The scrying glass on my desk begins to glow with pale light, and I know without looking who's calling.
"Oberon," I acknowledge, not bothering to hide my irritation as his face materializes in the crystal depths.
"Aratus." His voice carries the weight of millennia, patient as stone. "I hear your omega has... departed."
"Temporarily."
"Hmm." His ancient eyes study me through the glass. "The prophecy grows unstable without her. Other courts report similar disturbances."
"She'll return. The dormant bond ensures it."
"Will she?" There's something in his tone that makes my jaw clench. "Or will she simply fade away, taking the prophecy's stability with her?"
I lean back in my chair, meeting his gaze with the arrogance that has served me for centuries. "You doubt my methods?"
"I question your understanding of what you've actually accomplished." His image flickers slightly, shadows playing across his features. "Tell me, Aratus—when she returns broken and grateful, will you have claimed a mate or a ghost?"
I dismiss the scouts and return to my study, where correspondence waits from other courts. Prince Thorian writes of concerning magical fluctuations, Lord Kael reports unusual weather patterns in his territory. The prophecy grows more unstable with each passing day, as if my omega's absence has disrupted some crucial balance.
Another reason she must return. The magic itself demands it.
But when I try to focus on the political implications, my attention keeps drifting to the empty chair beside my desk. The one where she used to sit during my evening correspondence, reading her own books while providing silent companionship. How she'd look up occasionally to ask questions about magical theory or court politics, her brilliant mind engaging with concepts that challenged her.
The chair sits empty now, and the silence feels oppressive in ways I didn't anticipate.
The conversation ends abruptly as he cuts the connection, leaving me staring at blank crystal.
A ghost. The word echoes in my mind as I refill my glass.
Day two brings Edgar's first letter, delivered by a courier whose horse steams in the cold.
Lord Aratus,
I write to inform you of my daughter's condition, as you expressed... interest in her welfare. She grows weaker despite every care. The human physicians can find nothing wrong, yet she fades before my eyes.
She asks often about the palace, about you, though she tries to hide it. Yesterday she wept when a winter wind brought the scent of pine through her window.
If there is any mercy in you, any treatment that might ease her suffering, I beg you to share it. She chose freedom, but this is not freedom—it is a different kind of captivity.
A desperate father,
Edgar Montgomery
I set the letter aside, but my eyes keep returning to the words.She wept when a winter wind brought the scent of pine.
The second day stretches endlessly. I try to focus on court business, but every task feels hollow. The empty tea service sits untouched on the side table. The chair beside my desk remains vacant.
By evening, restlessness drives me to pace the halls like a caged wolf.
Day three, the scrying glass glows again just after dawn.
"She's dying," Oberon says without preamble.
"Impossible. The dormant bond sustains?—"
"Look for yourself."
The crystal shifts, showing me a vision that makes my blood freeze. Elise in a human bed, thin and pale as parchment. Her silver hair has lost its luster, and the frost patterns on her skin flicker weakly. She stares out a window toward the north with eyes that see nothing.
