A week passes with no glimpse of him.
Until, one afternoon in the tower, exhaustion and boredom gnaw at my patience until something inside me finally snaps. I toss the papers into the air and shove back from the desk.
I press my palms to my eyes while my mind wanders back to a simpler life. To my crooked little desk on the farm. To the stack of worn, beloved books collecting dust in the corner. It feels like another lifetime since I last read for pleasure… since I let myself disappear into stories of heroes and daring heroines who always found love, no matter the cost. Castles. Magic. Danger. Hope.
A laugh slips from me, dry and self-mocking, bouncing around the room like it, too, has nowhere else to go.
That is not a daydream anymore. Not make believe. This is the life I am living. How cruel that my escape has suddenly become my prison. That I am not a daring heroine but a lamb to the slaughter, and the brave hero is a wolf in Fae clothing.
The Fae. Luceran. I imagine he is spending his days at the Aurevault, as far away from me as he can get. I must have made him furious when I ignored his command and ran.He could have left me to run straight into the arms of that demon. I would have deserved it for disobeying him. But he didn’t. He chased me. He caught me… as a wolf.
My mind drifts back to the night I hid in the wardrobe, to the footsteps outside my door that did not sound human or Fae, and now I understand. It was Luceran, in his wolf form. I did not know that was part of his power, one of the many gifts these Fae possess. They may as well be gods walking among us in flesh and bone, ruling us and enchanting us, moving us like pieces across a board.
I’m so tired. I’m so bored. I’m so angry. Why am I even bothering to work so late? He’s not even here to check my reports. That thought stays with me. Yes. Why bother? It clearly doesn’t matter to him, too busy being irrationally angry at me when it wasIwho was almost lured to my death by something he never warned me about.
So I leave the papers and ledgers and the tower itself, closing the door behind me early for the day with a finality that eases the tension in my shoulders.
I wander the castle humming under my breath, the faint tune shaping itself as I go. With every echoing step, my hum grows louder until it becomes something like a song. Playful, wild, entirely unlike the heavy silence that usually smothers these halls.
I glide along the ice-slick floor, letting my boots skim and slide. The chill that used to bite at my ankles now feels almost welcome. I scoop up handfuls of snow blown in through the open windows and puff them into the air, watching the flakes scatter around me like tiny shivering stars.
Soon I am twirling and spinning, letting the movement lift something inside me that has been heavy for weeks. Fear, loneliness, exhaustion, all of it loosens as I lose myself in a rush of carefree madness.
A laugh slips free, real and bright. Then a chorus of chatters, clicks, and flutters brings me to a breathless stop.
One sprite perches atop a frost-dusted statue, its beady glacial eyes peering down at me with deep suspicion. The other bounds across the floor, head tilted, wings twitching with restless energy.
I do not understand a word they are saying, but the question is written plainly across their scrunched little faces.What are you doing, you crazy human?
My answer comes easily.
I bend and scoop up a handful of snow from the floor, packing it tight between my palms, and before I can second-guess myself, I hurl it straight at the sprite on the ground.
The snowball strikes it square in the belly, sending it tumbling backward, wings flapping wildly until it manages to steady itself midair.
The sprite perched on the statue whirls into the air, mouth hanging open in shock. They stare at each other, then slowly turn their gazes back to me.
I burst into laughter. It shakes through me, a release so needed it almost hurts.
But I hardly have time to enjoy it before something cold and solid smacks me right between the eyes.
I gasp as the snowball bursts across my face, sliding down the bridge of my nose. I sputter, wiping away the icy powder.
The sprites collapse into hysterical screeches, rolling over each other on the icy floor, wings twitching in delight at their victory.
I narrow my eyes.
“Right,” I mutter.
I scoop up another handful of snow, pack it tight, and hurl it with as much force as I can muster.
The sprites dodge with infuriating ease, darting left, then right, wings blurring as they shriek with laughter. Then both zip around the corner and vanish.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I call, sprinting after them.
The moment I round the bend, a snowball slams into my cheek hard enough to make me stumble. Another pelts my shoulder. The sprites perch atop the archway, cackling so wildly they nearly tumble off.
When I step forward, scowl deep and deadly serious, they squeal and scatter, and I tear after them once more.
