Chapter 4
Sunlight glowed behind my closed eyes. For a moment, I didn’t move. Not from fear. No, this was worse. My body was wrong.
The air filled my lungs too easily. My limbs had forgotten what it was to carry fear, as if they’d been rinsed clean of survival instinct.
I opened my eyes slowly. The muted light filtering through intricately patterned drapes looked too bright.
My fingers brushed against the dagger, right where I had left it. Varyth’s words lingered in my mind, unsettling my thoughts.
I traced my forearm and expected the raw scrape from the forest to throb, only to find smooth skin where the wound should have been. There was no trace of pain, no sign of the injury.
But it wasn’t just my body that was different. My senses seemed to have been reawakened. As I glanced out the window, the trees were green. The sky rich. Every colour sang, loud and unfamiliar. As if had been living behind fogged glass, and now—everything was clear.
The faint scent of the stone floor, the fabric, the warm air. Everything was saturated. Louder than it should be.
And there, that familiar, comforting fragrance—the scent of my children. That mix of damp earth and the sweet flowers they always carried, was bolder, more distinct than ever before.
I sat up slowly, the weight of the world rediscovering me as I looked down at them. Mireth, curled up, her hands tucked beneath her chin. Eryx was sprawled on his back, his chest rose and fell with the deep, untroubled peace of sleep.
Everything outside them was wrong. But here were two small, steady breaths. Two real, solid little bodies. Relief and longing filled me as I watched them, their faces soft and serene.
They had learned, just as I had, to sleep lightly. To startle at the whisper of danger.
But now they didn’t.
I hadn’t seen them sleep like this since… My thoughts drifted to a night that belonged to another life.
Navaire grinning, stacking pillows into towers, blankets draped between them, the children squealing with delight.
The fire crackling. The scent of spiced cider in the air.
I’d scolded them at first. But laughter filled the room, wafting in the firelight, warm and bright.
And by nightfall, I found them there, a tangled heap of limbs, Eryx’s head on his sister’s chest. Navaire beside them all, snoring so loud it should’ve woken them. It never did.
A smile touched my lips, but the memory was cruel, bittersweet.
Navaire’s face lingered in my mind—his rich and earthy skin, the colour of sun-warmed mahogany.
His hair short, black, and tightly coiled.
His face lit the room like he believed nothing bad would ever reach us.
I could almost see his broad, infectious smile, the way it filled the room with light.
The ache of his absence twisted within me, almost too much to bear. I reached out a hand to touch the memory.
I tried to pull it back, to keep it.
But it slipped through my fingers like sand and sorrow.
I could reach for him a thousand times and he would still slip away.
I dragged my focus back to my children, my heart swelling at the sight of them nestled close.
Mireth, with her father’s skin, his dark, coiled hair and amber eyes, was truly the spitting image of Navaire.
Eryx, on the other hand, was a blend of us both; soft brown skin, Navaire’s curls, but his hair was a reddish brown, and he bore my deep green eyes, a little mirror of our union.
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice the figure slip into the room until a warm hand pressed gently on my shoulder.
A heartbeat. A twist of the wrist and the blade was already at their throat.
“Ow!” a familiar voice yelped. “It’s me!”
I released her wrist immediately. Lira straightened and rubbed her throat with a bemused smile. She glanced at the children, who remained blissfully undisturbed, Mireth shifting only slightly in her sleep.
“Oh gods, I’m sorry.” I stepped back, putting space between us.
“No apology needed.” Lira raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the dagger in my hand. “But I do have to wonder… where did you get that?”
My cheeks flushed faintly, and I tucked the dagger into a drawer. “Let’s just say I’ve learned to be prepared.” I managed a tight-lipped smile.
Lira chuckled. “Fair enough. Though perhaps a little less preparation would do for an early morning greeting.”
I offered a sheepish smile, but Lira appeared unfazed. She led me out of the room and into the hall, where she opened a chest of drawers. She hesitated, glancing between me and the contents.
After a moment, she handed me a woven blouse and a pair of pants, both crafted from silken, high-quality fabric. “Here,” she said, with a gesture to a chamber across the hall. “There’s a room where you can dress.”
I accepted the clothes and slipped into the room, pulling them on. The fabric was cool and comforting against my skin, finer than anything I’d worn in ages.
I adjusted my collar as I studied myself in the mirror.
I knew the face reflected there.
But it wasn’t mine.
I ran a hand over my skin, expecting the same texture, but it was… different. Smoother. Warmer.
My long copper-red hair gleamed, almost glowing, deeper and bolder than before. My freckles stood out like marks on a map I hadn’t drawn. My eyes—gods, my eyes—they cleaved through the glass. Too bright. Too beautiful.
My features had taken on a subtle, fierce edge.
Each hardship I’d faced had carved its mark, leaving me with a presence that was seasoned, experienced beyond my thirty years.
I had always been considered pretty, but this was different, otherworldly.
The person staring at me was almost unrecognisable.
As I gathered my hair into a braid, an unfamiliar shape caught my eye, one that shouldn’t be there.
My heart faltered. A beat missed. A beat stolen.
I leaned closer as my fingers brushed back my hair to trace what should have been the curve of my ears. Instead, they were pointed, subtly but undeniably, tapering to a delicate, sharp edge.
I staggered back. My lungs forgot how to function, strangled by a cold so deep it felt alive.
My fingers curled against the wall, pressed into the stone, willing its solidity to hold me together.
This was what I chose, I reminded myself.
But it did little to quiet the strange, unsettling stir beneath my skin.
I fought the wild urge to dash down the hall, to check my children’s ears, though I knew what I would find.
Once dressed, I stepped into the hall where Lira waited, holding multiple pairs of boots. “Try these,” she said, as she set them on the ground. I slipped on a pair that fit snugly, grateful for the feel of sturdy soles beneath my feet.
Lira stepped back and gave me a look of quiet approval. “At the end of this hall, you’ll find the High Lord’s private dining room. He’s expecting you.”
The word “expecting” caught in my chest.
“And the children?” She asked, watching my face. “If they wake, shall I bring them to the dining hall? Or would you prefer they eat here and perhaps join me in the garden for a bit?”
I glanced back toward the room where they slept. I pictured them in the garden, running through the sunlight, their laughter carrying on the wind.
“If they wake, let them eat here,” I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be. “Then… let them go to the garden.”
“Very well,” she said with a kind smile. “I’ll look after them.”
I offered one last grateful glance before heading down the hall. Each step a decision I couldn’t take back. As I neared the door to the dining hall, hunger rumbled in my gut. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had a decent meal.
Surely fae food was different? I hesitated, but the pang in my stomach overruled any reservations.
I squared my shoulders and pushed the doors open.
The smell of food hit me first, rich and familiar. Across the long table, plates were piled high with roasted quail, stacks of potatoes, vibrant fruits, and trays of delicate pastries. It was abundance in a way I had forgotten. And that, more than anything, turned my hunger to ash.
“Morning.” I looked up to see Varyth seated at the head of the table.
To my surprise, his wings were no longer visible. He wasn’t alone, either.
At the table sat three other fae, each strikingly different from the last.
Nearest sat a stocky man, golden light tangled in his tousled waves. It caught on his tawny brown skin, turning him into something sunlit and effortless.
He ate like no one was watching, shovelling food with the zeal of a man who lived in his appetite.
Beside him, a woman dissected her plate with precise distaste. Her white hair fell in waves over one side of her face, framing skin that glowed like cocoa in firelight.
She didn’t look at me, she assessed me. She was tallying weaknesses, not meeting a guest. There was no posturing to her presence. It was woven into her stillness.
Compared to them, I was a ghost walking through a painting. I didn’t belong. And I didn’t dare forget it.
Varyth inclined his head with formal ease. “Allow me to introduce some members of my court.” He gestured to the sandy-haired man, who looked up with a mouthful of food and grinned at me, unbothered by the bits that escaped onto his plate.
“Hey,” he mumbled around a bite.
“Disgusting, Darian,” the white-haired woman muttered.
Darian swallowed before firing back. “Why don’t you try it sometime, Shaelith? Might sweeten that sour face.”
I couldn’t help a scoff, and Shaelith’s attention snapped to me. For a breath—just a breath—her mouth twitched.
Varyth appeared unbothered by the exchange. “Dariandralis, my second in command,” he said, inclining his head toward the man.
“Fuck, no one calls me Dariandralis except Varyth. It’s Darian.” And then he smiled. Properly.
Gods help me. This man had been forged to be loved. It was the kind of smile that didn’t just sit on his lips but crinkled at the corners of his eyes.