“I need to return to Dravaryn,” he said. “Something has called my attention back, and it can’t wait. I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple weeks.”
Ella’s brows drew together. “What calls you away?”
He shook his head once. “I’ve been in Orchid too long without checking on my own kingdom. You know I can’t neglect it forever.” His voice gentled, warm enough to melt her unease. “Every second I’m gone, I’ll wish I wasn’t.”
She couldn’t even argue. He’d been at her side day and night for weeks, present in every council meeting.
Before she could speak, he bent and pressed his lips to hers, restrained but certain. The heat of it lingered on her lips as he pulled back, his eyes locked on hers for a final moment. Then he turned and left.
The doors closed, and the room felt too large, too quiet, without him.
Eryndor stepped forward, his voice steady. “I’m so proud of you, Ellandria. Your mother would be too.”
Her throat tightened as he stepped closer and cupped her cheek as if she had never left. “She always said you were just like an orchid yourself, quite a fitting flower for the girl who would grow into a great ruler. You grew in every direction, you took to heat and made it home, and your roots were patient and strong, waiting for the day they would need more room.”
He studied her for a long moment and gave an almost-smile. “But now that I’ve seen you bloom, I don’t think the metaphor fits anymore. You’ve come into yourself too quickly and too brilliantly, as if you struck a match to a field and set it blazing, burning through every expectation, leaving only ash where the world thought it knew you. From that ash, a new path has taken root.”
Her eyes began to water. He had never spoken to her like this—gentle, unguarded, proud, stripped of politics and duty, speaking only as her father. The words settled, warm and heavy beneath her ribs, and he let them rest there before his hand fell away. “But the real reason I need to talk to you, Ellandria,” he said, his voice steadying, “is that there is something you need to know about who you are and what you are.”
Ella let out a quiet chuckle, a small smile breaking through even as tears pricked her eyes. “If this is another speech about orchids, I swear...”
Her father’s hand lingered on her cheek, and she let it, because his words had cut straight through her. It was the most beautiful orchid metaphor she had ever heard, and she’d grown up in a court that lived and breathed them.
Her father’s tone shifted. He drew a slow breath, as if bracing himself.
“You are part-Fae.”
The color drained from her cheeks.
A laugh rose unbidden, sharp and absurd, as if he’d just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. She choked it down when she saw his face.
“You have Fae blood,” he continued. “Your mother did too. It’s in your blood.”
Ella stared at him.
“We hid it to protect you,” Eryndor said. “To keep you safe. To keep you alive, Ella.”
Her heart struck once, hard, and she couldn’t move. Her breath stilled, as if even her lungs weren’t prepared for it.
Ella’s instinct to deflect with sarcasm died in her throat, replaced by brutal honesty. “How could that be possible? I don’t know if I believe it.”
His face hardened. “Claiming ceremonies were never meant for mortals alone. They are Fae rituals. They draw on Fae magic to steady the body, to birth a chosen power into blood and bone. When the realms were sealed, that current was cut off. Many who attempted the Rite died. So many were lost, Ella. Only mortals with extraordinary strength survived, or those with Fae blood.”
His voice carried the devastation of tragic loss. “That is the real reason Claimings were banned all those years ago.”
She shook her head slowly, hands curling tight around the carved wood of the throne.
“We had to hide what you are, what your mother was,” he pressed, “because if anyone guessed…they would have hunted you for it. The rest of the mortal world would have rejected our kingdom, slaughtering thousands of innocents who had no knowledge of the secrets behind Orchid’s royal line.”
Ella could barely form words, trying to piece it all together before she fell apart. “So ignorance was protection.”
Eryndor’s mouth thinned. “Not ignorance. It was just protection. And your mother chose it too. She never underwenther Claiming. We found a way to hold her Fae side quiet, to keep her from Threadwalking and burning herself out while the realms were locked. For years, it worked.”
Ella’s head snapped up.
“What did you just say?” Her voice cracked against the marble, disbelief burning in every word. She shoved back against the throne as if the wood had lied to her. “My mother was a Threadwalker? Like me?” Her tone was full of shock and bitterness.
“You’re telling me she had it in her blood and you just kept it chained, locked away?” She shook her head, hard enough to sting her temples. “I stepped into another realm without even trying. There’s no stopping it.” She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and attempted to collect herself. “It’s not a choice. It’s instinct. So how did you keep her from Threadwalking?”
