He pauses, his kaleidoscope eyes shifting through shades of deep purple and gold as he watches my reaction. “This occurred many years ago, before the great betrayal that split the royal bloodline, brother against brother in a conflict that would reshape the very foundations of our realm. Before your mother stumbled upon your father’s broken body, drawn by forces she couldn’t comprehend. Before your father understood what magnificent form his greatest love, his most profound joy, and his deepest sorrow would eventually take.”
My grandmother. The enigmatic fae queen whose likeness I’m said to bear, whose formidable power flows through myveins like a hidden river I’ve only just begun to sense. She spoke my name into existence before I was even a spark of possibility, before my parents ever met, before their forbidden love story began to unfold.
The weight of this revelation sits heavy in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. Every assumption I’ve held about my identity feels suddenly fragile, like frost melting under the morning sun.
“I suppose my father had no knowledge of any of this,” I manage to say, my voice emerging smaller and more uncertain than I intended, barely audible above the gentle crackling of the hearth fire.
“The clearest answers are often the ones we must discover for ourselves,” Galin replies, seeming completely unperturbed by my bewilderment. “But very well, I shall provide some guidance. Four trials await you, Soraya?—”
“Esme,” I interrupt automatically.
“—each specifically designed to awaken a different piece of your multifaceted heritage. The Trial of Self, where you must confront your true nature. The Trial of Reflection, where you must face your deepest fears. The Trial of Loss, where you must choose what you’re willing to sacrifice. And finally, the Trial of Power, where you must prove yourself worthy of what you seek to reclaim.” His expression grows serious. “Complete them all, bear all four marks of completion upon your skin, and what was stolen will be restored tenfold.”
“And if I fail?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
Galin’s warm smile dims considerably. “Then you die, of course. Permanently and completely. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
His bluntness is almost refreshing after days of cryptic warnings and veiled threats.
“When do we start?” I ask, surprising myself with my eagerness.
“Tomorrow at dawn, when the forest is most receptive to magic,” Galin replies. “The first trial, the Trial of Self, awaits in a primeval cave at the very heart of Kasamere Forest.” He turns to Sam unexpectedly, his expression growing stern and points a finger in his face. “Wolf, you cannot accompany her on this journey. None of you can enter the trial space. This path must be walked completely alone.”
Sam’s growl is low and threatening, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “I am not leaving her to face unknown dangers by herself.”
“You have no choice in this matter,” Galin says, not unkindly but with absolute finality. “The forest itself will reject you violently if you attempt to follow where you’re not meant to go.”
“What exactly does the Trial of Self entail?” Rue asks, finally sipping his tea with obvious wariness.
“A confrontation with absolute truth,” Galin answers cryptically. “She must face what she has been, what she currently is, and what she might become. She must first face who she is without magic, without title, without name.”
The thought sends ice water through my veins, but I keep my expression carefully neutral. “And you’ll guide me to this place?”
“I’ll show you the path and the entrance. After that, you walk alone into whatever destiny awaits.” Galin rises gracefully, moving to a cluttered workbench covered in bottles and strange instruments. “Tonight, you rest here as my guests. Tomorrow, you begin your true journey.”
“We’ll be as close as the forest allows,” Locke says to me, and it’s not a question but a statement of absolute fact. “Whatever magical barriers exist, we’ll push against them until we find the limit.”
Galin returns with a small vial filled with iridescent liquid that seems to move with a life of its own. “Drink this before you sleep tonight. It will prepare your mind for what’s to come.”
I take the vial, surprised by how warm the glass feels against my palm. “What exactly does it do?”
“It allows you to remember things you’ve forgotten,” he says with characteristic mysteriousness. “Sometimes the past holds the key to unlocking the future.”
Later, as night falls like a gentle blanket over the forest, Galin shows us to our sleeping quarters, small, cozy alcoves carved directly into the living walls of his impossible home. Sam and I take one space, while Locke and Rue settle into others nearby, close enough to respond to trouble but far enough away to give us privacy.
Sam paces our small space like a caged animal, agitation clear in every line of his muscular body.
“I don’t like any of this,” he says finally, his voice tight with worry. “You shouldn’t have to face these trials alone, especially not after what happened in the village today.”
“Maybe that’s exactly the point,” I reply thoughtfully, turning the mysterious vial between my fingers and watching the liquid swirl with colors I have no names for. “I’ve spent my entire life depending on others for protection and guidance, first the Coven, then Micah and the guys, then you. Now Locke and Rue, my father and mother. Maybe it’s finally time I learned to stand on my own two feet.”
“That’s not what this is about,” Sam argues, sitting heavily beside me on the moss-covered sleeping area. “We’re stronger together than apart. That’s the entire purpose of bonds and Tethers and mates, to support each other through impossible challenges.”
I lean against his solid warmth, drawing comfort from his familiar presence. “I know that, and I’m not rejecting our bondor our connection. But some paths in life can only be walked alone, no matter how much we wish otherwise.”
He wraps his strong arms around me, burying his face in my hair and breathing deeply. “Just promise me you’ll come back to me in one piece.”
“Always,” I whisper, tilting my face up and pressing my lips against his. Though the promise feels somewhat hollow with so much unknown territory ahead of us. The word vibrates between us like a vow as our mouths meet. His taste, wild and familiar, floods my senses, and I lose myself in the heat of him, my fingers tracing the rigid tension in his shoulders. My body melts against his chest, seeking the sanctuary I’ve always found there, even as tomorrow’s separation hangs heavy between us. His mouth opens to mine, hungry and desperate, his hands sliding down my back to press me closer, as if he could somehow keep me safe through sheer physical connection. The cottage around us seems to fade, the magic in the air dimming compared to the electric current racing through my veins wherever our skin touches.
