Chapter Twenty
Elysia
Rhune doesn’t look at me even once after that.
Even when the High Priestess calls the three brothers forward. Even when his name is spoken in the sacred hush of this glowing temple, he remains locked behind that invisible wall—shoulders rigid, mouth tight, eyes focused on some point beyond me.
I don’t know what’s worse: his distance … or how familiar it’s beginning to feel.
We stand beneath the massive tree that pulses with quiet magic, its swirled black-and-white trunk looming over us like a deity carved from wood and light.
Its roots twist across the floor like veins, and its upper branches stretch toward the domed ceiling, where pale light spills in from a skylight above.
The High Priestess steps forward with a small obsidian dagger, its handle etched with a script I can’t make out. “As it has been since the first queen rose,” she says, voice echoing through the space, “so it shall be now.”
She presents the blade to Zayvin first. He takes it wordlessly and draws it across his palm without hesitation, the silver sheen of his glimmering dark blood gleaming as he presses his hand to the trunk of the tree.
For a second I’m reminded of Virelle drawing the same-colored blood from the High Priestess. My eyes narrow as I glance back and forth between them, wondering if the High Priestess is a Nithrin? It would line up with my fears of the nightmare court—her callous and deadly actions.
The bark absorbs his blood instantly at the first moment of contact. Black veins flicker throughout the tree, as though drinking it in.
Sorryn is next. He doesn’t flinch, slicing open his own palm before placing it on the wood with a reverent dip of his head.
His blood is lighter, more luminous, like a swirling silver.
The tree’s lighter veins flare this time, expanding upward, glowing like stars lit beneath the dark parts of the bark.
Then it’s Rhune’s turn.
The blade whispers across his skin and his hand meets the tree, his blood a deep violet-silver that pulses like storm light.
The tree responds differently this time.
It shudders just slightly, but I see it. The leaves above tremble and the trunk glows brighter where his hand touches, and for the briefest second, I swear it leans toward him.
He pulls away immediately, jaw tightening as he wipes his hand on the hem of his tunic, like he wants to forget the touch before moving back into line.
The High Priestess lifts her arms as the last glow recedes into the tree. “You are now bound in vow. Witnessed by the Goddess. A new queen has risen, and her courting begins now.”
She lowers her arms slowly, turning to face the brothers fully.
“As you know, there are rules you must abide by,” she says, sweeping her gaze across them. “You are not to speak ill of each other. The Queen’s choice must be her own, untainted by slander.”
None of them react.
“You are not to extend your courtship. Each of you will have three weeks. No more.”
Silence reigns and I begin to shift uncomfortably under the weight of it.
“You are forbidden to speak of the queens who came before her. The past is not to shape the present.”
A chill settles along my spine at that one.
The High Priestess’s voice slices through the silence, calm and absolute. “With the vows made, the first courtship begins now.”
I blink at her words.
That’s it … just like that, I’m to allow myself to be courted by a king.
Sorryn steps forward with a smoothness that feels rehearsed. He smiles, wide and gleaming, the kind of smile meant to disarm and dazzle. “My Queen,” he says with a faint bow, offering me his hand, “allow me the honor of escorting you to the realm that now waits to welcome you home.”
There’s something undeniably charming about him. His voice is warm, like the low thrum of firelight, and I can feel it trying to soften my panic. To coax me gently into this next chapter.
I hesitate before taking his hand. As I do, Rhune’s expression tightens. His jaw locks, eyes flashing with something sharp, something that looks too close to fury. Not rage at me … but at this.
There’s a glint of satisfaction in the High Priestess’s eyes as Sorryn’s hand squeezes mine.
His grip is warm and sure, his skin smooth despite the faint calluses. It should feel like comfort, but all it does is make my skin crawl.
He’s not the elf I want to touch.
“Tonight,” he says as he begins to lead me off the platform, “we’ll host a ball in your honor. Music, dancing, food from the finest Dromin chefs. The court will gather to meet you, to celebrate you.”
He glances down at me with that golden smile. “It’s time you felt joy in this new life, my Queen. Tonight, you’ll see that we’re not just courts and politics—we’re people, too—and we’d be lucky to have you as our queen.”
I nod stiffly, trying to mirror the poise I don’t feel.
A ball.
After everything.
The image of Virelle falling with fire in her eyes flashes behind my lids. Then Thalia. Then the empty faces of the other women whose names I may never know.
A hollow echoes in my chest, but I offer a nod, because I don’t know what else to do.
“I’ll see you in three weeks,” Zayvin’s voice cuts in, sharp and grounding.
I turn to face him as he stays atop the platform. His posture is impeccable, his face carved from restraint, but there’s something in the way his eyes flick to Rhune, like they’re sharing a language I don’t speak.
Then Zayvin pulls a small stone from inside his pocket.
It glows the same soft violet as the symbol etched into the altar we used to travel here. He gives one final nod and vanishes in a shimmer of wind and light.
Sorryn wastes no time in guiding me toward the exit and I resist the urge to glance back and see if Rhune is following us. The temple doors creak open as we step into the light.
The shift from stone to sky is jarring, as if I’ve been held inside some breathless, sacred box, and only now the world is exhaling again. Waiting at the path that connected the two courts, bathed in that soft golden light, is the most stunning carriage I’ve ever seen.
It’s crafted from pale wood and inlaid with delicate gold filigree that curls around the edges like vines. The doors shimmer faintly, as if kissed by enchantment, and two creatures stand harnessed at the front.
They aren’t horses. At least, not in the way I know them.
Their bodies are long and sleek like stags, but covered in a soft, pearlescent fur that gleams with every breath.
Translucent feathered wings rise from their shoulders, half-folded at rest against their backs.
Their eyes are pure silver with no pupil, but when one turns its head toward me, something powerful stirs behind its gaze.
I don’t realize I’ve moved until my palm is pressed gently to its neck. Its breath huffs warm against my cheek, and I lean forward, forehead resting against the velvet-soft fur as I exhale.
The creature leans in, just slightly.
A quiet thrum rises beneath my skin at the connection. It hums low and gentle, touching a place deep within my bones.
“They’re called aerwynth,” Sorryn says softly behind me. “They exist only in our court. I’m glad you can see their beauty.”
I glance back at him, then over his shoulder.
Rhune stands just beyond the stairs. Still and silent, his gaze going over my shoulder like he refuses to look at me.
“I’ll meet you at the castle,” he says, voice clipped and distant.
I glance at the carriage and the two plush seats waiting inside.
Of course there’s only room for two.
He doesn’t wait for a response, simply pulling out a stone the same as Zayvin did, and disappears like mist.
Sorryn offers his hand again. “Come. The city awaits.”
I climb in, letting Sorryn guide me into the seat beside him as the door closes with a soft click. The aerwynth shift, their wings lifting and extending before the carriage begins to move.
Upward into the clouds and toward the Court of Dreams.
The carriage glides higher and the clouds thin as we rise above them. A breeze curls around me, soft and cool, scented faintly with some floral sweetness I can’t name.
My hand rests in my lap, fingers curled tightly in my skirt as the city begins to reveal itself ahead.
The same massive ivory towers I saw glimpses of earlier stretch into the sky like needles, the tops lost in drifting clouds. Bridges of gold are littered across the expanse, winding over cloudbanks and curling between structures that shimmer with magic.
It’s beautiful and completely, utterly unreal.
I should be in awe, but all I feel is hollow.
Sorryn watches me from the corner of his eye, his smile still warm, still present—but he says nothing. He doesn’t press me to speak or smile, and for that I’m grateful.
While this realm is far more than I could have ever imagined, I can’t stop thinking of the blood that got me here.
Thalia’s still body. Virelle’s final strike. The broken women in the grove.
Even riding in this carriage, with its glowing trim and soft seats, feels like a betrayal to them. The guilt of being alive when they no longer are.
I shift slightly, staring down at my hands.
The ache within my chest isn’t just grief, it’s also the rising awareness that I am alone now in a way I wasn’t before.
A thought creeps in like cold air: Rhune should be here.
Not just because I want to see glimpses of the elf I was growing to know from my sleeping thoughts.
Not because I dream of soft looks or secret touches, but because when he stood beside me—even silent and unreadable—I felt like there was one person in this strange world who saw me.
Who would step forward if danger struck, or simply to stand in support while I learn how to navigate this world and my new role.
“I don’t know how to be queen,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper. “Whatever you expect of me … I don’t know how to do it.”
Sorryn shifts beside me but doesn’t interrupt. I continue as I glance up at him.
Will he be spiteful and angry if I don’t carry myself like I’m anyone other than Elysia Virellan of Edritch, the woman who braids her sister’s hair before bed and daydreams atop a hill?
I may wear a crown now, but it doesn’t suddenly give me the confidence and clarity that I imagine a queen should have.
The Dromin King leans back, his posture easy and relaxed. “You don’t need to pretend to be anyone other than yourself. You were chosen by the Goddess to be our queen. You are enough as you are.”
His words settle over me like a comforting blanket I didn’t know I needed.
I give him a nod of appreciation before I glance out at the sky again. The carriage crests a gentle curve in the clouded path, and suddenly the city comes into view.
In the distance, the clouds still conceal parts of the city, but I get a glimpse of a vast forest painted in unnatural hues—pinks, blues, and shimmering silver. Birds—no, not birds—but creatures winged and unknown soar among the treetops.
Even with all the beauty spread out before me, I don’t feel safe, because I know what beauty can hide.
This isn’t home. This isn’t salvation. It’s the place I’ll be courted like a prize and watched like a threat. The decisions I make here will change the lives of everyone I’ve ever known and possibly those not even born yet.
I can’t afford to be dazzled by this world.
Still, I study everything. The layout, the symbols etched into the arching bridges, the way the buildings glow faintly even without sunlight.
If I’m going to change anything, if I’m going to uncover the truths buried beneath centuries of selection ceremonies and power games, I need to understand this world in its entirety.
The carriage descends and we pass beneath a sculpted arch and into the heart of the court. This is where it begins … my first test of what kind of queen I might become.
Already I feel the weight of every step I take here. For my family. For Thalia. For Lisbeth. For Virelle. For all of the fallen chosen and the selections yet to happen in the future.
I won’t let beauty lull me into forgetting what’s been lost.
Not ever.