Until the fourth day.
At sunset, the sky bursts with a flurry of black wings as the Blades return, a dark wave against the fading light. Before I can stop myself, I’m already on my balcony, fingers curling tightly around the railing. I watch as they touch down one by one in the courtyard below, the air soon buzzing with the low murmur of voices. I try to convince myself I don’t care—but the moment I scan the crowd, I realize Daedalus isn’t among them.
I linger longer than I should, hoping against hope that he’ll arrive late. But as the minutes stretch into an hour, he still doesn’t appear. When the rain begins to tap gently against my brow, I finally turn away, damp and frustrated. Perhaps he stayed longer in Eyr’Drogul, or maybe I missed him in the flurry of wings.
Two more days pass, and there’s still no sign of him. At breakfast, I keep my tone casual as I ask Kaelus why Daed hadn’t returned with the others. The king’s response is simple: Daed’s wanderlust makes it difficult to keep him anywhere for long. But his words only tighten the knots in my stomach.
That night, after dinner, I sit in my chambers, trying to steady my thoughts. If I can survive a Stormwyrm, I can endure the turmoil building within me—this conflict between reason and an attraction that’s grown impossible to deny. But then, a flicker of light catches my eye, pulling me from my chair. I step through the archway, my gaze drawn to Daed’s tower. His window is shrouded in darkness, as empty as the past few days have been.
Just as I’m about to turn away, a faint glimmer breaks through the gloom. Candlelight. My heart stutters, caught between curiosity and disbelief. Someone is there.
It’s the curiosity that propels me forward, overriding any semblance of logic.
Has he returned? How long has he been back in Baev’kalath?
I can’t explain why I find myself at the door, fingers brushing the cool metal of the handles, heart pounding against my ribs.But just as I’m about to pull them open, reality catches up to me. Arax will want to know where I’m going, and I have no desire to endure an awkward conversation about my tangled feelings for the prince. I doubt Arax would want that conversation, either.
After a brief hesitation, I turn sharply and head to the hidden door in the wall across from my bed. The decision feels reckless, impulsive—yet the need to see Daed overwhelms any sense of restraint.
I stare at the panel for a while, my eyes searching for the secret notch Daed used to open it. I feel along the molding and find a spot that appears more worn than the rest, as if rubbed over and over until the hard ridge has rounded. A smile cracks my focused expression as I push the notch, and I can’t help but laugh excitedly when I hear a click and the secret door creaks open.
The line of lamps along the wall gives the passage a soft glow, enough to easily guide me through the sharp turns. I pass several doors, with no idea which one will take me to where I need to go, but after walking for what feels like an age, I choose one, leaning into the wood and pushing it open.
It is almost completely black in the hallway I stumble into, with no light but the pallid moon beams that slip through the narrow slits in the walls that serve as windows. There are no open arches, no balconies. It is more confined and claustrophobic than the secret passageways. I recall the shape of the fortress from the outside, and how Daed’s tower seems so isolated and shut off from everywhere else. Perhaps I am here, on the other side of the castle. I strain my eyes, peering to my left and right for any sign of where I might be. To my right, I spy a pair of darkened stairs leading up. Daed’s tower is the highest point of the fortress. If it is anywhere, it will be up.
Each step I take up the narrow, spiraling staircase feels like it echoes through the silence, a sound too loud for the suffocatingdark that presses in on me from all sides. The stone walls are cold and damp, brushing against my shoulders as if the tower itself is closing in, trying to swallow me whole. My fingers skim the rough surface, searching for something solid to hold on to, but all I find are jagged edges that bite into my skin, making me flinch.
I can almost hear the stones whispering, telling me to turn back, to run while I still can, like every other otherworldly voice I hear in this place. But I can’t. Not now. Not when I’m so close.
Close to what?
The fear gnaws at me, twisting my thoughts into dark shapes. What if I find him—what if he is waiting for me at the top? The thought of seeing him makes my heart stutter, but it also fills me with dread. Is it Daed up there? Or something else? I’m not sure I’m ready for the answers, but the uncertainty is worse. I have to know. I have to see him.
Finally, I arrive at the top. With trembling hands, I reach for the ring that serves as the door’s handle. It is slick with moisture, or maybe sweat from my own clammy palm, and for a moment, I hesitate. The fear is a living thing inside me, clawing at my insides, begging me to turn back. I take a deep breath, steadying myself as best I can, and pull the door open.
There is only a flicker of candlelight inside, barely enough to see my face in front of my hand. I take the candle from the table by the door and hold it up. There is no sign of Daed, or anyone else. Just a cold, empty room and a balcony with lightning tearing the black night sky outside.
Even with the candlelight, my steps are unsteady and uncertain. I reach out, gripping the furniture and using it to guide me safely around the room. I feel the edge of a green velvet chair and as the candlelight expands, a grand ten foot fireplace comes into view. It looms with dark, towering stone columns, the hearth yawning open like a maw and framed by jaggedarches. I gasp into my hand when a flash of lightning illuminates the sinister stone gargoyles perched on the mantle, their twisted faces leering from the shadows.
I take another deep breath to steady my racing heart, lifting the candle higher when I catch the glimmer of a gilded frame. The candlelight spreads, bathing a large portrait over the fireplace in a dull, amber glow. A woman. A beautiful Mordorin female draped in a thin lilac gown that holds tight to every sweeping curve of her body. Her hair is a mass of tight, dark curls that cascade down her back, the warmth of her violet eyes emphasized by her glorious smile. She sits in a chair, a green velvet chair, this chair, and she cradles her swollen belly in her hands. Who is this woman, and why would the portrait of a pregnant Fae hang above Daed’s mantle?
A pang strikes my heart and asks of it a question.Is the woman… a wife?
A crash of thunder sends me stumbling backwards, and the candle falls from my hand. I drop to my knees to pick it up before I set the damned chair on fire.
“What are you doing here?” a guttural voice questions from the shadows.
I gasp and look up, both hands wrapped around the candle. I squint to make out the figure sitting in the corner of the room. “Daed? Is that you?”
“I said, what are you doing here?” he repeats, his voice rougher.
“I saw a light,” I gulp. “From my balcony. I came to see who was up here.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he mutters.
My body shivers. “I’m not lying…”
The slivers of charcoal cloud shift and a shimmering shaft of moonlight beams through the arch and hits the corner with a hazy, pallid glow. He sits with his legs wide in the chair, a handresting on each knee as he hunches forward. The runes tattooed on his knuckles are enough for me to know it is Daed, but that is all I recognize about him. His voice comes from someone else. A deep, rumbling growl that is as frightening as it is alluring and the way he speaks to me…he has always been callous, but it is as if he doesn’t even know me.
