He holds my gaze, steady and serious. “I don’t know yet. But I’d like to find out.”
The honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. “Me too,” I whisper.
I’m tucking additional supplies into the medical supply closet when Nyxiana appears in the doorway, her silver-white hair catching the light as she leans against the frame. The usual diplomatic smoothness in her expression is replaced by something more guarded.
“Do you have a minute?” she asks quietly, glancing down the hallway. “Somewhere private?”
I nod, following her instinctively to the back porch. The morning air is crisp, birds calling in the distance as we settle into the wooden chairs overlooking the forest.
“Harper told me what she saw last night,” Nyxiana says without preamble. “Between you and Callum.”
My cheeks warm instantly. “Nothing happened.”
“But something could have.” Her violet eyes meet mine directly. “And that’s why we need to talk.” She lowers her voice. “My mother still has contacts in the dragon courts, and she’s been passing along warnings. The political climate in the fae courts is shifting—they’re cracking down on ‘unsuitable bonds.’ Cross-species relationships without political value are being targeted.”
I straighten. “Unsuitable bonds?”
“Traditional families are enforcing arranged marriages more aggressively than they have in centuries.” She leans forward, voice dropping. “Your father, especially. Lord Theron has very specific expectations for his daughters.”
“Caelynn,” I murmur, the name like a stone in my throat.
Nyxiana nods. “She’s in active marriage negotiations right now. The standard for your family’s status. It shows exactly what’s expected of both Silverthorne daughters.”
“That’s different. I’m Earth-side now, outside court jurisdiction.” I shake my head, trying to dismiss the cold feeling spreading through my chest. “My father wouldn’t force me into anything.”
“The fae courts see arranged marriages as essential for political stability,” Nyxiana continues, her diplomatic tone unable to soften the blow. “Cross-species bonds—especially with wolf shifters—threaten traditional power structures. Families like yours face particular scrutiny.”
“My father understands my work here is important,” I insist, but my voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
“Important work can be done from many places,” Nyxiana says gently. “Including as a political bride.”
“You’re overreacting,” I say, but the tremor in my hands betrays me. “Father wouldn’t—“
“Fae politics reach across realms, Lyanna. Court surveillance is everywhere.” Her expression softens with genuine concern. “If something is developing between you and Callum, keeping it private would be wise.”
I stare at the trees beyond the porch, my mind racing through implications. I’ve been so focused on building my life here, on feeling like I finally belong somewhere that values me beyond my title or healing gifts. The thought that it could all be taken away with a formal summons ...
“Thank you for the warning,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
Nyxiana touches my hand briefly before rising. “You don’t have to face this alone.”
As she leaves me on the porch, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to dismiss her concerns even as fear takes root. Father wouldn’t force me into a political marriage.
Would he?
I spend the afternoon going through the motions, checking on Evie’s integration and restocking medical supplies, but Nyxiana’s warning echoes through my mind. My hands tremble slightly as I organize herbs, and I catch myself staring into space more than once.
When I drop a jar of willow bark, the glass shattering across the infirmary floor, I curse under my breath.
“That doesn’t sound like healer vocabulary,” Callum says from the doorway, making me jump.
I turn to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a hint of amusement softening his features. But his eyes track my movements with unsettling precision.
“Just clumsy today,” I say, reaching for the broom.
He beats me to it, grabbing the handle and gently nudging me aside. The amusement is gone now, concern creasing his brow.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, it’s not a question. “You’ve been off this afternoon. Tense.”
