“I’m fucking furious,” Tristan growls. His jaw tightens so much that a muscle pops.
Raiden steps forward, his presence reassuring as his arm lightly brushes against mine. “Look,” he begins, his tone calm yet firm, “We need everyone on the same side. When the king returns, we’ll deal with it then. But for now, let it go.”
Tristan, ever the fiery one, snaps back, “He is no better than Nolan.”
Sensing the tension, I make my way toward Tristan. Reaching out, I gently place my hand on his arm, and his intense indigo eyes immediately meet mine.
“It’s okay to be mad,” I whisper softly, trying to soothe the storm brewing within him. “But let’s channel that energy into getting our king home.”
Surprising me, Tristan’s strong arms envelop me in a hug, providing a sense of security and comfort I’ve missed. “I’m so relieved you’re safe and back home,” he murmurs into my hair. “Raiden assured me you’d return, but it didn’t sit well with me, having you withhim.”
From behind me, I hear Alivar snort dismissively, but I ignore it. Stepping back slightly, I offer a smile to Tristan, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m glad you’re all okay, too. I was so worried, and someone wouldn’t pass on any details,” I accuse, gesturing over my shoulder with a thumb toward Alivar, catching his gaze.
Alivar’s eyes flicker with amusement, but he remains silent. I turn back to Tristan, seeing the worry etched on his face.
“It’s been a difficult time for all of us,” I continue. “But we’re together now, and that’s what matters. We’ll get through this, and we’ll bring our king back.”
Raiden dips his head in agreement, his expression resolute. “We need to stay united,” he asserts. “No matter what differences we have, our goal is the same: to bring the king home and restore order.”
Movement to the side catches my attention, pulling my gaze toward the unfamiliar male who entered the room alongside Tristan and Kian. He stands tall, exuding a quiet confidence, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword. His quizzical gaze is locked on me, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to step behind Raiden’s wings.
His long black hair is neatly braided into sections that run down his back. The sides of his head are clean-shaven, revealingintricate tattoos etched just above his ears. The sharp, geometric lines of the tattoos only emphasize his pointed fae ears and the chiseled angles of his jawline, giving him a striking appearance. Everything about him, from the precision of his grooming to the silent authority in his stance, speaks of someone who’s used to command.
But it’s his eyes that draw me in. Unlike the other high fae in the room, whose shimmer with shades of purple, his eyes are a deep, comforting shade of brown.
I barely register Raiden’s touch on my back until he steps closer, his fingers press lightly against the fabric of my cloak, a subtle but protective gesture, and I can feel the steady strength behind his touch.
“Everly, this is Fenris. He is my second.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply slowly, my mind ticking over.
Why haven’t I met him before now, and why are his eyes different? Is he fae or a shifter?
Nymeria and Anika, sensing my unease, cautiously move in closer to the new focus of my attention.
“I’ve called everyone back to Skora and Vesner so we can regroup.” Raiden’s words are calm, but laced with the gravity of the situation. “Fenris is usually stationed in Mistbourne, patrolling the borders of the Outlands.”
I frown, my brow knitting together. That doesn’t seem particularly smart, bringing forces together in one location, but what do I know? I’m an outsider in this kingdom, a stranger to its politics and military strategy. The last thing I need is to open my mouth and say something that reveals just how little I understand. So, I bite my tongue, keeping my thoughts to myself, and instead watch as Raiden exchanges a nod with Fenris.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Consort,” Fenris says smoothly, his voice deep as he gives a slight bow.
I freeze. Consort?
The word hits me like a slap, brutal and unexpected. My cheeks flush, and I feel the heat creeping up my neck as my eyes widen. I’ve been called many things before—princessin jest,queenby my people. Butconsort?
That one felt like a punch to the gut. It doesn’t carry the same sense of power or respect. Instead, it feels like a diminishment, as if my entire existence has been reduced to my proximity to Maxon.
Fenris might see me merely as Maxon’s consort, his mate, but I am more than that. I am a queen in my own right, and I will stand beside Maxon, not behind him.
This title ofconsortdoesn’t define me. My strength, my resilience, and my leadership do. I have fought battles, made sacrifices, and I will earn my place not just at Maxon’s side, but as his equal. I am determined to prove that my worth isn’t tied to my relationship with him, but to the power and resolve I hold within. I am not just a decoration or a supporting role; I am a force to be reckoned with.
My own thoughts startle me. I haven’t noticed it before—haven’t realized that somewhere in the last couple of days, I fully embraced who I am.
Since everyone had first suspected who I was, I resisted. I pushed against the truth, clinging to fears and doubts, convinced that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t carry the weight of who I was supposed to be. The power that hums beneath my skin, the instincts that guide me—it’s all part of me.
When Fenris straightens, his eyes drop to my hands, and he frowns.
“Princess?” Kian questions, his voice tinged with worry.
