I step toward her, panic rising in my chest. “But?—”
“No,” Cashira says firmly, raising a hand to stop my protest. “As long as I am here, I will make everything worse for you. Your father can protect you within these walls, surrounded by his guards and his magic. I can protect you better from afar, watching for threats he cannot see.”
Her voice trembles slightly as she continues. “We cannot guard both fronts if we’re standing in the same place.”
My father nods slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. I think even he knows his queen is not to be trusted, that her rage will seek an outlet and my mother would be the most vulnerable target. Even with her protective wards, she will be alone and who knows what lengths the queen will go to get to her now.
I want to scream, to beg her to stay and let me protect her for once. To demand that she not leave me alone in this strange realm with people I barely know.
I understand. I hate it but I understand.
Rhys dips his head in quiet grief and reluctant acceptance. “I will ensure her safe passage back to Kasamere,” he promises me. “She will be guarded until she’s beyond Lucelle’s reach.”
Cashira nods, then looks at me with eyes that hold years of love and sacrifice. “I will always be where you need me most,” she says simply. “That has never changed.”
I can’t help myself, I cross the short distance between us and pull her into a fierce embrace, memorizing the feel of her arms around me, the scent of earth and herbs that always clings to her hair. I know I’m not leaving her forever, but I have a feeling it will be a long while before I can hold her like this again, before I can take comfort in her steady presence.
My mother kisses my forehead, her lips warm and soft against my skin, then pulls away slowly. She moves to stand beside my father, and for just a moment they look like what they could have been, partners, parents, a family.
Rhys turns back to me, his voice gentling as he sees the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks again. “My daughter,” he says, and the words are like a warm cloak wrapped around my shoulders. “What’s mine is yours now. Whatever you need, whatever you seek, whatever has been taken from you, I will help you find a way to reclaim it all.”
I nod, unable to trust my voice as Locke moves to open the doors for us. The gesture is courtly and proper, but I catch the way his eyes linger on my face, reading the emotional storm I’m barely containing.
As we prepare to leave this room where everything changed, I allow myself one moment of pure hope. I believe him, believe for the first time since I fell from the sky that I have a real chance to be whole once more. To find the missing pieces of myself and forge them into something new and strong.
I won’t take my time here for granted, no matter how brief my stay might be. There’s too much to learn, too much to reclaim, and now, finally, I have allies in the fight to become who I’m meant to be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAM
Esme’s hand is warm in mine, and that’s exactly where it should be. Her fingers intertwine with a perfect fit that sends a calming pulse through my agitated nerves. Right at this moment I need her close. I need to feel the solid reality of her beside me. My wolf is losing his mind, pacing restlessly beneath my skin, eager to claim his mate, to shield her from all the threats lurking in these shadowed halls. The urge to shift, to bare my teeth at every perceived danger, thrums through my veins like a war drum. I have to consciously loosen my hold on her hand, my grip tightening involuntarily with how hard it is to maintain my composure.
Locke walks a few paces ahead of us, silent and stiff, like he’s carved from the same dark stone as the castle walls. His shoulders are set in a rigid line, every movement controlled and deliberate. His steps are clipped, measured, his back straight as a blade, his black leathers creaking just slightly with every calculated stride. The sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling, a rhythmic reminder of his presence that grates against my already frayed nerves. I want to hate him, every fiber of my being screams that I should, but I can’t deny that when Lucelletried to strike out at Esme, we both moved as one. His lightning-quick reflexes, the way he positioned himself as a shield without hesitation, the protective instinct that mirrored my own so perfectly, it was unsettling. That alone makes my wolf bristle, hackles rising in territorial warning. Esme is mine. My mate. The other half of my soul. I don’t want to have to share her with yet another protector, another male who might stake a claim.
Because it’s not just me anymore. There’s someone else who seems willing to throw himself into harm’s way for her without a second thought. Someone else who might be edging into the part of her life that I want to keep sacred, protected, as mine alone. The part of her heart that still feels like it belongs to me and, yes, to Micah, but no one else. Not this stoic fae warrior with his piercing eyes and unreadable expression.
We follow him down a corridor that looks medieval at first glance, soaring arched ceilings that disappear into shadow, ancient stone tiles worn smooth underfoot by centuries of passage, iron torch brackets lining the walls like silent sentinels. The deeper we venture into the castle’s depths, the more I see the uncanny strangeness of Vanir revealed. Flickers of magic pulse behind crystal sconces like captured lightning, the illumination shifting between warm gold and cool silver. The light is soft, otherworldly, humming faintly with an energy that makes my skin prickle. Modern, but not. Ancient, but evolved. This whole place is a contradiction wrapped in glamour and menace. Glorious and grotesque. Opulent and ominous. A realm where beauty and danger dance together in perfect, terrifying harmony.
I glance sideways at Esme, studying her profile in the shifting magical light. She’s quiet, but I can see her cataloging every detail, just like she did during our journey here through the mystical landscape. Always observing. Always learning. Her shoulders are drawn tight with tension, but she keeps her chinlifted with that regal bearing that seems to come so naturally to her. No hint of the unease I know must be churning beneath the surface. The lost princess of the Night Court, returned home at last. Her father confirmed it with words that still echo in my mind, and each syllable made my stomach churn with dread.
She’s not just mine anymore. Now she belongs to this place, to this world of intricate court politics and ancient royal bloodlines, co-ruled by a queen who I’m certain now wants my Angel dead. The thought makes my hands clench into fists. I would give anything, my life, my soul, everything I am to pull her back through that shimmering portal and disappear into the Mortal Realm. Back to the Academy, back to Micah and the others who know her worth. Back to where I wasn’t the only one standing guard over her precious life, where the threats were clearer and the enemies didn’t hide behind silk smiles and honeyed words.
Even as I think it, the bitter truth settles in my chest like a stone. I know I’m not the only one anymore. Not the only one who would die for her.
Locke stops abruptly in front of a massive door, its surface gleaming with gilded designs that spiral and twist like living vines. He doesn’t bother to knock, just gestures toward it with casual indifference, like I’m supposed to be grateful for his magnanimous guidance. “This one’s yours,” he says, voice like gravel scraped over stone, arms folded across his broad chest in a pose that screams authority. “Enjoy the accommodations, dog.”
The word hits me like a slap. I square my shoulders and step forward, meeting his challenging gaze with every ounce of alpha authority I possess. “Call me that again.”
Esme moves between us with fluid grace before I can advance further, her presence immediately diffusing the tension crackling in the air. “It’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice lowand soothing, the tone she uses when she’s trying to prevent bloodshed. “Let’s just go in.”
She reaches for the ornate handle, but Locke’s hand flashes out with supernatural speed and catches her slender arm. His fingers wrap around her wrist like iron bands.
I don’t think. The growl that tears from my throat is pure wolf, low and warning and deadly. I step forward, every muscle in my body coiled for violence. “Let go of her.” The words come out as more snarl than speech. I don’t want him touching any part of what’s mine, not her skin, not her hand, not even the fabric of her dress.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even acknowledge my threatening posture. His gray-green eyes remain fixed on Esme as if I’m nothing more than an annoying gnat. “Sorry, Starlight. This isn’t your room.”
The endearment, spoken in that low, rough voice, makes something ugly and possessive rear up in my chest. “She’s my mate,” I snap, the words carrying the weight of sacred vows and unbreakable bonds. “She stays with me.”
