“I am in hell,” I whispered.
Fenric did not so much as blink.
“It was a long road,” he intoned, completely committed to the tale. “But through sheer willpower and perseverance, my dear friend overcame his nightly struggles.” He placed a solemn hand over his heart. “It was, perhaps, one of my proudest moments.”
“Wow. That’s amazing.” Mireth beamed like he’d won a kingdom.
“It was a great victory.”
Varyth made a sound like he had actually stopped breathing.
I considered walking into the woods, lying down face-first in a stream, and letting the fae realm consume me.
“Mireth,” I said, desperately trying to restore order. “Perhaps we should let Fenric get back to his duties.”
Mireth, unbothered by the spectacle she had just created, plopped herself onto the nearest chair and latched onto Fenric’s sleeve with both hands, refusing to release him.
“You have to tell me another one,” she demanded, her face set with pure, unshakable determination.
Varyth finally sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t even attempt to look at Fenric, only exhaled roughly and pushed himself to his feet.
“I fear I may not survive another tale,” he said without looking at any of us. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”
He didn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and making a swift exit, his usual elegance a touch more hurried than usual.
Fenric watched him go, smirking. “You see, Mireth? That is the power of a well-told story.”
Mireth grinned, thrilled by this explanation, and clutched his sleeve tighter. “Okay, but actually, you have to tell me another.”
I sighed, that exhausted kind of smile slipping through, the one that only happens when you stop fighting joy for a second and let it win.
“Mireth, let the man eat.”
Fenric lowered himself into the seat beside her with the casual grace of a man accepting his fate and finding it oddly pleasant.
“It would be an honour,” he said smoothly, reaching for a slice of bread.
Mireth beamed as Eryx continued to gallop around the room.
Cindrissian hadn’t looked up from his cup. But his hand hesitated when Eryx ran past him, a subtle pause—barely a flicker—as if some forgotten part of him wanted to reach out.
Finally recovering from his earlier fit of laughter, Darian shook his head. “You’re in for it now, Fenric. She won’t let you go until she knows everything.”
Fenric shrugged as he bit into his bread. “So be it.”
The tension in the room had eased, laughter curling through the morning air. The soft clink of dishes, the scrape of chairs, the quiet murmur of conversation filled the space once more, a rare, fleeting moment of lightness.
I let the warmth wrap around me, trying to believe in it. Trying to believe I wasn’t about to lose it. Again. So, I smiled. I listened. And I held onto it as tightly as I dared.
6
The garden shimmered beneath the morning sun, dew-laced and drowsy, the air sweet with blossoms I couldn’t name.
I stood at the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden behind a rose-covered trellis, watching my children play.
Eryx was skipping with a stick he’d decided was a sword, shouting about monsters as he tore through the wildflowers with sticky fingers and the single-mindedness of a warrior king in his prime.
Mireth, of course, had Fenric. We’d been here a week now, and she’d spent every spare moment dragging him all over the castle.
