Across the hall, a woman stepped from the kitchen. Her pine green gown brushed the floor, and a pair of antlers rose gracefully from her skull. Her black hair was twisted into two smooth loops that brushed the tops of her shoulders—perfectly mirrored, not a strand out of place.
“Was that Damien I heard?” she called, moving closer.
“Good to see you, Winta,” Damien said, tone tentative as if awaiting a verdict.
Winta fanned herself with her hand. “It’s always a pleasure to see me. You, on the other hand . . . So-so.”
“Don’t lie, Winta.” Damien smirked. “You’ve been worried sick about me since I left.”
Winta tilted her head, lips pursed in mock thought. “If you don’t want me worrying, don’t go running off to the land of monsters.” She flicked her collar feathers and let out a brittle laugh. “Just good sense.”
Luna tensed.The land of monsters.How ironic, considering all the real monsters lived in Eloria. But then again, the most vicious monster Luna had ever met was human . . .
Maybe the title fit, after all.
Winta’s golden eyes swept over Luna; she had never wished for a hat or a pair of gloves more than in that moment.Curse the skies above, she’d even settle for hiding behind an umbrella.
But Winta didn’t seem to notice her hair, her fingers, her bruises, or her limp. Her gaze landed on Luna’s boots—and stayed there.
“The rug’s hand-stitched,” she said lightly. “It catches everything.”
Heat crawled up Luna’s neck as she stepped off it, burning with quiet shame. Her boots—mud-crusted and scuffed—had left a trail of dirt across the petals.
Winta was already crouching, lifting the rug. She brushed at the fibers—not frantically, but with practiced, deliberate motions, as if this were something she did often. Gently, she laid it back down, smoothing each edge with the same care one might offer a page in a sacred book.
She stepped back and frowned, then, as if unable to resist, she bent down again to re-straighten the edges.
When she finished, she was momentarily still, her hand resting lightly on the rug’s corner. Her gaze drifted, unfocused, like she was recalibrating.
Then came the inhale. Barely audible, but Luna caught it.
“Apologies . . .” Winta murmured. Then, like a puppet pulled upright, she stood, her spine went rigid, and a smile appeared too fast to be real—smoothed on like powder.
“Welcome. It’s lovely to meet you, truly,” she said, her voice lilting with formality. “I see you’ve already encountered my husband.” She glanced sideways at Felix and the drink in his hand, a flicker of distaste wrinkling her expression.
“I’m Winta,” she added, turning back to Luna. “And you look like you’ve had quite the journey.”
Luna didn’t know what to say or do, so she tried to pass the social obligation to Damien with a glance.
Winta’s voice softened. “Come. I’ll make you tea while your rooms are prepared. You’re in for a treat. These herbs are the freshest you’ll find this side of the forest, imported just before the teleportation system went down.”
“I’m not sure we’re feeling up for tea, Winta,” Damien interjected. “And this is Luna.”
Luna nearly sagged in relief.
But Winta was undeterred. With a sharp shake of her head, she dismissed Damien’s refusal as if he were the one being absurd. “Oh, you don’t want what Felix has, it’s completely unsuitable for unicorns. Tea is much gentler. Trust me—you’ll feel worlds better after.” She was already gliding ahead before anyone could decline again, her tone layered with finality wrapped in sugar.
Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Luna drew in a deep breath and pushed aside the emotions that threatened to break her calm outer appearance. What was tea after everything she had endured? She could do tea. Tea wasn’t torture. Tea was easy. All she had to do was sit there, right? Falling apart could wait a little longer.
Winta’s steps were soft and precise, deerlike, as she guided them through the dining room, down a corridor lined with fine art, to a room encased in glass. Inside, wooden seats were nestled among lush greenery, the space crowded with plants. The atmosphere was warm and humid but not overwhelmingly so.
Damien sat beside Luna, while Felix joined Winta, choosing to sprawl across the bench, squishing her.
“This is our green room,” Winta said, gesturing to the space around them. “Ideal for tea. And no need to worry about”—her eyes scanned Luna—“the mess from your travels.”
Luna stared at her, unsure if it was meant to be an insult or simply . . . Winta. Too tired to care, she let it pass.
Damien raised a brow. “You could get your servants to clean.”
