“What the Veil takes from children. If you choose to cross back.”
The words didn’t leave. They breathed with the walls.
For children... the Veil could take their speech, their sight, or worse—their very essence, leaving behind hollow shells of who they once were.
I clamped my jaw shut before anything reckless could slip out. But I felt Varyth’s scrutiny like a physical touch.
“You’re trying to frighten me.” I spoke evenly, presenting a calm that existed nowhere within.
“I’m stating facts.” Varyth rolled his eyes. “The choice is yours, but it should be an informed one.”
I glanced toward the window, where sunlight streamed in, painting the room in golden hues. Somewhere in those gardens, my children might be playing. Running. Laughing.
Not looking over their shoulders.
Not hiding in damp caves, starving, shaking, waiting for the next night to bring worse.
My children were safe.
And I could never take that from them again.
“I don’t make decisions lightly,”I bit out. “I won’t be coerced into this.”
Varyth sat back again. “Good. I have no interest in the weak-willed.”
I sighed and rubbed my fingers against my temple.“I’ll think about it.” The words were poison on my tongue.
Varyth inclined his head, as if he’d expected that answer all along. “See that you do.”
I opened my mouth to snap a retort?—
When the doors to the hall exploded open, crashing against the stone with a force that rattled the air.
5
Mireth tore into the room like a storm in boots, dragging a bewildered, impeccably dressed fae warrior behind her, a victory clutched in her tiny hands.
My pulse snapped to readiness. My hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there.
Why was she?—
But then, Lira followed close behind, Eryx walking at her side, his tiny fingers entwined firmly in hers. A few strands of her pastel pink hair had come loose from their twist, falling to frame her flushed face. But her expression was calm.
Relief crashed over me, but there was no time to dwell on it because Mireth was tugging the unfamiliar man forward, Eryx dashing ahead to join her. They both spoke at once, words tumbling too fast for me to catch.
I scooped up Eryx, pressing a pastry from the table into his hands, the sweet treat an easy distraction.
“Breathe, my love,” I said calmly to Mireth, pressing a steadying palm to her back.
Mireth sucked in a big, dramatic breath, her chest rising and falling as she prepared for a great declaration.
And then she beamed. “Mama, I found him. The real Fenric the Fierce!”
I looked up at him, and blinked. My brain stalled. My mouth parted on instinct.
He was unfairly beautiful, the kind of beauty that should arrive by prophecy, not over breakfast. Tall, with a lean, elegant strength, his dark clothing perfectly tailored, embroidered with intricate silver thread work.
His midnight-dark hair was a study in precision-disguised-as-casual, every strand meticulously out of place. His aristocratic features were framed by high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a mouth designed for wicked wit and whispered ruin.
