20.
Queen
C lara’s craft room smells faintly of lavender and old parchment. The long oak table is a chaotic clutter, ready to collapse under a teetering pile of fabric swatches, and lace samples. I sit at the center, sketching out the rough outline of my wedding dress while Clara hovers at my shoulder, making quiet, approving noises. She’s all cheerful, per her trademark, but her eyes are all red and puffy from crying. I know she’s worried sick, just like me, and keeping ourselves distracted helps just a tiny bit.
Meg, sprawled on the faded velvet sofa, is more of a vibe than a participant. But hey, she showed up. That’s worth something.
“Does this thing have to be in here?” she asks, lazily gesturing toward the hulking stone figure stationed in the corner.
“He’s aperson, sorta, ” I reply, eyes still glued to my sketch. “And wow, now all of a sudden, he’s bothering you?”
Meg snorts, folding her arms. “Oh, please. I’ve seen enough weird shit in this castle to not get alarmed. But seriously, does he have to do that stone routine? Or at least can’t he do it from the outside ? I don’t need Angry McGoth cramping my aura.”
Before I can retort, Clara intervenes, smoothing out a length of silk with the exacting precision of someone who will fight for her craft space. “Meg,” she says primly, “you don’t need to voice everythin’ that pops into your head.”
“What?” Meg shoots back, tossing her hands up. “It’s creepy!”
“Thank you!” I add with a slow clap.
The gargoyle remains motionless, but I see his glowing eyes flicker—just slightly. Like he’s silently judging me for the dramatic flair. I glare at him for good measure.
“Maybe he just likes the company,” Clara says, dry as the parchment scraps littering the floor. “And weren’t you supposed to be helpin’ with the dress?”
“I am helping!” Meg protests, clearly offended. “But excuse me for being distracted by Big Stony over there shooting death glares my way.”
I can’t help but snicker as I glance up from my sketch. “You know he can hear you, right?”
Meg freezes for half a second before shrugging it off. “So? What’s he gonna do? Kill me with his terrifying lack of mobility?”
“If he wanted to, you’d already be dead,” I say cheerfully.
“ Comforting ,” Meg mutters, sinking deeper into the sofa.
“You’re fine,” I add, rolling my eyes. “He’s not going to eat you or whatever.”
Clara perks up, curious. “What does he eat… or does he eat at all?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at him
“No idea,” I admit, tilting my head like that’ll magically conjure an answer.
“Wait!” Meg’s gears are visibly turning in her head. “Does he fuck? ‘Cause God, I swear, if the stone gets more action than I do, I’m killing myself right now.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re marrying a werewolf king,” Meg fires back without missing a beat. “I guess we’ve all got our quirks.”
Even Clara giggles at that clapback, and for the first time all afternoon, the room feels warm and light, the tension dissolving like sugar in tea, and for just a moment, everything feels a little less terrifying.
The gargoyle stays frozen in his corner, but his eyes brighten just a fraction, like he’s in on the joke. Traitor.
“I like sex, okay? Big thing!” Meg declares, jumping up on the sofa like she’s just made a groundbreaking confession. “And, well, I miss sex. Hearing Julia and Alex going at it all night, every night doesn’t exactly help.”
“That’s not even accurate,” I protests, pointing my pencil at her. “We don’t do it every night.”
“Right, sometimes you do it in the morning,” Meg retorts.
“Or the afternoon,” Clara adds.
My face burns with shame. If they— the humans —can hear me, I don’t even want to know what the others think of me. “I’m not that loud!” I continue to deny it.
“Yes, you are,” reply all three of them.
I snap my head toward the gargoyle, narrowing my eyes. “Oh, so now you speak?! I don’t recall asking for your fucking opinion! You’re not entitled to one!”
The smallest crack of a smirk forms on his stone face.
“It’s even creepier when he talks,” Meg comments. “But just between us girls,” she leans in with a wicked smile playing on her lips, “I hope that gigantic rock Alex gifted you isn’t compensating for anything. And by rock , I mean the ring, not the gargoyle.”
The room erupts into laughter, Clara doubling over and Meg practically rolling off the couch. Even I can’t hold back. Glancing down, I turn the ring slowly on my finger, loving the coolness of gold and the comforting weight of it. It’s a stunning antique piece with a massive, round diamond, set in a high crown at its center. Smaller stones are set on either side, adding subtle sparkle against the flashiness of the main rock. The slender band is hand-crafted with delicate floral patterns that wrap around it, each curve and petal carefully shaped. It’s an extraordinary timeless treasure, but I’d expect nothing less from Alex. It’s even more special, knowing it belonged to Dahlia.
“Trust me,” I grin, “he’s way more than generous in that department, too.”
“Lucky you.” Meg sighs heavily, then rises to her full height. “Anyway, all this sex talk made me hungry.”
Clara gives her the look. “You know you’ve been here barely two weeks?”
“Your point exactly, Granny?” Meg arches a brow.
Both Clara and I stare at her.
“Ah, give me a fucking break! I was a bartender. What do you think? I was getting laid regularly. Yeah, so trashy of me!”
“Meg,” Clara starts. She has this expression on her face like she’s gearing up for a mini therapy session on how meaningless sex won’t fill the void.
“No, you don’t get to judge how I choose to cope.” And with that, Meg is already on her way to the kitchen to fetch some snacks from the pantry.
From what I’ve gathered, we get food and supply restocks twice a week—more if needed—but we grow or make much of what we need ourselves. The vampires compel delivery drivers from chain stores to drop off their trucks at a specific spot, where they’re transported into the Veil. The village is home to many witches, young and elder werewolves—either before their first shift or after their last—human mates, and children of various ages. They all need regular food and other household goods, just like us, and this keeps the village stocked with essentials for its residents. And the same goes for anything else that’s needed—like fabrics and craft supplies for Clara, for instance. It really is such a beautiful and united community.
As Clara continues to make adjustments to my sketch, I watch her carefully. She’s calm, composed, and always has this effortless grace about her. Even now, when I know her mind must be racing, she’s still so her .
“How do you do it?” I blurt out, unable to keep the question in any longer.
She pauses, her hands stilling as her warm brown eyes meet mine. “Do what, darlin’?”
“All of it,” I say, shifting slightly on my stool to fully face her. “Stay unchanging while the decades are passing. There’s so much time, such a long life. I can imagine it’s different for supernatural beings. They’re fast, strong, and can defend themselves. They can be out and travel the world, do so many amazing things. But me? I’m human. And with Alex’s overprotectiveness? I’ve got a statue stalking me every second of the day.”
Clara chuckles, shaking her head. “Edwin wasn’t any different when I first got here. That damn wolf wouldn’t let me so much as pick flowers from the garden without sendin’ someone to follow me.” She squeezes my arm gently. “But you find your rhythm. You pick up a skill or two, and once mastered, you move on to the next. You learn so much, history that’s been hidden, science we were never taught. You get to meet so many new souls, some of ’em human, sure, but most unlike anything you’ve ever seen. And, well, you have sex… A lot of it.”
“Clara!” I squeak, laughing despite myself, my cheeks hot.
She grins, unfazed. “What? It’s true! And of course, you raise your children. I homeschooled all of mine. Not that they’d learn anything particularly useful from the education system, though the socializin’ was what worried me. I didn’t want ’em growin’ up thinkin’ they were missin’ out on somethin’. But I wouldn’t dare let ’em outta the Veil. I was too scared back then. And now?” She pauses, her expression softening. “I’ve let my Willow go ’cause she practices witchcraft—she’s fierce, focused, and knows how to take care of herself. And my boys? Before they shifted, they gave me trouble every second of the day. Now look at ’em—out there savin’ the world. Yet here I am, just like you—a fragile human.”
“But don’t you ever get bored?”
“No,” she responds without a second of hesitation. “I’ve been here more than sixty years, Julia. And not once have I been bored. Not a single moment.”
“That sounds… exhausting,” I admit, biting my lip.
She laughs, a rich, warm sound filling the entire room. “Maybe, but it’s worth it. Every second. I give Edwin a home to come back to, somethin’ to help him keep goin’. And to him, that’s my superpower.”
I smile at her. “I like that.”
“Once Alex fully settles into his power, he’ll loosen up, you’ll see. With you around keepin’ him on his toes, even faster. You know that werewolves eventually learn to hold their human form longer. You two will still be able to travel outside the Veil. It might take decades, sure, but when you’ve got this much time, what’s a few decades?”
“Decades,” I echo.
Clara’s expression turns serious. “When everyone you know forgets your face and you can blend in without fear, when you’re no longer a target… you’ll realize what Alex is fightin’ for. He’s passionate, Julia. Truly. About you, about his people. He wants a world where we can all coexist in peace. Humans, witches, beasts, all of us.”
I nod slowly, taking it in, my eyes rapidly filling up with tears.
“Of course, the biggest obstacle,” Clara continues, smoothing a stray curl from my face, “is Lilith. That demon witch has got her claws in the world’s elites, and her minions are whisperin’ orders in their ears. She’s a tough one to beat. You need to trust Alex that he knows what’s best for you. For every one of us.”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words. “So that king-thing is serious, huh?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I just… don’t want to let him down.”
“You won’t,” she says firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And believe me—once you put on that crown, no one’s gonna dare underestimate you.”
Before she adds anything else, the gargoyle suddenly comes to life, startling us both. “There’s been an incident,” his gravelly voice is lower and more pressing as he stands tall, towering over us.
Then we hear Meg’s heavy footsteps as she runs from the far end of the hallway toward us. “You guys!”
Hurriedly, Clara and I rush out to meet her.
“Come on, we need to move! One of the witches collapsed in the village!”
We don’t waste a second. We sprint out of the castle as fast as we can, and I catch sight of a teenage boy waiting for us—one of the future werewolves who came to inform us. While the boy briefs us on the way, the gargoyle hovers just above my head, his leathery wings cutting through the air with an eerie, thundering whir.
Julia… Alex’s voice rings out in my mind like a desperate whisper.
Alex? Are you okay? My heart stutters in my chest. Something is happening with one of the witches. We’re on our way to check it out in the village.
I love you. His words are barely a murmur.
I love you, too. Please be careful.
I feel his presence slip away, and the weight of dread presses down harder on me.
When we reach the scene, everything is wrong. The air is thick, the kind of heavy that settles in your bones. The small cottage is dimly lit, a warm smell of freshly baked cookies envelopes the tight space, which makes everything feel even more wrong. The body of the woman lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, lifeless.
In the corner, a very pregnant witch is trying her hardest to keep a group of kids distracted. One of the other witches, cradling a newborn in her arms, is rambling, her voice frantic. “We were just having an afternoon tea while the children played… Tabatha just… collapsed…”
Clara steps in, her calm presence managing to coax the children away, convincing them to go outside and play. The door creaks shut behind them, leaving only me, Meg, and the gargoyle behind. And just like that, the room falls into a suffocating silence, heavy and oppressive.
I stand frozen, the horror of the moment washing over me in waves. I can’t breathe. My eyes are locked on the body. She’s not breathing. Her hand lies twisted at an unnatural angle, and her face is slack, empty. The lump in my throat is too big to swallow. It feels like the world is caving in on me.
The gargoyle steps forward. His clawed feet click against the wooden floor with every step. He pauses over the body, lowering to the ground, his long fingers brushing across her temples.
“It’s the mating bond,” he finally says.
Meg looks at me, but I can’t speak. I’m too paralyzed by the weight of the moment. “What about it?” she asks for me.
“Her wolf fell in a fight, and she faded with him. There’s nothing we can do here.” The gargoyle rises to his full, towering height and begins to move toward the exits. “I’ll dig the hole.”
But I barely hear him anymore as the world seems to tilt and spin around me. It begins with a feeling, the weight of an immense panic crashing over me like a tide, and immediately drowning me in. A tightening in my chest turns into a suffocating pressure. All I can hear is the harsh pounding of my own pulse, like a war drum in my ears.
“Julia.” Meg’s sharp voice cuts through the haze, and my head jerks up. “Help me. Now.”
I blink, my vision blurry, and look at her. She has already grabbed a flat sheet off the bed, and now pulls it over the witch’s body. Her movements are quick and efficient, but her jaw clenched tight, her eyes hard.
“Come on!” she urges. “She can’t stay here. We need to move the body and bury her.”
My legs feel like lead. My chest tightens until I can’t even get a full breath. The reality is slowly sinking in.
She’s dead. Just like that. Gone, leaving two children behind.
“I—I can’t,” I whisper, stumbling back. My breath quickens, and my hands shake as I clutch at the edge of the dining chair.“I can’t do this, Meg.”
“You don’t have a choice!” she snaps, yanking the sheet over the woman’s legs. “Pull yourself together. We need to do this.”
But I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My heart pounds against my ribs, my chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps. The room feels like it’s closing in on me, the air too thick to push through.
“Julia,” Meg barks, standing up and stalking toward me. Her eyes are furious. “We seriously don’t have time for this.”
Tears spill over, wet and hot, streaking down my face as I start to sob. “He’s dead, Meg! She’s gone! And those kids—those kids—how are they going to—what if—”
Meg’s hand flies up, and the sharp crack of her palm against my cheek snaps me out of the spiral. “Calm the fuck down!” she shouts, her face inches from mine, her breath hot on my skin.
I stare at her, stunned into silence, the sting of her slap burning my skin, but it’s the only thing anchoring me.
She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her, her voice firm but quieter now. “I know this is awful. I know it’s horrifying. But we don’t have time to lose it right now. Do you understand me?”
I nod, trembling, my breath still hitching but slowing slightly.
“Good,” she says, letting go of me. “Now get over here and help me. You can cry later.”
Her sharp words cut, but they ground me. Wiping my face with shaky hands, I force myself to step forward. Together, we wrap the body in the sheet, the body feels heavier than it should, the coldness of death creeping through the thin fabric.
“Grab her legs. I can’t do this by myself. We’re almost done,” Meg mutters, her tone softer, like she’s trying to coax a scared animal. “Just a little more.”
Finally, the body is wrapped and hidden from sight. I step back, hugging my arms around myself, my body shaking as Meg adjusts the last edge of the sheet.
The door creaks open, and Clara peeks inside. Her face is tight with worry. “The little ones are playin’ farther away. Y’all done in here?”
Meg looks at me, her expression unreadable. Then she nods. “Yeah. We’re done.”
Clara steps in, her eyes flicking between us. “Julia, honey, are you okay?”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat heavy, and I nod, though I know my red, tear-streaked face tells a different story.
Clara places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “This ain’t gonna be them. Not Alexander. Not Edwin. Not my boys. You hear me?”
I nod again in agreement, but I feel emptiness inside.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” the gargoyle rumbles from a distance.
“Okay, on three, you lift.” Meg directs. “One—Two—Three.”
I lift from Tabatha’s legs, and Meg from her head. She’s steady but my arms are strained and trembling as we slowly begin to move the body toward the door.
Clara starts breaking down and she storms out without a word.
“Julia, you’re slacking,” Meg complains again as I maneuver through the tight space. “Get a fucking grip!”
We manage to drag the woman’s body out of the cottage, and the gargoyle steps in, seeing our struggle—well, my struggle. Meg is fine. And unbothered.
He looks at her with a flicker of inappropriate humor in his eyes. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”
“Shut it, Stoneface!” Meg retorts with a huff.
The gargoyle lifts Tabatha’s lifeless body in his arms, and with a single powerful movement, he soars into the air. He flies a few feet to where the hole is waiting and lowers her into the ground with a surprising gentleness.
I can’t watch it anymore.
I turn on my heel and sprint back toward the castle, full-on hysteria activated. The thundering of wings behind me fades into the background. I know the gargoyle is following me, but I don’t stop. I want to curl up and cry. I want to be alone. More than anything, I want Alex back home.
Alex?
Nothing.
Alex? Baby, please talk to me… Alex!
I keep trying to reach him but to no avail. There’s only silence. I don’t feel him. I don’t feel anything .