Chapter Why?
“Raiden’s been delayed. He sent us to escort you instead,” Tristan explains.
I study them for a moment, noting how Kian’s jaw clenches ever so slightly, and how Tristan stands just a bit too stiffly.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Zaria steps up beside me, her black dress rustling softly as the golden pleats peek through the flowing fabric with each step.
Her gown is simple and delicate, contrasting with my more regal, dark green gown.
The corset of my dress pulls me upright, and the flowing skirt brushes against the floor with every movement.
The long tight sleeves loop over my middle finger, and the neck is square with soft trims of lace around the edging.
“Nothing.” Kian’s tone is clipped, eyes narrowed slightly, as if measuring his words.
Nix makes a soft sound, and I see her cross her arms from the corner of my eye. “You two haven’t kissed and made up yet?”
Zaria glances at me, curiosity sparking in her brown eyes. I haven’t told her yet—it was Kian who fed Alivar information about me. That he somehow bypassed the wards and granted the Seelie Prince access to the castle. And honestly, now isn’t the time to get into it.
“Well, Kian can grovel later.” My nerves for what is coming are eating me up on the inside.
Without Maxon here to help me navigate all this, my anxiety is through the roof. I smooth my hand over the soft silk of my full skirt, taking a deep breath as we start to move down the hall.
When we turn left at the end of the hall instead of right, I stop. “Where are we going?”
“Raiden asked to bring you to the war room,” Tristan answers.
“Why?”
“He went to get Nolan from the dungeons.” Tristan’s voice is calm, too calm.
“On your orders,” Kian adds, and I can hear the question behind the words.
I pull my shoulders back, squaring off against Tristan and Kian, my gaze locking onto Kian first. “If you’re free to walk around,” I begin, narrowing my eyes, “then it’s only fair that he is as well.”
Kian’s eyes widen in shock at my bluntness, and I catch the subtle shift in Tristan’s posture—his spine straightens, the muscles in his jaw clenching slightly.
I can feel the tension radiating from him, his unease evident, though he tries to hide it.
Behind me, Zaria’s hand slips into mine, her fingers squeezing gently before letting go.
Her support is silent but steady, yet I can sense the questions brewing in her mind.
She knows there’s more to this conversation.
No one speaks for a long moment.
Finally, I break the silence, my voice low but firm.
“Look, Nolan has information we need. Information I need to run this court. He was the closest to Lavina, and we can’t afford to keep him locked up if he’s willing to help us.
He’s not our enemy.” My gaze flicks to Kian, then back to Tristan. “And you know it.”
There has been so much deceit that it’s hard to keep track of friend and foe.
My head spins with each lie and betrayal, building a tangled web of mistrust. Every step forward feels like stepping on glass, sharp and cutting, leaving a trail of open wounds.
I was so mad, so furious when we first realized someone close to us had been leaking information to the Outcasts and then to the Seelie Prince.
But I don’t have the luxury of holding grudges.
If I have any hope of getting Maxon back, I need everyone’s help, whether I like it or not.
My heart clenches painfully, anger still simmering beneath the surface, but it’s a dull throb now, not the burning inferno it once was. I take a slow breath, steadying myself. I can’t let this cloud my judgment. Not when so much is at stake.
“I haven’t forgiven,” I whisper, the words escaping my lips like a confession, heavy with the truth. “But I will let it lie. If any of you deceive me again, I will not hesitate to toss you in the dungeons and throw away the key.”
My words seem to thrum with magic, a silent warning rippling outward like a stone cast into still water. The air is charged; the tension crackling around us like static, prickling my skin. I brush past them and continue down the hall.
Nix tugs lightly on my hair. “Well said,” she remarks, her tone laced with something I can’t quite place. Approval, maybe? Or, perhaps, a hint of mischief. “I think you’re stepping into your role nicely.”
The comment catches me off guard. A flicker of warmth rises, gratitude welling up at the unexpected praise. I’m about to thank her when she continues, her words sharper than before.
“For someone who thought she was a weak human.”
“Thanks.” The word slips out before I can filter the sarcasm from my tone. “I think.”
As we near the heavy wooden doors of the war room, I close my eyes, finding that thread deep in my chest.
My bond. My mate. My love.
I let my mind brush against it, hoping for any flicker of response, but there’s nothing.
It remains dormant, blocked. The silence from the other side of the bond feels like a weight pressing on my heart, a reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything I still have to fight for.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek, hot and unbidden, but I don’t bother wiping it away.
It’s a quiet release, a momentary crack in the wall I’ve had to build around my emotions to keep going.
My magic stirs in response, sweeping gently over my skin as if trying to soothe me, a soft hum of warmth and comfort that’s more instinct than intent. I take another deep breath, letting it settle me, and open my eyes, determination filling the hollow ache that's been building inside of me.
Nolan, Valric, and Raiden stand to face me as I enter the war room.
Raiden stands at the head of the large wooden table, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, though his silver eyes flicker toward Zaria the moment she steps in behind me.
He gives her a slight nod, one of silent understanding, or perhaps, reassurance.
It’s hard to tell with Raiden—he guards his emotions like a vault.
Hearing the soft creak of the door, I peer over my shoulder and see Tristan and Kian closing it behind them. For a brief moment, I catch sight of Nymeria and Anika trotting down the hall toward us, their large forms moving with a fluid grace.
My hand raises instinctively. “Stop.”
Kian and Tristan pause, and I point into the hall.
Both draw open the doors wider, allowing the wolves access.
The others’ eyes are on me as the two wolves enter, their powerful forms brushing past me as they circle, each one pressing close before sitting down on either side of me.
Nymeria’s white fur shines faintly under the dim light, while Anika’s coat seems to be covered in dust or dirt.
“What have you been in?”
Anika’s golden eyes lift to mine, and she tilts her head in question.
‘Me?’
“Yes, you’re filthy.”
Anika blinks, as if thinking. ‘The chicken coop.’
I feel my eyes widen at her response, but before I can answer her, Nolan’s snotty voice cuts through the air.
“Is she speaking to the wolves?”
My gaze snaps up, and I pin him with a glare. “That’s none of your business.”
There is a long, tense silence before Nolan steps forward. Every eye in the room is on him, waiting for what he has to say. He drops to one knee and bows his head.
“I want to apologize for the disloyalty I have shown toward my king,” Nolan begins, his voice rough. “I’m at your service, and I thank you for releasing me from the dungeons. For allowing me to join you today.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Nix’s voice cuts through like a knife.
“Bet that was hard to get out, old man,” she snickers, her wings giving an amused twitch.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The tension shifts, lightening for just a moment. Nolan rises slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits as he turns his glare on Nix, but he holds back from responding.
Nix’s grin widens, thoroughly enjoying the reaction, but she doesn’t push further.
“Right,” Raiden says, clapping his hands together. “The funeral rites will be held on the edge of the Elysium Bluffs, as per usual.”
At my confused look, Nolan adds. “Royal and high-ranking fae are sent there.”
“Why?”
“There are special trees there that absorb the dead,” Nolan explains.
My mouth drops open in horror as I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”
Nolan rears his head back, as if I’ve offended him. “I can assure you I most certainly am.”
“Absorbed? By a tree?” I splutter.
Nolan’s brows furrow. “What exactly do you not understand?”
“Everything,” I breathe, shaking my head.
Nolan rubs his forehead and looks at Valric and Raiden.
Valric steps forward. “You were too young to grasp the concept as a child, but when a high fae dies, there is a special tree with golden leaves that absorbs our souls.”
“You don’t just . . . bury them? Or . . . set them on fire?”
Valric shakes his head. “We need to give back to which we were made.”
“I’m not following.”
“The first fae were born from the tears of the fae gods,” Nolan explains, his head tilting to the side. “You really should know this.”
Valric cuts him a sharp look and steps forward, his voice dipping into a somber, almost reverent tone.
“The first fae were born from the tears of the gods. It was Morrigan, the Great Goddess of War, and her consort Dagda, the All-Father, whose grief and love for the world flowed into the earth. Their tears fell upon the seeds of ancient trees. And from those seeds, the fae were born.” Valric continues, his voice taking on a deeper cadence.
“It is said that Morrigan wept not only for the bloodshed she witnessed on battlefields, but for the fragility of all living things. Dagda, in his wisdom, wept with her, not from sorrow, but from the joy of creation. And so, their tears did not merely water the land—they gave it life. They infused the trees with power, a sacred bond between the fae and the natural world.”
“As the trees grew,” Valric explains, “they took on a dual purpose, acting as both sentinels and guides. When a fae passes from this world, their body is returned to the trees. The trees absorb our souls, reuniting us with the universe, releasing the souls through their leaves.”
I swallow hard, struggling to take in all this information. It doesn’t help that Nolan is looking at me like I’m already failing.
“Okay. I think I get it,” I whisper.
“You’ll understand better when you see it for yourself,” Valric assures me.
“You have a lot to learn. Your time away from Faerie and your lost memories will make this difficult,” Nolan adds, though the softness in his voice surprises me.
“There is one more thing.” Valric lifts a small brown satchel over his head and places it carefully on the table. Curious, I step closer, my heart beating a little faster as I watch him reach inside.
His hand emerges slowly, and when he turns toward me, holding the object, my breath catches in my throat. Instant tears flood my vision, blurring the world around me.
“How?” I whisper, my voice trembling, barely audible. My hands instinctively reach out, but I pull them back, too overwhelmed to touch it.
Valric’s eyes soften, his face full of understanding.
“Before the soldiers came and looted the castle, a few of us—myself and some loyal followers—managed to save a few things of great value. I have been keeping them safe for when you returned to us.” His words are calm, but they carry the weight of everything we lost, everything we had to leave behind that night.
I swallow hard, running my tongue over my teeth in a feeble attempt to stave off the tears, but it’s no use.
My eyes are fixed on the crown in his hands—my mother’s.
The sight of it is like a punch to the gut, the kind of pain that’s both sharp and deep, yet tethered to something beautiful.
The green jewels catch the light, exact replicas of her eyes—the same eyes I now see in the mirror every day.
The gold is intricately twisted, woven into delicate vines that resemble the marks of the mating bond on my skin.
It’s almost as if the crown has always been a part of me, waiting for this moment.
Valric steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine as he lifts it. “May I?” he offers gently, as though he knows the weight of this moment, not just for me, but for everyone who remembers her.
I can’t find my voice, so I simply nod, a single tear slipping down my cheek. The room is silent, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but all I can focus on is the crown in Valric’s hands.
He smiles softly and places it on my head with reverence, his fingers brushing through my hair to adjust it.
His touch is light, but it sends waves of emotions crashing through me, memories of my mother flooding my mind.
When he steps back, I lift my eyes to meet his, and I’m surprised to see his own are glistening with unshed tears.
“You look just like your mother,” he remarks, tone thick with emotion.
A quiet sob threatens to escape, but I manage to hold it back.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I reach up, my fingers grazing the cool metal. The sensation is almost surreal, like a part of her is here with me now, watching over me, guiding me.
In this moment, everything else fades—the room, the people, even the pain—and for just a second, I’m a little girl again, standing beside my mother, feeling the warmth of her presence as though she never left.