Solena hesitates, her gaze flickering to mine, but I nod, letting her know it’s alright. She bows and exits, leaving me alone with the queen.
The tension in the room thickens as Lanneth steps closer, her eyes soft but her posture commanding.
“You poor thing,” she says, sitting me on the edge of the bed. She collects my robe from the other room, then returns and uses it to squeeze the rain from my hair. “Flying through the storm can be so bothersome, but we’ll get you nice and dry.”
Once my hair is less drenched, she drapes the robe over my shoulders, a comforting warmth against my skin. Then, she settles beside me, her very presence a weight pressing down on my chest. Yet all I can think about is how quickly Daed turned his back on me when we returned, as if I hadn’t just given him all of myself.
“So, daughter,” Lanneth begins, her voice smooth and inviting, and once again I wonder if she has somehow read my mind. “Tell meeverything.”
Chapter 24
Irecount the storm wall to Lanneth, describing how we broke through the rain’s relentless assault. I fill my words with the island’s vibrant beauty—the gleaming castle, the replanting of the garden, the warmth of shared dinners. But I make sure to avoid anything from the night of the Lover’s Eye.
Yet as I speak, her gaze remains distant, a shadow lingering beneath the surface that my stories can’t reach. No matter how vividly I paint the scene, she stays unmoved.
“Amara,” she says, her voice tinged with a soft edge, “I believe there should be no secrets between us. We are bound now—by family, by blood. There’s no need for walls.”
Her words are deliberate, calculated.
Family. The term feels foreign, even wrong, coming from her.
“I agree,” I reply, keeping my tone steady. “Secrets only breed mistrust.”
“Then you understand why I must ask,” she continues. “How did Daed behave in Pariseth? Especially under the Lover’s Eye. I’d expect him to act as any man would, but I need to hear it from you.”
“Daed behaved… as Daed always does,” I answer curtly, the memory of those nights stirring emotions I have no intention of sharing with her.
“You’re being evasive, Amara,” she presses, her smile polite but her eyes sharp. “There’s no need to hide from me. I only want what’s best for you—and for him.”
“It’s not something I wish to discuss,” I say firmly, though tension coils inside me.
Her smile doesn’t falter, but a flicker of anger crosses her gaze. “I understand. But as his mother, I hope you can trust me. After all, I raised Daed, nurtured him. He is who he is today because of me.”
The words hang between us, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “He told me you’re not his real mother.”
Lanneth’s expression freezes, genuine surprise flashing across her face. She quickly recovers, clasping her hands over her lap.
“I see Daedalus has spoken out of turn,” her voice trembling slightly. “It’s true—I didn’t give birth to him. His real mother died when he was just a baby. But I have been the only mother he’s ever known. I raised him, cared for him through every trial, every wound, every mistake. I am his mother in every way that matters.”
Lanneth stands, regaining her composure. “Remember, Amara. You and I share more than just Daed—we share the responsibility of this kingdom. I have given everything to protect it, and I hope you will do the same.” Her eyes sweep over me, and even fully clothed, I feel exposed under her scrutiny, as if she sees more than my skin—more than I even understand of myself. “You look better. Pariseth clearly agrees with you. Let’s hope Baev’kalath does not drain this renewed light. We need you strong.” Her smile stretches, thin and strained, before she bows. “I’ll leave you to settle in. I’m sure we’ll see each other tonight, when Kaelus and Daedalus depart.”
The mention of Daed leaving twists the knot in my chest tighter. If Lanneth’s presence hadn’t already unsettled me, her reminder of the departure I’ve been trying not to think about only deepens the ache. She turns, her gown sweeping behind her as she exits the room. The door closes with a soft thud, but the tension lingers, heavy in the air.
I fall back onto the bed and wish I could sink—deep enough to escape, deep enough to disappear, deep enough to reach the bottom of the world.
I can't bring myself to face the door. If I step through it, if I watch him leave, the last week will dissolve into a distant memory, like some fragile dream I can never get back. I need it to be real. If it isn’t—if this feeling between us is just a fleeting illusion—then I don’t want anything at all.
I sit stiffly in the chair by the fire, staring at the flames as they dance, the heat creeping across my skin until it stings. But I welcome it. The burn is easier to bear than the fear curling inside me—the fear of losing Daed.
The familiar sound of wings stirs the air behind me, followed by the heavy thud of boots on stone.
“I told you,” I mutter, not turning to look. “I prefer when you use the door.”
“So domineering, wife. Are we still in Pariseth?” he teases, the smirk evident in his voice. “Should I take off my boots? Dig in the dirt with you?” His hands slide over my shoulders, and despite myself, I melt into his touch, my eyes closing as warmthspreads through me. His voice drops lower, closer. “Can I make requests, too? I prefer you wearing only moonlight.”
His fingers trail down my arms, gliding toward my breasts, and I lose myself in the warmth of him, laying my hand on top of his and holding it still, because if he moves an inch I’ll fall apart.
“Daed. Stop,” I mutter somberly, clutching his hand tighter than I mean to.
