Impossible.
My ears ring with the din of the Zerynthian people celebrating the return of their Prince.
My head spins wildly, the world tipping dangerously beneath me. I grip Nyx’s mane tightly, anchoring myself as I whip my gaze toward Kael. He shifts in the saddle, sitting up a little straighter and lifting his chin. He settles quickly and turns utterly still, commanding and striking—every inch the prince I never knew he was.
I stare back at the crowd—they’re back on one knee, theinverted triangle symbol pressed to their hearts—and their cheers are deafening.
And yet, all I can do is stare at Kael, heart pounding, feeling as if the ground beneath me has shattered.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ELYSSARA
My hands shakewith fury as Kael urges Nyx on, waving to the people—hispeople—that line Thornewood’s paths. He nods his head at every person we ride past, and I internally berate myself for never noticing the graceful, regal way he moves through life.
How the fuck didn’t I notice this?
I will explain everything, Duskae, his voice tumbles through me, caressing my mind with gentility, soothing me. And I resent it.
Like I would trust anything that comes out of your fucking mouth, prince.I spit the last word like an insult, spearing it in his direction.
I’m thrilled to see that my title hasn’t done anything to quell your defiance and stubbornness, El,he replies smoothly.
Fuck you and your fucking lies, Kael. Again. I’ve been lied to again.
He exhales slowly, closing his eyes, as if I’ve wounded him, but almost imperceptibly, he quickly pulls up that cocky mask in place, before saying,I’ve always loved that filthy mouth of yours,in my direction.
The fucking audacity of him.
I remain silent atop Nyx, and Kael doesn’t try to goad or soothe me again.
The crowd thins to nothing, and we all dismount from our horses. I cross my arms, and Seren makes eye contact, but I shakemy head firmly at her. I don’t want to be soothed, approached, or supported. I want to unleash my magic upon this entire fucking place. I am done with being left in the dark.
Kael gestures to follow him, and if I didn’t desperately want answers, I would’ve ignored him, but luckily for him, I have some questions thatwillbe answered today.
Kael gestures toward an enormous tree trunk, its bark smooth from countless journeys upward. Carved elegantly into the wood is a spiraling staircase, climbing effortlessly around the wide girth of the tree. Soft, bioluminescent vines wind along the railing, bathing the ascent in gentle, silvery-blue light. As we climb, the sounds of the forest recede below, leaving only the calming rush of distant waterfalls and the subtle creak of wood beneath our feet.
The space opens around us, seamlessly carved into the sprawling branches of an enormous, ancient tree. The walls are woven from interlocking branches, lush leaves, and spiraling vines that allow soft sunlight to filter through, dappling the polished wooden floor beneath my feet.
At the chamber's center stands a massive round table, expertly carved from the cross-section of a single, immense tree. Its countless rings spiral outward, each marking the passage of years, maybe centuries, a history record laid bare for all to see. Surrounding it, seats formed from smooth, sculpted roots curve naturally, encircling the table like an embrace.
Despite the fury still pulsing through me, I can't help but pause, momentarily stunned by the harmonious beauty and regal simplicity of the space Kael and his people have created high among Thornewood’s branches.
“Welcome to Council Hollow,” Kael murmurs gently beside me, a quiet pride in his voice.
A few people have already taken a seat on the sculpted roots, as if they’ve been waiting for us—an elderly woman with silver-streaked dark hair elegantly styled, striking soil-hued eyes, rich brown skin, and a dignified elegance that is hard to miss, an older gentleman with white hair and gray eyes that pin me in place withkeen observation, and a younger man who can’t be older than twenty years who looks nervous and on edge.
“Take your seats,” Kael says with command to the room, gesturing to the large table.
Everyone moves in, and he takes the largest seat, which I am assuming is the head of the table, and Therion takes the seat to his right. He nods to me to take the seat to his left, and I roll my eyes, ignoring him, and opt for the seat directly across from him—the furthest point from him.
I’m seated next to the older woman, and she looks towards me, a warm expression on her face, and her elegant robes whispering softly around her as she inclines her head to me with quiet dignity. “I have long waited to see the Lightborne,” she murmurs, eyes bright with restrained curiosity. “Welcome, Elyssara. I am Lady Sylvaine Morelle. Should you need to understand Zerynthia's old bloodlines, I am at your service.”
“Lady Sylvaine,” I say politely, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. And, given that I have only just learned that Zerynthia exists, I have no idea what I need to know.”
Lady Sylvaine huffs a laugh at that, “Well, I’m here whenever the time comes.”
The young nervous man chances a look at me, and I meet his gaze. He immediately darts his eyes away, unsettled. Lady Sylvaine leans over, sensing my curiosity, murmuring quietly, “That’s Rowan Nix, our Keeper of Memories. He stores the history of Zerynthia—everything forbidden to be written down—in his mind. Nothing escapes him.”
