Chapter 12
My footsteps echo through the stone halls of Gwyllion Castle.
My thoughts have always come easier with motion.
When I was younger, Hunter teased me for constantly pacing.
I wandered the kitchen while I ate and roamed the palace grounds, lost in thought.
I’d walk and plan, daydreaming of the Fox Kings and Queens who came before me, wondering how I might one day live up to their name.
Through it all, Hunter would be there. Perched on a stool or a bench, nose in a book, offering comfort with nothing more than his steady presence. He understood that I thought best on my feet. But now he’s gone, and I walk alone. I find it far less comforting.
Gwyllion weighs on me with its unfamiliar customs, bewildering rules, and overwhelming expectations. I walk, passing cracked windows shrouded by snowdrifts and abandoned corridors draped in dusty cobwebs that sway in the cold air.
Mid-step, I falter. My body goes still before my mind can name why.
Music.
Faint and distant, it drifts in and out of earshot, like a phantom song that’s too thin to hold. Someone is singing. The melody is both haunting and wistful, like a lullaby soothing a heartache. I listen, holding my breath.
There it is again, low chimes and a silky voice. The words dissolve before I can catch them.
I turn to see if anyone else hears it, but I’m alone. The halls in this wing of the castle are empty. The windowsills are clouded with grime, and the paintings along the walls are faded with age. My restless wandering has carried me into unfamiliar territory.
My heart beats faster, though not from fear. Curiosity pulls me forward. Without thinking, I follow the path toward the sound. The music grows clearer with each step.
As I draw closer, the voice begins to take shape.
“… When fate calls, the soul must answer.
A heavy burden for dreaming dancers.
None shall know what the Fates foretold
But fae and the kings and queens of old …”
A heavy wooden door stands at the end of the hallway. I press my ear to the ancient wood and close my eyes. The voice and the haunting music are coming from the other side. My hand reaches for the doorknob, but I hesitate. I shouldn’t intrude, yet something in me insists I follow.
I push the door open.
Light spills out, silver and strange, as if the door has opened onto another world. It blinds me, and I lift a hand to shield my eyes. But the moment I step across the threshold, the song dies and the glow fades. The silence is so abrupt it nearly unsteadies me.
I blink hard, and the space comes into focus.
The room, it turns out, is more of a courtyard, hidden in the depths of the castle. High above, a glass ceiling rises in peaks and valleys, its panes buried under snow like distant mountains. No sunlight could reach this place. And yet, moments ago, it had glowed.
I peer through the gray and my breath catches in my chest.
Lichen-covered boulders are scattered across the ground, etched with carvings eroded by time.
Gravel paths wind between them, circling up a central mound.
At the top, a gnarled, black tree twists upward, as if reaching for the sky.
Silver windchimes sway from the branches, echoing a low, hollow hum that reverberates in my bones.
The singer, whoever she was, is gone.
Disappointment wells up in my chest. It feels as though I just missed something important, and the opportunity may never come again.
Behind me, I hear slow, heavy footsteps. I whirl around as Tristan steps through the wooden doorway. He doesn’t look surprised to see me here.
At the sight of him, my guard snaps back into place, though slower than it should. This courtyard and the music have weakened my resolve. There’s a sense of peace here, as if nothing bad can happen.
“I wondered how long it would take you to find this place,” Tristan says. His face is drawn, like he hasn’t slept in many nights. My heart stirs, wondering what’s kept him out of bed … or maybe restless within it.
“Are you following me?”
He merely shrugs, confirming my suspicions.
I sigh. “I suppose the queen doesn’t trust me.”
“You are her mortal enemy, Red. A Dead Queen can’t trust a Fox.” He says this lightly, as if it’s of no consequence.
“Hm.” I purse my lips. “And here I thought I was her treasured granddaughter and biggest weapon.”
He steps closer, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Two things can be true at once.”
The space between us hums with that truth.
I know too well that I am many things, and not all of them good.
Heir to the Fox Throne, yet granddaughter to the Dead Queen.
Selfish enough to abandon a friend at the edge of the world, yet guilty enough to punish myself for it.
Furious at the Wolf who tricked me, yet inexplicably drawn to him despite it.
“I’m not so sure about that.”
His tired smile tugs something low in my core. This Wolf affects me in ways I’d rather not think about.
I turn away from him, fixing my attention on the nearest carved boulder. It’s hard to make out the details, but there was a symbol here once. The other stones around the courtyard have them too, each one unique.
“What are they?”
“The crests of ancient families.” Tristan leans close to look at the pattern.
He runs one finger over the cuts and grooves on the stone.
“These monuments represent powerful fae who did great deeds. Returned the sun from endless night, calmed storms that threatened to flatten entire coastlines, ravaged monstrous foes … you get the idea.”
I nod. “We tell similar stories about the Fox Kings and Queens in Llwyn.”
One side of his mouth turns down at the mention of my ancestors, but he doesn’t berate me. Those so-called “great deeds” usually resulted in the deaths of hundreds of Annwyn people over the past centuries.
I step away from him, toward the tree in the middle of the courtyard.
Oddly, the wind chimes aren’t the only decoration hanging from the tree’s branches.
Dozens of mirrors of all shapes and sizes dangle from its limbs.
Some are faceted and some are framed with silvered edges, dulled and tarnished with age.
Others are little more than broken shards hanging from rusted chains.
Below the tree, glass speckles the ground surrounding the tree’s roots.
“It represents the Tree God,” Tristan says. “Protector of the northern forests. You’ve seen him before.”
“In the temple at the abandoned village, in Llwyn.”
He nods. My cheeks flush with the memory of the faded tapestry. Two deities tangled in lustful abandon, the goddess in a sheer white gown, exposing her breasts to the moonlight. I look away too quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice.
“But where’s the Moon Goddess?”
He tilts his chin upward. “The glass ceiling. It was meant to let her light through.” He studies the filthy windows overhead. “Back when the fae priestesses still cared for this place, they would’ve kept the glass clear, so the lovers could be reunited each night.” His eyes flick briefly to mine.
I look away, toward the ceiling, though the press of his gaze lingers on my skin. The story of the God and Goddess hangs between us—two beings kept apart, reaching for each other within fragments of light and shadow.
Something in my heart aches. It’s a beautiful story.
Lovers separated by circumstance but brought together in darkness.
Together, their love created the Northern Kingdom before it was Annwyn.
Before the Dead Queens and the endless war with Llwyn.
Their forbidden love created the fae. And the wolves who out-survived most of them.
My eyes drift from the glass ceiling to the tree. It feels oddly familiar.
“It looks like one of the trees from the tapestries in the throne room.”
“That’s because it is.”
I turn to look at him.
He meets my gaze. “It’s the first tapestry to the right of the throne.”
“And the others?”
“Those trees are spread across Annwyn. Each is sacred.”
“Sacred to whom?”
“Fair point.” He nods. “Sacred to some. The fae kings and queens worshiped here long before the humans took power.”
He trails his fingers along the carvings on another boulder. This one has the vague shape of a bear with antlers. It stands on its hind legs, ready to attack.
“Some people still pray here,” Tristan says. “Mostly hoping their savior will return, bringing an era of prosperity again.”
“The Heir to the North.”
He nods once, letting his hand fall. The motion is sharp, almost dismissive, though his eyes hold mine a beat too long. I wonder what fae family the carving represents. What deed earned them the right to be remembered in a temple built for a god?
“It sounds like a beautiful fairy tale.”
Tristan shrugs. “Some people think it is. Others …” His words fade, but I know what he means. One person’s fairy tale is another person’s faith. It’s all a matter of perspective.
Above our heads, a rumble makes me flinch. Snow falls from the ceiling’s highest point, cascading from the peaks to the valleys. The small avalanche clears a window to the sky above. Sunlight beams through, igniting the tree in a glorious halo. I lift a hand, shielding my eyes from the brightness.
I hold my breath as I take in the sight. “The mirrors,” I whisper. Each shard of glass reflects the light a hundredfold.
It takes me a moment to realize the ground is glittering too.
Quartz stones push up from the soil and moss, some no larger than peas, others the size of human skulls.
I crouch to pick one up, brushing dirt and lichen from the stone to examine it.
I can only imagine what the courtyard was like before the castle around it fell to ruin.
How sacred it must have felt when priestesses scrubbed the stones and lit candles in the moonlight.
“I can see why people worshiped here.”
When I glance up, Tristan’s eyes are on the tree.
The mirrors above shift, scattering light in fractured patterns.
One catches his reflection, and in it, his gaze meets mine.
We stare at each other through the glass, as if through another realm.
My heart beats faster, and a tight cord coils inside me.
I can’t keep my imagination from wandering to the time when this temple was reserved to worship lovers.
When it was sacred to a goddess made of moonlight and a god as immovable as a tree.
“These mountains are ancient,” Tristan says, breaking the spell.
I blink and look away from his reflection, heat rising to my cheeks.
He nods toward the stone in my hand. “Quartz. It survives pressure most things can’t.”
“It makes them sparkle.” I turn it in my palm. The thought sticks in the recesses of my mind like honey. Maybe I changed under the Fox King’s pressure. Perhaps I emerged luminous, even. “Too bad for my father.”
Tristan tilts his head. “Why’s that?”
“He always believed pressure makes people crumble.”
“The Fox King is a fool.” His voice is low but certain.
I let out a hollow laugh. “Maybe. But so far, his methods seem to be working.”
“To keep building his empire.”
I drop the quartz to the ground. It bounces off the mossy patch and lands with a soft clatter on a gravel path.
“That’s the thing about empires,” I say. “The bigger they are, the more trouble they cause. Just ask the old fae kings and queens.”
Tristan’s mouth twists in something that’s not quite a smile. “Tell that to your father.”
I hesitate, and he catches it. His eyes flick to mine, sharp and curious.
“I have,” I say earnestly. “Even before you came to Caerwen. I tried.”
The humor leaves his face. His jaw sets, and the light in his eyes darkens. “I know, Red.” His voice dips lower. “I know.”
Something within me stirs at that. Maybe it’s this courtyard with its haunting chimes and fractured mirrors, but my guard slips.
He tricked me into coming to Annwyn. I haven’t forgotten that.
Yet when he looks at me with those tortured eyes, I begin to understand him.
His home is crumbling. His people are dying.
And his queen believes I’m a weapon that can save them all. Maybe he does too.
As terrifying as it is, I’m beginning to wonder if they’re right.
Something sparks between us, sharp as flint to steel, and my skin prickles as if charged with lightning. My eyes linger on the Wolf. His dark hair falls across his eyes, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides, as though he’s holding back something dangerous.
And gods help me, I want to touch him. His gaze pins me with the strength of an oncoming tempest. I want to step into the storm I know will break me.
But I can’t. I can no longer deny that I want this Wolf, but there are too many secrets between us. Too much is at stake.
I am the Fox Heir. He is the Dead Queen’s Wolf.
Together, we would only end in ruin.