His gaze flicks to mine. “No. Today isn’t a test. I just figured you could use the fresh air after being cooped up in that library for so long.”
Has he been keeping tabs on me—or do the walls of the keep have eyes and ears, along with their magic?
Then he turns and gestures grandly at the surrounding forest. “The kingswood extends for miles around the castle. A mercy from the curse. I think I’d have gone mad if I were confined to Noctryas alone for six hundred years.”
I raise one brow. “You say that like you haven’t already.”
He laughs, a low, genuine sound that does something strange to my chest.
“Whenever I’m around you, I’ll admit I question that,” he says.
I look away before the heat in my cheeks betrays me, clearing my throat before I change the subject. “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Aetherion,” he answers. “It’s an old word. It means ‘of the upper skies.’ He was my mother’s, before me.”
“So, he’s…”
“Cursed too? Yes. The night the curse was cast, every soul within the keep’s grounds—creature or man—was bound to it. To me.”
“And Brimstone…?”
“Yes. He was a wild stallion we found on the eastern ridge. Took Aetherion and me a full day to catch him in. That was… fifty years ago.”
“Fifty—” I blink. “He’s been here for fifty years?”
“And in all that time, no one has ever gotten close to him. Until you.” There’s something in his voice—a softness, a thread of memory. I want to ask more—about him, about his past—but I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I ask something far more practical.
“So… what would happen if you ever crossed the boundary line?”
His gaze flicks toward me, then back to the path. He’s quiet for a moment. The reins tighten slightly in his hands.
“The curse was designed to keep me contained,” he says at last. “Bound to the forest. The keep. This life. If I cross the edge…” He exhales. “My body would begin to tear itself apart. Shadows first. Then rot. Then—”
“Death?” I finish.
“If fate is merciful.”
He turns his head, studying the trees lining the path as if they’re suddenly fascinating.
I watch his profile. He says it like it doesn’t matter—like he’s already made peace with it. Something cold settles in my chest.
“Does that apply to the fae?” I ask. “The other creatures?”
“No,” he says softly. “Just me, though I’ve forbidden them from leaving the mist. It’s safer that way. Can’t have magical beings wandering a land that no longer believes they exist.”
“Is that why no one beyond the mist knows the truth?” I ask. “Everyone except Grathmoor?”
“Yes.” He nods. “Grathmoor has always known.”
“Hence why they take their selection process so seriously,” I say.
He glances at me, surprised—and impressed. “Exactly.”
“And the others?” I press.
“Eldrien and Korran Vale suspect something,” he says. “But Solmere…” His mouth tightens. “Your region has worked very hard to bury the truth. I don’t agree with it—but I respect their autonomy.”
