“I’m sorry,” I croaked, wincing at how dry my throat was.
His dark brow lifted a fraction. “For what?”
“For how I spoke to you. I didn’t?—”
“No.” His gentle word broke in. “The fault is mine. I should have known better. I was just…”
Worried. Scared. Concerned. Helpless.
The unspoken words left on the tip of his tongue were plainly written in the lines of his expression.
“Here,” Endymion said, conjuring an orb of water with a swirl of his hand.
The glistening sphere drifted toward me. Cupping my hands to receive it, a small unbidden smile tugged at my lips as it hovered, the cool air radiating from it tickling my hollowed palms.
The water churned lazily within its invisible confines as I drew my palms closer, the orb mirroring the movement as if we were tethered. Just as I was about to take a sip, the memory of Fiora’s words stopped me dead in my tracks.
“I could get used to this,”I’d said to Fiora, loving the casual use of her Spring Court magic after Amos’ wisp had haunted my dreams.
“I believe you could, Nyleeria. I think Myron is right in that our realm was born for you.”
“I’m not really sure what that means,”I had admitted.
“You will one day, I suspect,”she’d said simply.
I still didn’t understand what Fiora meant—but now, more than ever, I wondered if the High Lord, the Spring Court, and his lady had somehow known the Mother would transform me into one of them.
Even more unsettling was if the king had known it too.
I allowed the questions to sink beneath the surface—at least for now. Answers would have to come later. Refocusing on the orb of water, I drank it, grateful for its soothing caress as it slid down my throat, slowly reviving me, like color seeping back into a sun-bleached painting.
“Thank you,” I said after a moment, voice stronger.
The commander tilted his chin down a fraction in response.
Behind him, Caius shifted his weight, pulling my focus. His lips were pressed thin—whether in thought or scrutiny, I couldn’t tell. Noting where my attention had drifted, Endymion turned toward the High Lord, whose gaze darkened as it landed on Autumn’s Second.
I stiffened at the look Caius pinned him with, but Endymion didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps didn’t care. Either way, he turned back to me, amusement ghosting his lips as if the silent exchangenever happened. “I’m sure there are more comfortable places than the rug,” he said, glancing down, “even if it’s a lovely one.”
The faint trace of humor softened his strong features, though it never reached his azure eyes.
Despite myself, my lips curved up slightly. “I’m sure there are,” I murmured—and just like that, a flicker of real warmth sparked in the depths of his gaze.
I didn’t know this male. Not really. Yet, in a strange way, he felt like the only one who knew me—oraboutme, I supposed. No one from my old life knew I was…changed, and no one in this realm knew what had transpired in the human realm—except Endymion.
That thought was as comforting as it was unnerving. With my ignorance about their kind, I wasn’t foolish enough to think I could manage on my own. At least not yet. Even still, I sure as hells wouldn’t let myself anchor to him. I’d made that mistake before, and I’d never make it again.
The notion forced me into motion. Bracing a hand on the armchair beside me, I heaved myself up and eased into it, letting its solid frame cradle me.
No more than a pace away, Endymion chose to sit on the ornate table that dominated the room. The massive slab of supple stone had been carved to perfection, its glittering golden veins streaking across its white surface as if untamed lightning had been trapped within—frozen for all time.
A simple, yet elegant, twin chair to my own skidded across the porcelain floor as Caius drew it closer before sitting, creating a more intimate arrangement than the formal seating allowed.
My gaze darted between them as they just stared at me expectantly.
I’d been expecting them to interrogate me—or…I don’t know, anything but silence. I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
Caius said nothing, but there was humor hidden in his eyes, as if he were the only one privy to a joke. Brows creased, I watched him lean back and casually cross an ankle over his opposite knee, asthough we’d been talking about the weather. And just like that, the simple movement somehow unveiled Caius—the one I’d dare to call a friend—and shed the High Lord, a title I instinctually feared.
