"Prince Callen," one says, her voice carefully neutral. "The Council is in session and has requested no disturbances."
"I'm not here for the Council." Callen's voice rings with authority. "I'm here for my mother, Queen Maywen. And unless they've officially stripped me of my title while I've been away, I am still the Crown Prince of the fae kingdom and heir to the throne."
The female guard studies him for a long moment. "Your companions—"
"Are under my protection and will accompany me." His tone leaves no room for argument.
I hold my breath, heart hammering against my ribs. The contrast between the Callen I know—the one who teases me and whispers filthy promises in my ear—and this royal figure commanding respect hits me. He’s a real prince, real royalty.
"Very well," the guard finally says, stepping aside. "Her Majesty is in the east solarium."
Callen nods curtly and guides us forward. As we enter the palace, I feel a heaviness settle over me, not oppressive, but significant. I'm about to meet a queen, the mother of the man I'm in love with, a man I’m mated to, in a world where I barely understand the rules.
"Just be yourself," Lochan whispers, somehow reading my thoughts.
I almost laugh. Myself. A small-town girl with newly awakened shadow magic and the blood of chaos and fate personified, walking into a fae palace to meet the queen. What could go wrong?
The corridors of the palace unfold before us like a dream—hallways that stretch longer than should be possible, ceilings that soar so high they disappear. Light filters through crystal windows, casting rainbow patterns across marble floors polished to a mirror shine. The palace isn't just beautiful, it's alive with magic. Colors shift subtly as we pass, and I swear the patterns in the floor move when I'm not looking directly at them.
"The east wing was built during the Spring Convergence," Callen says quietly as we walk. "The stone absorbs magic from its surroundings."
I nod, trying to appear casual while cataloging every detail. The walls display intricate paintings depicting fae history with scenes of coronations, battles, and celebrations. Some figures have Callen's chiseled features or Lochan's strong jaw hands. I'm walking through their history.
But beneath the beauty lies something else. Court fae watch us pass, their expressions carefully blank but their eyes calculating. Servants pause in their duties, heads bowed but gazes following. There's tension strung through the air like invisible wire, ready to snap.
"Why is everyone so..." I trail off, not knowing the word.
"Afraid," Lochan supplies, his voice low. "The Court hasn't been stable since King Cillian's death."
We approach a set of silver doors etched with flowering vines. More guards stand at attention, their armor more decorative than the ones outside, but no less dangerous.
Callen straightens. "Her Majesty is expecting me."
One guard nods and opens the door without a word. The scent of flowers spills out, sweet but with an underlying bitterness.
I take a deep breath as we enter. The room is circular, with glass walls that curve upward into a dome. Sunlight pours in, illuminating plants that grow in a carefully maintained wildness. At the center sits a delicate-looking woman on a simple chair rather than the throne I expected.
Queen Maywen.
Even across the room, I feel a pull of recognition. Her dark hair falls in gentle waves past her shoulders, and her features are finely drawn. She's beautiful in a way that makes your heart hurt, like looking at something fragile that's already been broken and put back together imperfectly.
Her eyes—Callen's eyes, that pale, icy blue—look through us rather than at us. They're vacant, distant, as if seeing something far beyond the glass walls of her solarium.
"Mother," Callen says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.
She blinks slowly, her gaze gradually focusing. "My son." Her voice is feathery, words floating like dandelion seeds. "You've brought friends."
"This is Brigid," Callen says, placing his hand at the small of my back. "And you remember Lochan."
I step forward and give a small curtsy, not sure of the proper protocol. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."
Her eyes land on me, suddenly sharp and present in a way that makes me shiver. "You carry shadows," she whispers. "Like him."
My blood turns cold.
"Brigid is special," Callen says carefully.
Queen Maywen reaches out a pale hand. "Come closer, shadow girl."
