She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream. Probably both. Maybe neither. Instead, she just buried her face in Jaxon’s shoulder—because pretending to be fine was suddenly too much work.
Jaxon’s grip on her waist tightened, his lips ghosting over hertemple in a barely-there touch. “It’s over now, Starling,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry. I’m never going anywhere without you again. You’re mine.”
No one," he continued, his fingers pressing into her flesh. "Not the Arcanum. Not Hale. Not anyone—can take you from me."
A shiver trailed down her spine. There was never another ending to this story—only the illusion of one. She could keep fighting it… or she could surrender.
Araya closed her eyes, letting Jaxon’s warmth envelop her.
His children would never see the inside of a place like Kaldrath.
They would never wake up wondering if this was the day they were taken away. They would never feel the sharp bite of the shears or the hot wash of blood running down their face as their ears were clipped. They would never feel the sting of a lash for some minor infraction against the endless rules designed to grind them into dust.
And if that meant letting Jaxon shape her future the way he had shaped her past—then maybe it was worth it.
It had to be. Because if it wasn’t, then what would even be left of her when he was finished?
Jaxon must have felt her relax, because he shifted, cradling her closer. “You’re very drunk, Starling,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter
Four
The shadows started whisperingbefore she even opened her eyes.
Their voices wove together, an eerie chorus of hushed tones forming words she might have once understood, but had long since lost. The sound curled around her, sinking into her very bones.
She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to see him—not tonight.
But the dream took her anyway.
The damp chill of the dungeon filled her lungs, the stench of decay curling in the air. She knew what she would see before her eyes fluttered open.
It was always the same.
The corridor stretched endlessly before her, lined with iron doors, each one scarred by time and cruelty. Runes, long dead, had been gouged into their surfaces—remnants of a history written in suffering. The Arcanum had used these cells to break any fae who refused to kneel. No matter how much magic they possessed, the Arcanum always found a way to make them beg.
The whispers coiled around her footsteps, swallowing the sound of her bare feet on slick stone. They had always whispered. But tonight, they were trying to tell her something.
She stopped in front of his door. It waited for her. It always did.
It was the only one still alive, pulsing with silver-blue runes that flared to life as her fingers brushed the cold metal. The magic thrummed beneath her touch, rising to a discordant buzz that set her teeth on edge. It rejected her, resisted her presence—but still, it let her through.
Whoever he was, the Arcanum did not want him getting out.
The shadows slithered across her hands as the door swung open, spilling in like smoke. Araya followed them, stepping over the threshold as they coiled up her arms, wrapping around her ribs, pressing at her skin.
They wanted her to understand.
Tonight, he sat on his moldy straw pallet, slumped against the wall with his eyes closed—sleeping, somehow. His wrists were raw beneath the manacles and the iron collar at his throat, as if he had worn them for years.
The shadows rippled at the edges of the room, their whispers turning frantic. They knew something she didn’t.
Araya sank to her knees in front of him, the cold stone biting into her skin. She had seen fae males fight the Arcanum’s power before, had watched them break and die at human hands—so why did seeing this one unravel her?
She reached out without thinking, her fingers trembling as they brushed over the sharp line of his cheekbone. She didn’t know what she meant to do—only that she couldn’t stop herself from reaching for him.
She didn’t expect him to see her. He never had before. But this time when her fingers brushed his skin his eyes snapped open, freezing her in place for the heartbeat it took for his hand to close around her wrist.
