Leaning forward, Caius braced his elbows on his knees. The movement was unhurried. Deliberate. Like a sated predator assessing prey, savoring future possibilities.
An unbidden shudder rippled through me under his scrutiny.
“What happened?” he demanded, his focus still locked on me—though I knew the sharp tone was meant for Endymion.
My gaze darted to the autumn fae, our eyes colliding for a fleeting moment before he shifted his broad shoulders toward the High Lord. “That,” he said with a sigh, “is a very good question.”
Caius’ jaw feathered in what I thought was frustration before he leaned back in the chair, ankle once more resting atop his knee. I waited for either of them to say something—anything—but they both just stared at me, as if expecting me to explain.
I raised my hands. “Don’t look at me, I have no answers. Of any kind.”
It was true. I really didn’t. I had no idea how I’d accidentally crossed into the Autumn Court. How I’d run into Endymion. And I sure as fuck didn’t know how I was fae, either.
“Wait,” I said slowly, leaning forward in my chair as I addressed the autumn fae. “How did we get here? To the Summer Court, I mean. I thought you said you couldn’t valen. That your magic was…” I came up short for the word he’d used.
“Tapped,” Endymion supplied.
Caius cocked a brow, his expression hardening as if reassessing the situation. His voice was low, laced with the sharp command of a High Lord as he said, “How long?”
Although the leaden question wasn’t intended for me, I tensed all the same. Was Caius angry? Had Endymion broken some sort of rule? His words from the other day echoed:“I risked it, hoping I’d find you before the others, to make sure you were safe.”I sidestepped the depth of that statement, sifting through our last conversation for any hint of the larger implications behind his decision, but I came up empty.
Endymion cut the summer fae with a sharp glance. “Long enough.” His clipped tone carried a quiet challenge that almost dared Caius to press further.
The summer fae’s expression darkened, and the air around us grew thick with stillness. The two of them were locked in a silent battle of wills. The High Lord’s focus was deliberate, calculating—as if he were weighing consequences far beyond this moment. The commander held firm on whatever his simple words had declared.
The tension simmered, stretching taut until I couldn’t take it anymore. Then, Caius finally broke the standoff. “I see,” he said, tone flat. Yet something in the timbre of his voice—the faint slump of his shoulders—made the words sound less like acceptance and more like reluctant acknowledgment. Of what, I hadn’t the faintest idea.
Stars above, the second-in-command had a death wish. Between dismissing a High Lord from another court without hesitation, and openly defying Wymond’s command to deliver me to him, it was a wonder Endymion still drew breath at all.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose like static pricking myskin at the mere thought of being in Wymond’s possession. It was enough that I decided to change the subject.
“How is any of this possible?” I said, letting the question melt the tension as I gestured at myself.
Caius tilted his head, weighing his words. His pause pressed on me, and had me questioning if he was thinking or plucking curated truths from their full strands. The thought was a stark reminder that he owed me nothing. Truth, I realized, might be as rare a commodity among the fae as it had proven to be in the human realm.
“Truthfully,” Caius said after a long moment—and I couldn’t help the dark smile dusting my lips at his word choice—"nothing like this has happened in our lifetime, nor have I read of it in any historical texts."
He glanced at Endymion, who nodded in agreement.
I should have known as much. Stars, the unguarded expression Endymion had pinned me with before he’d spoken the truth was proof enough. It didn’t matter who you were; no one could feign that kind of shock.
We sat in silence, each of us tangled in our own thoughts. As time dragged on, my muscles protested, their cries unraveled what was left of my fraying mind until the threads were too thin to grasp.
I needed rest.
Even still, every fiber of my being rebelled against Endymion’s claim that I’d find safety in the Summer Court, as if I were being forced to cross a sheet of spring ice, the depthless waters below clamoring to swallow me whole. Thin ice or not, I was out of options. The taste of forced resolution lingered bitter on my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I’d need to find solid ground fast—or suffer the consequences of the ice fracturing beneath me. Again.
But first, sleep.
Chapter 3
Beautiful Rage
As I followed Endymion down an unfamiliar corridor, I couldn’t help but gawk at the archway draped in floral vines that swayed in his wake like a curtain stirred by a soft breeze. On instinct, my hand brushed the petals, the sensation conjuring warm memories of the willows back home—that is, until a faint hum of magic tickled my fingertips. A silent hello.
“Why, hello to you, too,” I whispered through a smile, and I could’ve sworn they thrummed a little faster, their color deepening for the span of a heartbeat.
We emerged beneath a wide-open ceiling, the roof open to the elements like the ornate solstice ballroom had been, and though the corridor was vast, it was intimate somehow.
