the width of their owner’s body, and the air around them shimmered with power.

  A woman. Tall, lean, deadly. Tiny braids of black and magenta hair whipped around a face carved from angles and fury. Her clothes were practical leather and steel, and when she turned slightly, I caught the glint of a blade at her hip.

  The wolf’s grin faltered.

  “Brynelle,” it said, and there was something like respect in that inhuman voice. “Still playing saviour, I see.”

  “Still playing lapdog, Torrath.” Her voice was silk over steel, calm despite the hurricane of wind swirling around her. “Tell me, does your master know you’re hunting children now? Or is that your own particular brand of cowardice?”