Chapter 34 To Be His Darling
Chapter Thirty-Four
To Be His Darling
“Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Thorne Sparrow, Wendy Darling, and…”
The thought trails off as Tink and I stand alone in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
It’s early evening. The sun hangs low beyond the windows, its last light bleeding into the forest where shadows thicken and curl between the trees. Bioluminescence is beginning to stir—soft pulses of blue and green blooming among the roots and branches.
Finn is resting at Tink’s insistence. Thorne has locked himself away in his room. And Peter has vanished.
I can feel him through our bond now, though.
It’s a constant, muted thrum beneath my skin.
He needs space, time to steady himself, calm the restless energy still humming through him.
I understand. In the past twelve hours or so, he’s been more vulnerable with me than ever before—baring his soul, surrendering his sovereignty over Neverland, nearly losing everyone he loves. So I give him his space.
The kitchen is quiet, save for the rhythmic tap of Tink’s knife against the cutting board and the soft sizzle of soup simmering over the stove, filling the air with the scent of herbs.
The silence between us isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t hostile either.
It feels delicate. Like the wrong move could shatter it.
Her knife suddenly stops.
I glance over my shoulder. Tink stands with her back to me, shoulders drawn tight, wings tucked close.
“Thank you, Wendy,” she says, so softly I almost miss it.
I turn just as she does, our eyes meeting. Her silver gaze is unguarded in a way I’ve never seen from her before.
“I’ve been unfair to you,” she whispers. “Since the beginning. I see that now. And… I’m sorry.”
I blink, caught off balance by the suddenness of her apology. “Why now?”
She hesitates, gaze drifting to the far window where the last of the sun stains the trees gold. “Since this morning, I feel it. A change. In me. In Neverland.” She inhales slowly. “I was Peter’s first friend when he was reborn here. That was my role.”
My chest tightens. I’ve always thought she knew more than she let on.
“I love him,” she says, voice trembling. “Not because I was forced to, but because… how could I not? I was made to be his closest companion. When you came and took his attention, it felt like my whole purpose had been ripped away.”
“You know?” I ask hesitantly. “What Neverland really is?”
She nods, a sad smile ghosting across her lips.
“I know Peter wished this world into being. All of us had roles to play in a child’s fantasy.
Hook was meant to hate him, to battle him forever.
I was meant to stand at his side. I think that’s why I aged with him, actually.
” Her voice softens. “We were trapped in a story, looping endlessly. Even Peter didn’t know how to escape it. He was going mad.”
“You say this like it’s over…” I trail off.
Tink exhales. “Because something has changed.” Her eyes brighten, just a little.
“When you and Peter returned, I didn’t feel that familiar stab of jealousy.
I didn’t feel like you’d stolen my place.
And when I saw his shadow…” She smiles, small but genuine.
“Neverland feels different. Brighter. Like I’m stepping into a new future.
” She pauses, silver eyes boring into mine.
“Wendy, I think you broke the loop. I feel… free.”
I stare at her.
This is the same faerie who tried to kill me. More than once. I could hold onto that. I could keep the distance between us—the resentment, the old festering wounds. But there has been enough hatred here. More than enough tearing at each other out of fear of losing what we love.
If she is telling the truth—if Neverland is truly shifting—then perhaps I can shift with it.
Slowly, I step forward and pull her into a hug. She stiffens at first, wings twitching, then exhales and softens, just barely.
“So…” I pull back, a too-wide smile stretching across my face. “Does this mean you’ll finally be my friend?”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch. “I suppose we could try. Just… no more hugging.”
“Deal,” I laugh.
* * *
Dinner is quiet—just Tink, Finn, and me at the table. Finn had tried to coax Thorne out of his room, but was met with silence. I tugged gently at the bond for Peter to come home, but he didn’t answer.
Still, I find myself smiling as I watch Tink flirt with Finn without the faintest hint of subtlety.
She leans close, all bright eyes and teasing smiles.
He flushes under the attention, shy and earnest, clearly unsure what to do with her newfound forwardness.
A small, hopeful warmth blooms in my chest. Maybe his one-sided affection will finally be shared.
After everything that’s happened, the simple comfort of warm, buttery bread and savory vegetable soup feels like a small miracle.
The silence stretches, and for a fleeting moment I can picture us like this in the eternity to come—Peter and Thorne at the table too, laughter instead of grief, peace instead of pain.
When we finish, Finn insists on cleaning up, waving us away with a grin. “You’ve both done enough.”
As he gathers the dishes, the thought from earlier nudges at me again. “Finn,” I say lightly, “can I ask you something?”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Of course.”
“What’s your second name?”
His ears turn pink immediately. “It’s… um. Rowan.”
“Finn Rowan. I like it.”
Tink grins. “Naturally. I chose it, didn’t I?”
He ducks his head, red curls falling over his eyes, clearly flustered.
The front door creaks open, and Peter strides inside. Our eyes meet instantly. He looks calmer now, more composed, but there’s a quiet fatigue in the set of his shoulders, a distance he hasn’t quite bridged yet.
A slow smile curves his mouth. “Wendy Darling,” he purrs, “won’t you tell us a story?”
My eyes widen in surprise. “A story? Now?”
“Yes.” His smile widens, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Preferably one with a happy ending. I find myself in need of something uplifting.”
My gaze flicks to his shadow to reassure myself it’s there. After fighting it for so long, it must feel strange to finally be whole.
We move into the sitting room. Finn quickly coaxes a roaring fire to life, sparks snapping up the chimney.
I sink into the armchair, worn cushions molding around me.
Peter settles into the one beside mine. Finn and Tink take the sofa—she sits close enough that their knees brush, wings twitching whenever he glances her way.
“Any story in particular?” I ask.
Peter shrugs, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Anything… as long as it ends happily.”
I tap a finger against my chin, thinking, until an idea takes hold. A small smile curves my lips as I settle back in the chair.
“Once,” I begin, “in a land no map could find, there lived a king born not of light, but of longing. Not a gentle longing,” I go on. “Not the kind shaped by love or hope. This one was carved from hunger—from the hollow ache that comes when the world forgets you exist.”
A log pops, sparks flaring. The room goes still around me.
“He learned pain before he learned touch. Power before he understood kindness. And when the world gave him nothing, he made himself a crown of shadow and bone. But before all that, he had a heart. He buried it deep, where no one could reach it. Not even himself. He built a kingdom within the earth and ruled it like a god. The rivers bent at his will. The trees whispered when he passed. Sorrow bloomed in the soil like flowers. And the land obeyed him—not out of love, but fear.”
My voice lowers. “And maybe that was enough. Maybe he believed it would always be. Until one day… the king saw a girl dancing in the light above.”
Peter doesn’t move, but I feel his gaze wrap around me like a second skin.
“She was not meant for his world—soft where his was sharp, bright where his was dark. But something in her called to him. Maybe it was desire. Or maybe it was hope. Whatever it was… he didn’t ask her to follow.”
I let the silence stretch, just enough for dramatic effect.
“He reached up from the depths and dragged her down. She fell through root and shadow. Through dirt and silence. And when she landed in his kingdom, everything changed. She didn’t fight.
Not in the way he expected. She stood proud in his darkness and looked at him—not with fear or mercy, but with curiosity. ”
My voice softens. “She asked why he’d taken her.
And he said, ‘Because I was alone.’ And the girl didn’t weep for him.
Nor did she run. She learned his name instead.
Learned how the ground pulsed beneath his feet.
How the sky bent to his rage. She saw the monster—and the ruin.
And still… she stayed. She watched the kingdom shift around her.
The brambles curved away so they wouldn’t cut her skin.
The sky changed its hue, softened its bite.
The king still had claws, but sometimes he let her thread her fingers through them.
Still had teeth, but he didn’t bare them when she spoke.
And though his heart remained buried beneath stone and sorrow…
sometimes, when she dipped low enough to listen, something deep within the earth would stir. ”
I fall silent.
Peter shifts in the armchair beside me, head tilting. “That’s not much of a happy ending.”
“I disagree,” I murmur.
“I’m with Peter,” a voice rasps from the shadows.
I look up, startled—Thorne stands just beyond the archway to the stairs, half-hidden in shadow, his arms crossed.
For a heartbeat, no one speaks.
Our gazes meet across the room. His pain is still there, but beneath it, something steadier flickers. Not hope exactly, but the awareness that the dark won’t last forever.
I nod, just barely, and offer him a smile. An unspoken: I’m glad you’re here.
Finn grins. “Yeah, Wendy. Give us the happily ever after.”
“Alright,” I sigh, though a smile tugs at my mouth.
“The girl never left the kingdom. She learned its laws. She learned its magic. She learned the price of power—and that love wasn’t always soft.”
I glance at Peter, unable to help it. “In time, the king placed a crown upon her head. Not as a gift,” I add softly, “but as an acknowledgment. She became queen of that dark and dreadful place, her life bound to the land, her pulse echoing through its soil. Where she walked, the ground remembered her. Where she bled, the roots drank deep. She ate the ripe, sweet fruit of the realm and declared it her home.”
My throat tightens. “And because she loved… the kingdom bloomed in ways it never had before. She dug up the king’s forgotten heart and placed it back into the hollow of his chest, where it belonged.”
I gaze deep into Peter’s eyes, letting myself get lost in the green.
“And though the world above would forever call the realm cursed, better to be forgotten, the girl did not agree. She ruled beside her king, knowing she could never leave without tearing out her own heart.”
I exhale and offer him a small, quiet smile. “There,” I say softly. “A happy ending.”
Peter studies me for a moment. “I’ll accept it,” he murmurs, a ghost of a smile curving his mouth.
Tink rolls her eyes. “It was nice. A little morbid—but nice.”
Finn laughs softly. “Well, I loved it.”
Thorne offers me a fractured smile and a single nod before heading back upstairs, his footsteps fading into the quiet. Peter’s gaze follows him before returning to me, softer now.
He looks at me like he’s loved and lost me a hundred times. Like ruin is the cost of devotion this deep. And maybe it is.
Once, I dreamed of stars and flight and freedom. Now I dream of his hand around my throat—of the way he breaks me open, only to put me back together again.
I had always loved stories. But I didn’t know, back then, that the darkest ones were often the most honest. The ones where the girl escapes, only to be dragged back. Where the monster keeps his darling, and she learns to love the dark that bore him.
The stars still shine.
But I no longer wish upon them.
Because even if it ruins us both… I will always take his outstretched hand.
I was never meant for the light.