Chapter Thirteen
Réalta Avermont
The palace was eerily still. Evening light filtered through the arched windows, spilling ribbons of gold across the marble floors. Dust drifted lazily in the air from the rags of maids working into the evening hours.
I moved quietly between the columns that framed the hallway entrance leading to our guests’ quarters. The brush of my skirts was the only sound aside from the palace workers.
Anxiety stirred in my stomach as I approached the guest wing, ready to escort the High Fae and shifters to the throne room. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be here, but fate was a fickle bitch, and here I was.
The sound of voices ahead drew me from my thoughts.
One was a deep baritone, clearly masculine, while the other was softer, a feminine voice that carried a unique authority all of its own.
I froze behind one of the marble pillars as a group emerged from the entry corridor.
The high king of the fae was unmistakable: pointed ears, silver-and-black hair, with haunting eyes that held a silver light.
Daxton Aegaeon, the famed Silver Shadow himself… a cold-blooded killer of my people.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the kind of presence that quieted a room without a word. At his side, a woman in black pants and a matching silver-and-black coat stood with an air of confidence.
This had to be the alpha queen, Skylar Cathal. The shifter who could change into a phoenix.
There was a wildness in her, but also a steadiness in her gaze that spoke more of compassion than conquest. And something about her seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.
Three others followed the ruling pair: one was a brawny shifter who stood a head taller than the rest with a fiery-looking red-haired female at his side.
The other was a male High Fae whose speculating dark eyes felt sharper than any blade.
Their presence made the air around us feel heavier, charged with tension and distrust.
Swallowing my fears, I stepped forward before I could talk myself out of it.
“Hello,” I said, dipping my head slightly. “I’m here to escort you to the throne room.”
The alpha queen turned toward me, her amber eyes striking even in the dim hall. “You must be Princess Réalta.”
I smiled, though it wavered. “Did the gown or crown of jewels give it away?”
“Why do you come alone?” the high king asked.
“Because I don’t believe in greeting guests with the threat of steel and violence. And besides, I’m not afraid to greet you myself, as you answered my request to travel to Zircon.”
The shifter alpha huffed a laugh, her lip curving, as the red-haired female gave me a wink.
I honestly didn’t know what to think of the gestures.
The high king inclined his head. “Your captain told us we would meet you and your father in the throne room.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be a proper hostess if I didn’t escort you myself now, would I?”
“Manners from the humans? I’m pleasantly surprised,” the silver-haired High Fae behind Daxton said, with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Have we met?” I asked.
His smile held a wicked kind of charm. “I’m hurt. Did you forget me so quickly from the meeting, Princess?”
I blinked, taken aback by his response.
“Castor.” The alpha queen shook her head with a sigh.
“What? I aim to make an impression everywhere I go. No need to be jealous, Skylar.”
“My brother, Castor Aegaeon,” the high king said. “He was with the shifters when you met before the trials.”
“Ah, yes.” I paused. My throat tightened at the thought of mentioning her name in front of them.
The red-haired woman stepped forward, eyeing me. “Oh, you mean the meeting when the false queen bitch Minaeve was masquerading as their high queen, trying to kill off the shifter and the High Fae for power?”
Castor scoffed. “Well, the etiquette lessons were clearly worth my time.”
“Rhea—” Skylar stepped forward, pinning the shifter with a glare that made my stomach drop.
“What?” Rhea snapped.
Skylar bent and whispered something I could not hear before turning and motioning to the brawny shifter. He stepped forward and bent to speak to Rhea.
“I won’t apologize,” Rhea said.
“I’m not asking you to,” the male answered.
“But I am telling you to stay quiet,” Skylar said. “That’s an order.”
Power filled the room. My eyes widened as I felt the rush of magic from the alpha, her words forming an unbreakable command.
I glanced to her side to notice the high king’s attention set solely on me. His silver stare was focused, like he was searching for something just out of reach.
A chill rippled down my spine. Something was unsettling about the intensity of his ancient, all-knowing gaze.
My fingers twitched at my side. Don’t flinch. Don’t look away. Remember, humans hold the power. We have the Heart of Valdor, I reminded myself.
“Your Highness?” I managed, forcing the words through a throat that had gone inexplicably dry.
He blinked once, slowly and deliberately, and for the briefest heartbeat, I thought I saw surprise—or perhaps recognition—flash behind his stern expression. Then it was gone.
“Lead, and we’ll follow you to the throne room, Princess,” Daxton said.
“Right this way.”
We began walking together, our footsteps echoing through the corridor. I tried to ignore the whisper of my conscience. The one that reminded me to play my part today, to watch for weaknesses, to report anything that could be used against them.
But the longer I walked beside them, the less certain I felt about where the real danger lay.
The corridor opened into the grand hall, leading to the throne room and the gallery of painted ancestors that stretched from one end of the palace to the other. My family’s history displayed in color and gold.
“Feel free to look around. We’re early,” I said.
Daxton walked ahead, emotions unreadable. But Skylar slowed, her eyes skimming each portrait as though searching for something. When she suddenly stopped, I nearly collided with her.
She stood frozen before a painting: a tall woman in a green dress, golden hair braided with white threads, eyes soft with a warm smile.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Skylar’s voice was a whisper. “Who… who is this?”
I hesitated, glancing between her and her companions. Daxton frowned slightly. The others shifted, tense and alert.
“That is my father’s sister,” I said at last. “Lady Dawn Avermont. She served as an ambassador to the shifters many years ago. She was a healer, but sadly, she passed away almost twenty-three years ago.”
I decided, for diplomatic purposes, to leave out the part where shifters killed her, and her body was discarded along the northern border of our city.
Skylar’s lips parted, and the color drained from her face.
“She was a healer,” she echoed. Her fingers trembled as they brushed the edge of the frame, as though touching something sacred.
For a long moment, no one moved. The silence pressed tight around us, heavy and waiting.
Then, softly, almost too quietly to hear, Skylar said, “This is my mother.” Her eyes met mine, bright with awe and grief.
My eyes widened as my lips parted in a sharp inhale, the missing pieces clicking into place. Her hair, the shape of her face, and gods, even her voice.
I glanced at Skylar’s neck, seeing a familiar bite mark along the base. My eyes then darted to the High Fae king, recognizing the same mark along his neck, recalling the mating rituals from my recent studies.
I sucked in a breath, realizing it was the same mark my aunt Dawn had on hers.
“She’s your mother,” I said in a hushed whisper.
This changed everything.
I grasped Skylar’s hands, holding them tightly, praying she would listen. “You need to leave. You’re all walking into a trap.”