Chapter 2
Bitter Truths
“Nyleeria, can you hear me?”
The familiar timbre of Endymion’s voice was jagged with raw concern, and something in the poorly veiled panic begged me to let him become my north star. Instinctively, I reached for him as I tried to claw my way out of the maelstrom of sound intent on stealing my sanity.
Even with his presence guiding me toward him, it took several minutes before I was able to ground myself enough that the ringing began to ebb and my surroundings came back into focus.
Slowly blinking, I raised a hand to shield my pounding head from the blinding sun spilling through the expansive archways that greeted Summer’s essence with open arms.
Endymion’s hulking silhouette knelt over me, his features sharpening as I caught his gaze.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. “There you are.”
“Thank the stars,” Caius murmured from his side.
My body ached in the wake of the roaring tempest that had assaulted my senses.
I lay there, breaths heavy, and for the first time in my life, I truly felt…
nothing. And Mother help me, was it blissfully quiet.
I knew the numb stillness enveloping me would prove fleeting, but I thanked the gods that this peace wasn’t contrived by a cursed necklace noosed around my neck.
The phantom weight of that cursed diamond lingered against my chest as the memory of it cracked through the blissful fog.
Fleeting indeed, I thought, focusing on the softness of the thick rug peeking between my fingers, trying to root myself in the present.
I had no idea how I’d wound up on the floor in the fetal position, or how long I’d been there. One thing was certain: neither of them dared touch me—not even to move me to the sofa only a few strides away. No, Endymion had promised he’d never push my boundaries.
“Nyleeria?”
My name on the autumn fae’s tongue was heavy, as if that single word were asking for answers I didn’t know and wasn’t prepared to face.
I stared past my fingers idly playing with the cream-colored rug and into the memory of what had just transpired.
Don’t you fucken touch me.
The words were acrid, even now. I’d lashed out like a coiled serpent, and Endymion’s shock had been proof enough that the venom had struck true.
Stars, where had that vitriol come from?
Shame, warm and heavy, sluiced through me, trying to take hold—but it was the cool shock of fear that found purchase, driving me to my knees.
The prickle in my veins was courtesy of a question that terrified me: What was the cost of becoming fae? And worse, what if it was my humanity?
“Nyleeria?”
I didn’t allow Caius’ voice to cut through the haze of my thoughts. Lifting a hand to signal that I needed a moment, I felt—rather than saw—the two of them exchange a glance.
I knew myself. I held grace for others, even when they didn’t deserve it. Hells, when I did lash out, it was always with frustrations I’d choked back for too long or truths I could no longer hold captive.
Turning that kind of venom on Endymion was so out of character that I scrambled to recall the exact words I’d thrown at him during the summer solstice—the ones where I’d called his humanity into question.
His expression was unreadable as the words replayed in my mind.
You should try it, you know, the humanity part of it. Maybe it wasn’t woeful ignorance that kept us away for five centuries. Maybe we saw who you are, what you are, and chose decency, chose to forget. You can have your magic and your secret realm if this is the cost.
If this is the cost.
I was…
I swallowed, unable to finish the thought. My chest constricted so hard my heart skipped a beat.
Oh gods, I was fae now.
Bracing my palms against the floor, I fought back the nausea.
No. Godsdammit, no. I refused to sacrifice the core of who I was for whatever fucked-up games the Fates were playing at. And in that moment, I forbade myself from becoming a monster—even if my humanity was stolen.
Taking a few measured breaths, I sat back on my heels and finally met Endymion’s unwavering gaze, his eyes alight with countless unspoken questions as they mined mine for answers.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked, wincing at how dry my throat was.
His dark brow lifted a fraction. “For what?”
“For how I spoke to you. I didn’t—”
“No.” His gentle word broke in. “The fault is mine. I should have known better. I was just…”
Worried. Scared. Concerned. Helpless.
The unspoken words left on the tip of his tongue were plainly written in the lines of his expression.
“Here,” Endymion said, conjuring an orb of water with a swirl of his hand.
The glistening sphere drifted toward me. Cupping my hands to receive it, a small unbidden smile tugged at my lips as it hovered, the cool air radiating from it tickling my hollowed palms.
The water churned lazily within its invisible confines as I drew my palms closer, the orb mirroring the movement as if we were tethered. Just as I was about to take a sip, the memory of Fiora’s words stopped me dead in my tracks.
“I could get used to this,” I’d said to Fiora, loving the casual use of her Spring Court magic after Amos’ wisp had haunted my dreams.
“I believe you could, Nyleeria. I think Myron is right in that our realm was born for you.”
“I’m not really sure what that means,” I had admitted.
“You will one day, I suspect,” she’d said simply.
I still didn’t understand what Fiora meant—but now, more than ever, I wondered if the High Lord, the Spring Court, and his lady had somehow known the Mother would transform me into one of them.
Even more unsettling was if the king had known it too.
I allowed the questions to sink beneath the surface—at least for now. Answers would have to come later. Refocusing on the orb of water, I drank it, grateful for its soothing caress as it slid down my throat, slowly reviving me, like color seeping back into a sun-bleached painting.
“Thank you,” I said after a moment, voice stronger.
The commander tilted his chin down a fraction in response.
Behind him, Caius shifted his weight, pulling my focus. His lips were pressed thin—whether in thought or scrutiny, I couldn’t tell. Noting where my attention had drifted, Endymion turned toward the High Lord, whose gaze darkened as it landed on Autumn’s Second.
I stiffened at the look Caius pinned him with, but Endymion didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps didn’t care.
Either way, he turned back to me, amusement ghosting his lips as if the silent exchange never happened.
“I’m sure there are more comfortable places than the rug,” he said, glancing down, “even if it’s a lovely one. ”
The faint trace of humor softened his strong features, though it never reached his azure eyes.
Despite myself, my lips curved up slightly. “I’m sure there are,” I murmured—and just like that, a flicker of real warmth sparked in the depths of his gaze.
I didn’t know this male. Not really. Yet, in a strange way, he felt like the only one who knew me—or about me, I supposed. No one from my old life knew I was…changed, and no one in this realm knew what had transpired in the human realm—except Endymion.
That thought was as comforting as it was unnerving. With my ignorance about their kind, I wasn’t foolish enough to think I could manage on my own. At least not yet. Even still, I sure as hells wouldn’t let myself anchor to him. I’d made that mistake before, and I’d never make it again.
The notion forced me into motion. Bracing a hand on the armchair beside me, I heaved myself up and eased into it, letting its solid frame cradle me.
No more than a pace away, Endymion chose to sit on the ornate table that dominated the room. The massive slab of supple stone had been carved to perfection, its glittering golden veins streaking across its white surface as if untamed lightning had been trapped within—frozen for all time.
A simple, yet elegant, twin chair to my own skidded across the porcelain floor as Caius drew it closer before sitting, creating a more intimate arrangement than the formal seating allowed.
My gaze darted between them as they just stared at me expectantly.
I’d been expecting them to interrogate me—or…I don’t know, anything but silence. I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
Caius said nothing, but there was humor hidden in his eyes, as if he were the only one privy to a joke.
Brows creased, I watched him lean back and casually cross an ankle over his opposite knee, as though we’d been talking about the weather.
And just like that, the simple movement somehow unveiled Caius—the one I’d dare to call a friend—and shed the High Lord, a title I instinctually feared.
Tension melted away as I sank deeper into my chair, and I didn’t have to look at Endymion to know it had the same effect on him; as if the three of us had finally taken a breath.
Wanting to understand why I was fine one moment and unraveling the next, I broke the silence. “Do either of you know what just happened to me?”
“I suspect,” Caius said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, “it has to do with you becoming fae.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the obvious answer and held his churning gaze as it pinned me in place. After a few heartbeats, I understood that his words weren’t for my benefit, but for his—like he needed to say them aloud just to see if anyone would contradict him.
We didn’t.
Caius’ scrutiny snagged at the right side of my head—then the other—and the slight purse of his lips had Endymion’s words clanging through me for the hundredth time; you’re fae.
My fingers twitched, itching to trace the tips along my ears to confirm whether they’d meet the same elegant, upturned lines that adorned the two fae sitting before me.
I clasped my hands together. It was one thing to hear the truth—another entirely to feel proof of it.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath and tried to center myself. As if mocking my attempt to deny reality, my hearing sharpened.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.