“You are my boss.”
“What if I wasn’t?”
Sol huffs a breath. “You are, so that’s a moot point. Don’t you think?”
The ground under my feet feels unstable. Somehow, I manage to stay upright despite knowing there’s no future for us. “Then let’s end things now.”
I turn to head back to Wendy and the others.
“Why can’t you just be happy with the way things are?” she quietly calls after me.
Because it’s not enough; just like I am never enough. I can’t control Isolde, but I can control how I manage the Blades. With my head held high and my heart bleeding outside of my chest, I walk away, leaving Isolde alone as I should have done years ago.
I wakeup to hushed whispers, which is nothing new for a Lunar Witch whose mind often fills with the chaos of others’ thoughts. The voices flutter like moth wings against my awareness. I briefly wonder if the ghosts are back, but these voices are too loud to be in my head.
I roll over, heart racing, chasing my fading dream and the happy look on Wilder’s face.Wilder. Wilder was there, giving me that look that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the universe. That look makes my heart explode with happiness. We were on the beach. On our honeymoon. The sun shone overhead as he looked irresistible in his beachwear, just like when I dreamwalked with him in Aurora all those years ago. It was the trip I planned for us after the wedding, after I closed the portal.
The portal. The balloon of desperate yearning bursts in my chest, filling me with a bone-deep chill.Fynn.
I sit up too quickly. The room with its soaring ceilings, rich plasterwork, and four-poster bed spins like a carnival ride gone wrong. What time is it? Gripping my head between my hands, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the world to go still.
As soon as it does, I’m out of bed and across the room, gray sunlight spilling in through the nearby window. The door isn’t locked. I open it slowly and peek into the candlelit hallway. A figure dressed in black disappears around a corner. Other thanthem, I’m alone, and I know where I am. I’ve walked these halls many times since I was a kid.
Traum Castle.
Or at least, the nightmare version of it.
Somehow, after the harpy nest, Wilder contacted me, which might have been a figment of my imagination, and I took a fall, ending up here. How?
Wilder?I try to reach him telepathically, but all I get is static, like he’s out of range.
Maybe he took my advice and left. I need to get Fynn back and get the hell home before it’s time to put on my wedding dress.
I leave the room, not bothering to close my door. I’m not coming back.
Barefoot, I wince with every step my raw feet take. While the layout resembles Traum Castle back in my world, the interior is a throwback to another time. There’s no electricity, and the furniture and paintings are exquisite. They are antiques, but with hardly any wear.
I approach a nearby door. I hold my breath as I twist the brass knob; it still cries like a banshee. There are sheets draped over the furniture as if it were in perpetual mourning. No one has set foot in here in months, maybe years. It’s the last place the Dullahan would hide a little boy.
“Careful,” a voice warns, sending frost crawling up my spine. “You shouldn’t be up walking around. You could be concussed.”
A hooded figure stands behind me. It is backlit by flickering candlelight, and my breath lodges in my throat like claws are crushing my trachea.
“W-who are you?” The question comes out smaller than I intended.
“You wander into my realm, and yet you don’t know my name?” The voice is undeniably masculine. Thick robes cover his body. Even his hands are hidden in the folds.
If this is his realm… “Kosac?”
Even without being able to see his face, I can feel him smile. The temperature plummets, chilling me to the marrow. If this creature has Fynn, I’ll make him tell me where he is with my bare hands if necessary.
“Your Majesty, welcome to Mictlan,” Kosac says. He doesn’t bow.
I stiffen. He knows who I am?
I take an involuntary step back into the guest room behind me, where the air is still, and unease courses through my veins.
Before I can ask how I got here or about Fynn, a woman in black rounds the corner. She’s carrying a bundle of cloth in her arms. She wears a simple old-fashioned uniform, like palace attendants wore during my great-great-grandfather’s reign, but with a shroud over her face. I recognize her simple black dress. I saw her when I left my room earlier.
