Imake my way through the palace corridors with Callum at my side, our strides matching without effort. The marble floors no longer feel cold beneath my feet—just another surface to cross, not the prison they were hours ago.
Ben and Derek flank us in relaxed formation, alert but no longer coiled for attack. Their shoulders have loosened, eyes scanning with professional interest rather than combat readiness. The victory sits comfortably in their posture, even as they maintain protective positions.
The palace guards bow respectfully as we pass. The same guards who dragged me through these halls now stand at attention, eyes averted. The architecture itself seems transformed—the soaring arches and crystalline windows nolonger intimidate but simply exist, neutral and almost beautiful in their craftsmanship.
And no sign of Faelan’s corruption.
My father walks silently on my other side, his presence a steady warmth. This is nothing like the cold formality of my arrival—a daughter being escorted to freedom rather than a political sacrifice being delivered to duty. His fingers occasionally brush my sleeve, as if reassuring himself that I’m real and whole.
“Three species fighting together like that,” Evren says to Callum, bouncing slightly on his toes with characteristic energy. “Dragon fire, wolves on tactical ground assault, fae magic weaving through it all—I’ve never seen coordination like that outside Drakorian military exercises.”
Rhonan nods in agreement, adding something in Drakorian that makes Evren laugh and Prince Korren raise an eyebrow.
The portal stands open before us, vast and echoing. The silver-blue light pulses with a steady rhythm, casting an otherworldly glow across every face gathered to see us off. The dimensional barrier shimmers like heat rising from stone—opaque, revealing nothing of what waits on the other side.
Ben and the team move with practiced efficiency, checking weapons and communication devices one final time before forming their departure formation. My heart swells seeing their unwavering loyalty—they risked everything to breach a hostile court for me. Warriors who could have stayed safe at Ash Hollow but chose to walk into enemy territory because their Gamma asked them to.
Callum’s scent wraps around me—cedar and storm and the warm musk of his wolf—as his hand finds mine. His palm is warm against my skin, fingers interlacing with practiced ease. The incomplete bond pulses between us, a fierce, hungry thing drawing us back toward pack territory where we can finallyclaim each other completely. The anticipation thrums through my blood like electricity.
Ben takes point as Derek and Rhonan fall into flanking positions, the wolves moving with military precision one last time. The efficiency of their movements contrasts sharply with the tender way Callum’s thumb traces circles on my hand—warrior and lover existing in the same breath.
My father walks beside me in silence, but it’s a different silence than before—not the cold formality of political duty, but something tentative and new. When Derek stumbles slightly on the marble steps, favoring the leg he injured during the battle, my father reaches out instinctively to steady him.
Derek freezes, clearly unsure how to react to a fae lord touching him.
“Apologies,” my father says, releasing him. “Old instincts. I trained battlefield medics for three centuries before politics consumed my life.”
“You were a healer?” Derek asks, surprise breaking through his careful neutrality.
“Combat surgeon. Before I became Lord Silverthorne, I was just Aldric—the fool who thought he could save everyone.” A ghost of something like humor touches his lips. “My daughter comes by her stubbornness honestly.”
Warmth spreads through my chest as I watch this exchange.
Callum’s hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady.
Watching my father joke with a wolf shifter about old war stories, I think maybe we’re all learning to become something new.
The remaining fae nobles filter past us toward their own transport portals, carefully not meeting my eyes. I recognize the body language—they supported my forced marriage hours ago, and now they’re uncertain how to position themselves. Let them squirm. I have more important things to focus on.
Ahead, Ben checks his knives one final time, movements efficient but mechanical. There’s something hollow in his expression that wasn’t there before the battle—or maybe it was always there, and I’m only now learning to see it.
Callum’s thumb traces circles on my palm, pulling my attention back to him. His burnt amber eyes hold a question: You okay?
I squeeze his hand in answer.More than okay. We’re going home.
My heart pounds against my ribs as we finally approach the shimmering threshold.
Callum’s hand tightens around mine as we step forward together. “Ready?”
“More than ready,” I breathe.
The dimensional barrier parts like silk around us as we cross the threshold. The sensation is like diving into cool water—a moment of disorientation as reality shifts, pressure building against my skin before releasing with a rush of pine-scented air.
Gleann na Sidhe dissolves in a shower of silver light. The crystal palace, the marble corridors, the weight of centuries of fae tradition—all of it falling away like a dream upon waking.
Ash Hollow materializes before us.
Pine-covered mountains rise like guardians around the valley, their peaks touching clouds that drift lazily and white against brilliant blue sky. The familiar cabins and Lodge come into focus beneath the open expanse, smoke curling from chimneys in welcoming spirals. The scent hits me with an almost physical force—evergreen and earth and the clean, wild smell of wolf pack territory.
