28. There’s a first time for everything
THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING
ENORA
It was getting so damned hard to breathe.
The paneled walls, the butter-soft sheets. The lush curtains and the fucking crystal-clear windows. No matter how often I moved from my bed to my terrace to my sofa, it all pressed in on me in a way that made me want to scream.
Maybe spending a few full days cooped up in my room, letting Eilir teach me about the dark gods, hadn’t been the best idea. I just didn’t have the gall to tell the sprite that, not when they were making such an effort to hold me together.
But their presence and endless optimism had become suffocating too.
Between the walls closing in and the realization I was merely hours away from having to plaster a pleasant disposition on all damned day, sleep was out of the question, again.
I crawled out of bed and pulled back those damned curtains, blinking out at the landscape beyond my window. The first traces of something other than ink-black sky were trickling in over the horizon, but sunrise was still a way to go.
I’d learned that on the previous two mornings, sitting on the terrace until the golden glow was a little too much to bear.
Those morning rays perfectly highlighted what I now knew was the study between mine and Maksym’s quarters, the steps that led to the underground pathways, and a night I was keen to not think about.
That list of out-of-sight, out-of-mind was ever-growing.
Maksym. Jasper. Even sweet Eilir now, and the delightful maid, Malva, who brought my breakfast every morning and tried to make small talk with me.
I tried not to think about any of them as I got dressed for the day—enjoying another pair of pants I’d been gifted from the barracks—and set about working my hair into a loose braid.
There wasn’t much else I bothered with outside of a small, belted bag I fastened around my hips and filled with a folded scarf and an extra tie for my hair.
My father’s pendant hung around my neck, of course, tucked beneath my blouse and vest.
Where my miserably early morning would take me was still up in the air; all I knew for certain was that I needed to be anywhere but my room. My door let out a faint, protesting whine as I opened it just enough to squeeze through.
The absence of life in the Keep’s halls was unnerving, but it gave me a few precious moments of privacy to wander around the upper level, inspecting pieces of tapestry and mounted weapons I’d never appreciated properly before.
If I squinted a little and ignored the depressing blue glow of nytefire all around me, Grimm’s Keep could pass for a second cousin or distant relative of the fortress I grew up in.
Almost. Far more modest in its artwork, though, and its proud displays of heirlooms and reminders of conquest.
I ran out of easy-to-find items to inspect rather fast and found myself at the landing that looked out on the atrium, leaning against the polished stone railing as I sighed and glanced below.
Among the dim light, dark surfaces, and blue light thrown from lanterns, I spotted my first sign of life—two sentries posted by the main doors, sporting winged half-helmets.
The average eye may not have picked up on it, but the soldier in me was quick to notice how much they were both using the expansive slabs of stone that made up the door’s frame to keep themselves upright.
Stuck with the riveting night rotation, the poor souls.
I’d worked my fair share of miserable guard posts in my early service years, and normally, I did not look back on those days with much fondness.
They were full of being ripped a new asshole for falling asleep at a watchtower, or being scared into nearly soiling yourself by whoever was stuck on that rotation with you.
But at this precise moment in time, I missed those halcyon days.
When I took my first steps down one of the twin staircases sweeping into the atrium, and the soles of my boots echoed off the steps, the head of the closest soldier snapped over.
They were rigid as a fence post a moment later.
“Miss Wynn.” He cleared his throat, and his companion’s armor scraped as they stiffened up. “Is everything alright? Something you need?”
“No, no. I’m alright.” I offered them both a small smile as I approached and was shocked to find the one who spoke smiled back. “I just couldn’t sleep. Thought a walk might help. Am I allowed outside on my own, or has Maksym forbidden that?”
Tension ticked in the sentry’s jaw, and I turned to walk away.
The last thing I really needed was verbal confirmation the king had played a hand like that.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since our disastrous visit to his precious cove, and I didn’t know him well enough to guess if he’d resort to such petty behavior in its wake.
Not thinking about Maksym was going so well.
“It’s not safe out this time of day,” the sentry blurted out. “You’re not armed, are you?”
“No, I’m not…” I narrowed my eyes. “Why would it not be safe outside?”
And just as those words left my lips, the answer dawned on me—those damn sick wolves I’d been warned about by someone else I was trying not to think about.
The sentry confirmed it.
“You’ve heard about what’s going on with the shifters, right?
Some of them have been getting stuck in their canid forms and going rabid.
” He winced and shook his helmeted head.
“We have patrols on the grounds monitoring things, but they can’t cover every inch of the Keep, and it’s really not safe until sunrise.
The packs seem to retreat to their dens then, and only the truly desperate ones linger. ”
I didn’t understand the first thing about shifters or how any of their magic worked, but the last thing I needed was an encounter with a rabid animal while I was unarmed, as the sentry so kindly pointed out.
Sure, that would probably put a pretty quick end to my participation in the Agōn Ferr, though in one of the worst possible ways.
“I guess that means a dawn walk is out of the question.” I pursed my lips and glanced back into the atrium behind us.
It hadn’t quite occurred to me in my half-asleep state earlier, but there was one particular Umbrite male I hadn’t seen in quite a while.
Not since they tried to intercept and calm me down after I’d learned about Jasper’s true identity, and I told them to fuck off in about fifteen different ways, at least three of which involved furniture.
“Do you know if Gallan has a residence here in the Keep?”
The sentry’s confused blink was barely visible beneath their helmet. “He does. Isn’t it rather late, though? Or early, I suppose, and—”
“Perfect. Where can I find it?” I set my hands on my hips until the sentry finally sighed and gave me a brief set of directions to a residence hall on the main level. Apparently, I’d find Gallan’s personal apartment tucked at the end.
After being reminded once more that it was an unusual time of day to go knocking on someone’s door, I bid the sentries goodbye and set off to disturb Gallan.
It was strange I didn’t catch sight of a single other soul the entire way there, even though it meant I didn’t have to explain my dawn-hour excursion.
Back at Caenleigh, as abundantly safe as it was, we had patrols in every wing every quarter hour.
They were doubled or tripled, even at night, when my father had esteemed guests in residence.
And given that I recalled being told there had been attempts on Maksym’s life in the last few years, it made no sense.
Just another thing to add to my ever-growing list of Grimmoria’s oddities.
“Gallan?” I gave the door a couple of knocks before I hissed, “Are you awake?”
Silence.
Another few knocks.
More silence.
I sighed and took a glance around the hall.
There was always a chance Gallan wasn’t even in his quarters.
There was no point in pretending I remotely understood the responsibilities of an Elixia, let alone one who seemed to serve as his king’s hand.
He could have been deployed to goddess knows where, scouring for intelligence to thwart another attempt on Maksym’s life or some other important business I was too tired to think of a tangible example of.
I’d give it one more try.
“Gallan? It’s Enora.” I knocked a few more times. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”
A thump, a thud, and a clear mutter of, “Fuck,” came from beyond the door. Promising.
I clasped my hands behind my back and plastered on an apologetic smile as the lock clicked and the door pulled open a crack.
Squinting, moon-silver eyes greeted me.
“Enora?” Gallan rasped before he pulled the door open farther. He was wearing a hastily tied silk robe, its royal blue a lovely contrast to the deep gray of his skin, and his undercut was nowhere in sight, with his usually tied-up hair loose and strewn about in all directions.
A twinge of guilt settled in my chest.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” I winced.
“No, no. It’s alright.” He cleared his throat and glanced past me into the corridor. “Did something happen, or…?”
Gallan tightened his robe, and guilt ate at me quickly.
“Nothing happened.” I hesitated before I asked, “Is Embervale far? And do you have a blade or something I could borrow?”
He blinked at me twice before leaning against the doorframe with an amused huff. “Who are you planning on killing, princess?”
“No one, thank you,” I hissed. “I just need a change of scenery rather desperately. But goddess forbid I have a run-in with one of these rabid pups everyone keeps squabbling on about while unarmed.”
Gallan cocked a silver-white brow. “And you can’t ask your husband to take you? Or the mage? Eilir, even? After the sun comes up?”
“He is not my husband,” I bit out.
“And no, absolutely not. I need a change of scenery, and a change of company, and a change of air, and a change of every fucking—”
“Oh, Lan, dear?” came a soft but distinctly male drawl from inside Gallan’s quarters.
He swore quietly and pinched his brow.