Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
“So?” Galen nudged her arm, a grin tugging at his lips. “What do you think of Lumaria?”
Araya shook her head, at a loss for words. “It’s…amazing.”
Long tables stretched across the hall in neat rows, groaning under the weight of mismatched platters and steaming trays.
Salt-crusted fish and smoked eel shared space with dark, hearty stews, their broths heavily spiced to mask the gamey tang of preserved meat.
Ornate dishes that wouldn’t have been out of place in a palace sat beside chipped, hand-thrown bowls, all of them polished to a mirror sheen.
Fae of every age and class darted between the tables, straightening cutlery and making last-minute adjustments, all of them smiling and laughing like the act of preparing this feast was as much a celebration as the meal itself.
“Eloria pulls every resource for the big holidays,” Thorne said, following her gaze. “People here have little enough to find joy in most days. And of course, everyone wants to celebrate Loren.”
“And the female who brought him back to us,” Galen added cheerfully. “Eloria’s been begging him to bring you here so you could see all of this instead of keeping you locked up in that grim old castle.”
Araya flushed, her heart clenching strangely in her chest at Galen’s words. “He was just trying to keep me safe,” she said.
“Of course.” Galen nodded. “Goddess knows, I’d love to keep Eloria locked up in a tower—but she’d skin me alive if I tried. I’m just thrilled that Loren finally saw reason.”
Araya was saved from responding as two guards dragged the main doors open, letting the sounds of laughter and music drift into the hall.
Araya craned her neck for a better look, her heart lighter than it had been in months as she stared out at the countless fae that filled the square, talking and laughing without a trace of fear.
To get to see this, even just one time—it was like a dream.
She turned her head, intending to steal a glimpse of Loren—but instead she caught his eyes, her heart suddenly pounding as she ducked her head, heat rushing to her cheeks.
“Someone can’t stop staring,” Galen teased, his voice brimming with mischief.
Araya blushed harder, scrambling for a response. “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”
“That’s a very fae answer,” Galen shot back, his grin widening. “If I was imagining things, why would you answer my question with a question? What happened between the two of you to put that soft look in our lost prince’s eyes?”
Araya flushed bright red, stammering as she fumbled for an answer. There was no way she was telling Galen about her dream.
She was saved by Eloria, of all people.
The Princess Regent swept toward them, her beautiful face brightening as her gaze fell on her mate.
Galen’s teasing grin softened the moment his eyes landed on her.
Without hesitation, he reached for her, pulling her close and pressing a sound kiss to her lips despite all the eyes that surrounded them.
Eloria smiled up at him, her gaze full of a love so open and unhidden that it made Araya’s heart ache.
“It’s time for us to open the dancing.”
Galen groaned dramatically but didn’t relinquish his hold on her. “Shouldn’t Loren do it?”
“No.” Eloria laughed, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “Until he’s officially recognized by the Small Council, I’m afraid you’re still the mate of the ranking royal.”
“What a fate.” Galen sighed in mock defeat, but his arm tightened around her waist. “Lead the way, my love. I can never say no to you.”
Eloria threw her head back, laughter ringing through the night as she and Galen descended the stairs into the center of the square.
The crowd parted around them, all eyes turning as the music swelled into a bright, joyful rhythm—just in time for Galen to sweep her off her feet, still laughing, into a wild, whirling dance.
“They’re so beautiful,” she said softly.
Thorne chuckled. “Galen hates dancing—but he rises to the occasion when he has to.”
“Does Loren?” Araya asked without thinking.
“Hate dancing? Or rise to the occasion?” Thorne arched a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Were you thinking about saying yes if he asks?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” Thorne’s voice gentled. “You’re fae in a fae-ruled city. No one will blink twice at seeing Loren Shadowbane with a beautiful young female tonight. They’ve seen too much loss to begrudge anyone a little joy—least of all him.”
The bond bristled in her chest, a heated answer on the tip of her tongue before she bit it back. She glanced back at Loren, unable to help herself as she tried not to think about the beautiful young females that might have entertained him in the past.
But the prince was only watching her, his customary stoicism replaced by something softer and gentler as his gaze found hers.
Araya turned away quickly, trying to focus on Galen and Eloria’s effortless movements.
The music swelled as more fae joined their dance, laughter rising into the spring air.
But Loren’s presence pressed constantly against the edge of her awareness, that band around her heart pulling just a little tighter.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Thorne tossed back the rest of the drink, grinning at her. “Enjoy your night, Lady Starwind.”
“Enjoy my...?” Araya trailed off as cool petals brushed her forehead, blinking up at Loren as he settled a crown of flowers on her head.
“It’s how we ask for a dance,” he said softly.
Araya swallowed hard, her heart stumbling over itself. She looked out at the dancers, their movements light and free. “I don’t know the steps,” she admitted.
“You don’t need to.” Loren’s hand reached for hers, his fingers grazing her skin in a touch that stirred the magic in her blood, sending a rush of warmth racing across her skin. “Just follow me.”
She let him guide her down the stairs, the joy of the night swelling around them—bright with music and laughter and light.
The crowd parted for them, smiling faces spinning by in a blur as Loren drew her into the dance.
Her steps were hesitant at first, clumsy and unsure.
But Loren’s hand at her waist was steady. And slowly, fear loosened its grip.
Until it felt like flying.
She spun in his arms, laughter bubbling up before she could stop it, surprising her with its lightness. Loren’s face lit up at the sound, the shadow of his years in a cell falling away to show her the prince he must have once been.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said when they finally paused to rest.
Loren arched a brow, though amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Do you?”
She gestured toward the celebration—the vibrant colors, the music, the warmth, the pulse of joy thrumming in the air. “This,” she said. “Showing me what it can be like here. Hoping I’ll fall in love.”
The words left her mouth too easily—and the second they did, Araya felt her stomach drop.
She hadn’t meant him. She’d meant the fae.
Their world. The freedom, the magic, the chance to be something other than a tool.
But as soon as she said it, she felt the shift in the air between them.
The way Loren’s gaze caught on hers, no longer amused but very still—like the words had meant something else entirely, or like he hoped they had.
“And is it working?”
She should have laughed. Should have looked away and said obviously not, because of course she wasn’t in love. Not with him. Not with this place. Not with anything. She couldn’t afford to be.
But instead…she hesitated. Because gods help her, she didn’t know.
Loren looked away. His hand brushed lightly across her back as he stepped back, his touch so gentle it made her heart clench.
“I’ll get us something to drink,” he said. His voice was even, but his shadows brushed against her ankles, betraying him. “Don’t vanish.”
Araya stared after him, the words she hadn’t been able to speak still caught in her throat.
She didn’t want to leave. Not the festival.
Not this world—not him. But no matter how many flower crowns Loren placed on her head, there was no real future where she got to have any of this.
Not when her name, her future, and her freedom still belonged to Jaxon.
“Araya?” A familiar voice reached her over the music and laughter. “Is that really you?”
Araya turned, inhaling sharply as she met a pair of wide, violet eyes and the past collided with the present.
“Eilwen?”
The terrified, cowed female Araya had last seen at Serafina’s maternity clinic glowed with health now, her violet eyes bright with magic and her black hair shining under the golden light of the aetherlamps.
But it was the child sleeping in her arms that Araya couldn’t stop staring at, even though all she could see over his blanket was a shock of midnight hair and a delicately pointed ear.
“His name is Selan,” Eilwen said. “We owe you and Serafina everything.”
Before Araya could find her voice, Eilwen pulled her into a tight embrace, pressing the precious bundle of blankets into her arms. Araya froze, afraid the rapid beat of her heart might wake him, but the child only stirred and snuggled into her with a little grunt as his mother stroked his cheek.
“He’s beautiful,” Araya whispered, her voice choked.
“He’s all I have left of his father,” Eilwen said with a watery smile. “He’s my joy. My hope.”
Araya rocked the baby gently, her gaze fixed on his tiny, peaceful face. Serafina had done this—helped Eilwen escape, given this little boy a future. How many others had she saved?
A brush of cool air against her ankle made Araya catch her breath. She glanced down at the little shadow, twining its way up her body toward its favored place across her shoulders. But this time, it moved with unusual care, as if it could sense the preciousness of the life cradled in her arms.