A shiver runs through me. Then I remember something my mother once told me about the fae.
Words are their traps. And names—true names—are the deadliest kind.
They were there the day of the Selection. They heard it spoken aloud.
Selene Anne Fairchild.My legal name. My mortal name.
But a true name is more than ink and ceremony. A true name is what can bind you. Break you.
And, in the fae world, damn you.
I straighten, lifting my chin. “I’ll grant you a favor,” I say calmly. “One each.” That gives him pause. “But I set the terms.”
Lyra’s attention sharpens—not surprise, but approval.
“First,” I continue, “neither of you may ask me to harm another—directly or indirectly. Not now. Not ever.” I hold Cassian’s gaze, unflinching. “Second: my name is yours to guard, not to wield. You will not speak it, trade it, or evenhintat it—until I am free of this place, or until I choose to give it.”
The air tightens. The magic listens.
“And third,” I add softly, “if either of you breaks that silence—by accident or design—you will each owemea favor. One of equal weight. No refusals.”
For a moment, neither speaks. Then Lyra exhales, slow and thoughtful, shaking her head at her brother. “You never could resist a dangerous game.”
“That’s because the best people never can resist playing.” Cassian steps forward with a wink, extending his hand, his smile sharp and bright. “We have a deal.”
I hesitate only a heartbeat before placing my hand in his.
Heat flares instantly—sharp and searing. I gasp and wrench my hand back, clutching my wrist.
Etched into my skin is a small mark: two swords crossed over a shield, dark as fresh ink, warm as living fire.
“Our family crest,” Lyra explains, stepping closer. She covers my wrist with her palm, her touch cool and steady, easing the sting until it fades.
She turns her own wrist outward. A singleflamemarks her own skin in the same place.
Cassian bares his wrist to expose another flame, identical.
My breath catches. A shared mark. A shared cost.
And then I see it—as though a glamour has been quietly stripped away.
Pointed ears. Not just Cassian. Not just Lyra. My gaze flicks to Arther. To Mae.
All four of them are fae.
“Well, Fire,” Cassian murmurs, amusement curling through his voice, “it seems you’re officially under our protection now.”
They move on, leaving the air charged in their wake. I remain where I am for a beat, the echo of our bargain settling into my bones. The weight of my secret still presses against my ribs, but now it’s bound. Balanced. Protected by words chosen with care.
I draw a steady breath and follow after them. There’s nothing to do but keep moving.
We pass through several wings, some decayed and dusty, others pristine and humming with enchantment.
“There’s the greenhouse.” Marb gestures toward a wall of fogged glass to our right. “Try not to go there alone. The plants tend to be deadly.”
“I’m sorry,what?” Vivian snaps.
Cassian leans closer. “Only if you scream.”
