“Of course, Rowan. What do you know?” I say.
Rowan’s eyes begin to change with subtly shifting hues reflecting active memory recall. His irises shimmer faintly, searching his mind’s archives for the answers we need.
“My prince, Starlit Grove will not permit anyone to enter unless they have a rightful claim to a throne. That is why those who enter, do not return,” he keeps his voice tight and respectful.
“Which throne, specifically?” I clarify.
“That answer is unclear. As far as I can ascertain, any.”
Interesting.
“And I’m assuming you’ve spoken to Seren?” My gaze shifts back to her.
She smooths down her skirts. “I spoke to Rowan this morning, and our information is a match. If you do not have a rightful claim to a throne, Starlit Grove will remove you,violently.”
“So, I’ll guess we’ll send Kael in first and just see what happens,” Ronyn rouses.
I roll my eyes, but don’t fight the smile that marks my features. “No need to waste your breath, Ronyn,” I say, sipping my coffee. “I was always going first.”
Elyssara’s gaze settles on mine, unreadable. A breath passes between us, thick with something unspoken. Then, slowly, I wink.
I will protect you at all costs.
Rubi leans forward then, “I don’t even bother trying to heal those that attempt it. Just give them some liquor and wait for the end.” She kicks her feet up on the table and raises a goblet in salute.
“Fuck’s sake, Rubi. It’s barely even morning, and you’re drinking?” Therion chastises.
“These meetings are dull, Teddy. I thought I’d make it more exciting. I could always go foraging for some of those exotic mushrooms Kael used to like,” she quips with a wink.
Therion grumbles something incoherent, and I try to school my features.
“The Grove does not suffer pretenders,” Seren asserts. “If it finds you unworthy, it does not simply turn you away—it swallows you whole.”
“So dramatic, girl,” Jax patronizes.
“Not a figure of speech,” Rowan interjects, his voice flat. “It quite literally devours them. The roots are sentient. Once they take hold, they do not let go.”
Jax’s face goes preternaturally still at Rowan’s words, and they hang in the air.
“As I suspected,” I confirm. “So,” I set my cup down, leaning forward. “How the fuck do we get through?”
Rowan exhales, his irises flickering with shifting memories. Then silence. A long, weighted pause.
Too long.
Finally, his voice is quiet. Grim. “There are no records of such a thing, my prince.”
A chill licks up my spine.
Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.
“Then we carve a fucking path.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
KAEL
The mid-morning airbites with a crisp edge, despite the sun’s warm glare.
