His amber gaze flickers with something vulnerable before he carefully schools his expression. “This isn’t how I imagined bonding when I was young.” The admission comes quietly, almost resigned, tinged with a melancholy that makes my healer’s instincts ache in recognition. “I used to dream of choosing my mate based on connection, compatibility ... butduty requires different sacrifices than childhood fantasies.” He stops himself abruptly, amber eyes darting to mine with alarm before looking away toward the safely neutral crystalline walls.
The connection with Callum suddenly flares white-hot through my consciousness—a warning that makes my breath catch in my throat and sets every nerve ending ablaze with alarm. I maintain my composed exterior while discreetly scanning the glittering reception, my magical senses extending outward like searching tendrils until they lock onto the shadowed gallery overlooking the main floor.
There—nestled in the darkness above the celebration—the unmistakable corrupted magical signature I recognize from treating the pack’s contamination victims. Faelan’s presence radiates from those shadows like a poisonous bloom, watching our every movement with predatory intensity. But what makes ice crystallize in my veins is the realization that the same corrupt signature emanates from somewhere else entirely. It’s closer, more immediate, infiltrating the very heart of the celebration meant to seal my fate forever.
The reception drags on for another hour—an eternity of careful smiles and political pleasantries. I circulate as expected, exchanging meaningless words with fae nobles who assess me like livestock at auction. One elderly lord comments on my “breeding potential” within earshot. I smile and thank him for his interest in House Silverthorne’s future.
Prince Korren and I are kept carefully separate after our initial conversation—handlers on both sides ensuring we don’t have another private moment.
I catch my father watching me from across the room at one point, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he looks away first. The grief manipulation wrapped around his aura pulses visibly to my healer senses, tightening its hold whenever he seems close to approaching me.
The corruption signature I sensed earlier moves through the crowd—I track it without looking directly, mapping its path. Whoever wears Faelan’s magic mingles freely with the highest-ranking nobles, comfortable and confident. They’ve done this before.
Finally, mercifully, the reception concludes with formal farewells that take another twenty minutes of bowing and empty words.
I’m escorted back to my chambers afterward, my mind racing with everything I’ve learned. The guards lock the door behind me. an audible click echoing in the silence.
A single lamp burns on a side table, casting long shadows across the luxurious prison they’ve prepared for me. Candles flicker in wall sconces—real flame, not magical light. The fae prefer the old ways in their private spaces.
I wait, counting breaths until I’m certain the guards have taken up their positions outside rather than lingering to observe.
The wards have changed since this morning. I feel it immediately as I move through the chamber—someone strengthened them while I was at the reception. The eastern window that showed weakness earlier now pulses with reinforced magic.
But they made a mistake. In strengthening the windows, they’ve drawn power from somewhere else. I trace my fingers along the wall, searching ... there. The corner nearest the bathing chamber. The ward structure thins where it meets the older stonework, ancient architecture resisting the newer enchantments.
Faelan’s corruption signature pulses through the walls, stronger than before. He’s watching more closely now. Waiting for something.
My palm presses flat against the weak point, the magic responding to my touch. Not enough to break through. But perhaps enough to create a distraction when the moment comes.
Footsteps pass in the corridor, and I move away from the wall, schooling my expression to neutral in case anyone checks on me.
The burning in my chest intensifies suddenly, flaring with such force I have to steady myself against the bedpost.
Keeping my eyes closed, I focus on that connection.
I’m ready. Come get me.
With practiced efficiency, I continue testing ward structures, mapping every weakness in the magical containment.
When I’ve gathered all possible information, I lie down on the luxurious bed, leaving the lamp burning. My eyes remain open, counting the hours until the ceremony and calculating exactly how long Callum has to reach me. Fifteen hours until midday. Fifteen hours until I’m expected to bind myself to Prince Korren forever.
I’m not waiting to be rescued. I’m preparing to fight from inside while Callum fights from outside. When the moment comes, I’ll be ready.
Chapter 31
Callum
The air tingles with raw magic, raising the hairs on my arms as Nyxiana’s silver-white hair lifts in an ethereal breeze. Her hands move through intricate patterns I’ve never seen before—fingers weaving reality itself as her lips form ancient words.
Five figures form a perfect circle in the ruins of my cabin—the exact spot where Faelan’s portal tore Lyanna away from me. The scorched floorboards still hold traces of that corrupt magic, and it’s those traces the portal guardians are using to recreate the pathway.
Nyxiana anchors one point, with Lachlan opposite her, their combined magic pulsing in visible waves. Elysia stands between them, her normally soft features sharpened with concentration, while two other fae guardians complete the formation.
I can’t stand still. The bond pulls me forward like a physical tether stretching across dimensions. Every cell in my body screams to move, to follow that invisible line to Lyanna.
Nova approaches, pressing a small data crystal into my palm. The surface pulses with contained magic—every piece of evidence we’ve gathered compressed into one object. “Everything’s on here. Tribunal corruption, contamination signatures, Caelynn’s murder analysis. Evren knows how to activate the display.”
I close my fingers around it. This crystal holds our entire case—the proof that could save Lyanna or damn Faelan. Both, if we’re lucky.
