They all clearly know something is up.
Confusion and alarm spike through me. What are we doing here? Why are we meeting with them instead of focusing on the spell? But I trust Dyfri completely, so I stay quiet and wait to understand.
Dyfri crosses his arms over his chest, his posture radiating authority and absolute determination. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of royal command.
“Thank you for meeting with me. The portals to the Fey realm will begin closing permanently in nine minutes. You need to choose whether you are staying on Earth or returning to the realm. And you need to let your loved ones decide if they want to stay by your side.”
The words hit the room like a physical blow. All three brothers go pale, the blood draining from their faces asthey process what Dyfri has just told them. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the ticking of an ancient grandfather clock in the corner.
Nine minutes. We have nine minutes before this all ends, and they have to make the most important decision of their lives. Choose between home or love. Or ask their loved one to give up their home and family forever and follow them into the Fey realm.
The same choice that Dyfri had to make. He has chosen to stay with me in my homeworld, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m worthy of that decision.
But he had weeks to decide. His brothers have mere minutes.
The weight of that deadline presses down on the room like a physical presence. I can see it in the way Rhydian’s hands clench at his sides, in the way Mabon’s breathing becomes shallow and rapid. This isn’t just about choosing between worlds. This is about choosing between duty and love, between family and passion, between the certainty of power and the uncertainty of exile.
They all have human lovers. Rhydian is married to Jamie. Mabon has Blake. Tristan has Ollie, that tiny, beautiful, sharp-tongued human who follows him everywhere with barely concealed devotion.
They’re not just choosing between worlds. They’re choosing whether to abandon the people they love or drag them into permanent exile among beings who see them as nothing more than interesting pets.
Tristan straightens, his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something fierce and determined. “Llywelyn must also be given a choice!”
Rhydian shakes his head, his expression grim. “There is no time to safely warn him.”
“I’ll make time!” Tristan declares, his voice rising with passionate conviction. “He doesn’t deserve to be cut off from his family forever!”
Before anyone can stop him, he’s running out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond.
Mabon looks distraught with worry, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “How do I explain this? How do I ask him to give up everything he’s ever known?”
Rhydian… just looks like Rhydian. Controlled, calculating, giving away nothing of what he’s thinking. He doesn’t look like a man betrayed, a crown prince defeated. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is set. Even he’s not immune to the weight of this decision.
Dyfri offers neither comfort nor additional explanation. He’s given them the information they need. Shown one last loyalty to a family that has never protected him. What they do with it is up to them.
Without warning, he turns on his heels. I scurry after him, my heart hammering as we head toward what appears to be a solid wall.
We disappear through it as if it were made of mist.
The next thing I know, we’re standing in a park on a slight hill, the lights of London spread out below us like a carpet of stars. Hyde Park, I realise, recognising the familiar landscape. Buckingham Palace is laid out before us like a glittering jewel, every window blazing with warm light against the darkness.
It’s nighttime and raining, fat droplets that soak through my clothes within minutes. The grass beneathour feet is slippery with moisture, and the air smells of mud and the approaching storm. Lightning flickers in the distance, illuminating heavy clouds that are rolling across the sky like portents of doom.
The ice cold rain is coming down hard, turning the perfectly manicured park into a muddy battlefield. The city around us thrums with oblivious life, millions of people going about their evening routines with no idea that their world is once again about to change forever.
We wait.
Dyfri stands perfectly still beside me, his face turned toward the palace. Rain streams down his cheeks like tears, but his expression is carved from stone. There’s something different about him now, something that makes the hair on my arms stand up even through my soaked clothes. He looks like a figure from myth. Ancient, powerful, and absolutely terrifying.
The air around him shimmers with barely contained energy. I can feel magic building like pressure in my ears, like the moment before a thunderclap when the world holds its breath.
Then there’s the sound of dragon wings.
The noise starts as a distant rumble, like thunder rolling across the sky. But it grows louder, closer, until the very air vibrates with the rhythm of massive wings beating against the storm. The sound is primal, prehistoric, something that reaches into the deepest parts of my DNA and whispers of ancient fears.
The dragons arrive.
They appear out of the darkness like something from a nightmare, their scales gleaming wet in the rain and lightning. Massive shapes blotting out sections of thestorm clouds, moving with impossible grace for creatures so large. I can see riders on their backs, dark figures silhouetted against the strobing sky.
