I sit up, gasping. Chest tight. My shirt soaked through.
My room is dim with an early dawn light, and a bird is chirpingoutside the window like nothing has changed.
But everything has.
Kallan.
I knew that name. Everyone did. The fae warrior who died protecting Serenya during the battle at Oxhaven. The one whispered about in ballads. My mother had told me the stories before her illness took her.
I run a hand through my damp hair and frown. Why did she say his name? Why did it feel soreal?
I’d dreamed of strange places and shadows I couldn’t name before, but never like this. I have never dreamed of her.Never Serenya.
My eyes drift toward the window. I shake my head.I’m going insane.
Still, the weight of her fingers against my chest, from the dream, lingers. So does her voice.
I love you, Kallan.
The dream clings to me like smoke. Even after splashing cold water on my face and walking the entire length of the garden wall until it’s time to be at breakfast, it lingers, unspoken and unfinished. A field of wildflowers. Her voice. Just not how she speaks to me now.
No sharpness. No disdain. Just aching, open affection. It makes no sense.
I wasn’t myself in the dream. And yet, I was.
The palace’s smaller dining hall buzzes with low conversation as I step in behind the others. The long table near the windows is laid with an impressive spread of warm breads, fruits, fresh cheeses, and honeyed meats, but none of it really registers.
I take the empty seat at the end. Torin gives me a brief nod from across the room. Serenya is already seated at the head of the table, sharp-eyedand composed, speaking to Asbel.
She laughs lightly at something he says, and for a moment, I just watch her. The tilt of her head. The way her fingers curl slightly around her glass. It’s all familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.
She looks over, catching me staring. Her brow arches. “Is there something on my face, or are you just trying to remember what manners look like, tavern boy?”
It was the kind of jab she’d tossed my way before. Biting, casual, almost amused. Normally, I would have smirked, fired back with something cocky just to watch her bristle.
Not today, though.
I blink, looking away, and mumble, “Sorry.”
That gets her attention. The silence is brief, but noticeable.
Torin shoots me a sidelong glance. Asbel raises an eyebrow, and Lioran shoves a piece of bread in his mouth to cover his grin.
Serenya leans back in her seat, eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s it? No clever retort?”
I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Guess I’m not feeling clever today.”
“You did it, Ren. You broke the grump,” Lioran says, still grinning. His use of her nickname makes my teeth grind.
“You’re not falling apart already, are you?” she says, voice still teasing, but gentler now, like she is trying to draw me out, poke at the version of me she’d come to expect.
I shake my head, staring down at the plate in front of me. “Just tired.”
Tired of dreams I don’t understand. Of feelings I can’t explain. Something is wrong with me. It has been since the moment I laid eyes on this palace. I need to remind myself that I’m not here to care what she thinks. I am here to survive. To win, maybe. To make something of myself. To get back to my village whole.
Yet…that look in her eyes from my dream haunts me.
I love you, Kallan.
