It was true—he had saved me then. He hadn’t killed me that night of the attack, either. But I couldn’t reconcile that with his spite. I watched after him with glazed eyes—his long stride in the shadows of the canopy, all power and anger and contempt.
Something relentless lived in the way he moved, like the earth itself bent to let him pass. His cloak shifted with each step, brushing his boots, and I found myself watching the controlled swing of his arms, the unyielding line of his back.
Then he stepped into a shaft of light, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.
My vision sharpened. And I saw it—what I’d only felt last night, humming over my skin. The air around him shimmered, not with heat, but with something stranger. It sparked from his body like driven rain, like silver striking stone, and vanished just as quickly.
Like magic.
But he didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to notice. As if the storm dancing around him was as ordinary as breath.
Long ago, my mother used to tell me a bedtime story of creatures who lived in a deep wood. They looked like humans, but they were not; their hands wove magic, and their hearts were two. And wherever they walked, the air spoke to their grace—their magic—their wildness.
Dorian was right: I knew what he was. I knew what they all were.
Fae.
Were these really the same creatures I had spent my entire life fearing—Dorian and Rhiannon and those men sitting in the citadel gardens with their pregnant wives? It didn’t cohere with what I’d seen the night of the attack—the destruction, the screeching ofmetal, the description my mother had given me of the dead beast brought into our district so many decades ago. Black-veined skin, long nails.
I knew what Dorian and Rhiannon were, but not really. I could only give them a name from a storybook. And nothing about these people or this place was as simple as a story.
I remained frozen. The spiritstag kept me from bolting toward the gates. I knew what the stag had offered; the choice had felt as real as the grass beneath me. The spiritstag believed I had something special inside me, and the feeling it had left me with was electric.
Power.Power like a rod sent down my spine. Power like the promise of a sweet, clean storm.
I needed to know what these trials were.
I followed Dorian. When I caught up to him, he didn’t acknowledge me. We walked together the rest of the way. Together we crossed the bridge and passed through the now-empty gardens. Hours had passed and the sun’s angle had changed, casting shadows and creating a chill.
We came into the citadel, into the empty throne room. Dorian stopped in the entryway; he turned to me, eyes hawklike. “Wait here.”
Under that gaze, I almost did. But the thought returned to me, quick and sharp:You win no favors with him by being small.
I forced myself to keep walking. To keep my chin up.
“I’ll accept your commands when you’re dead or deified.”I strode toward the staircase on the leftmost wall, and he followed, close on my heels.
Halfway up, he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and turned me toward him. Strength radiated through his grip. “I said wait.”
I shrugged off his hand. “I’m not your dog, your rabbit, or your pettifey.”
“I never called you a dog. Or a pettifey.” His eyes searched mine,dark and impenetrable. “Can’t you just give me five minutes alone with the queen?”
“Why alone?”
“It’s not your concern.”
“It’s entirely my concern. You’re going to talk to Rhiannon aboutme.”
His lips parted. Then, with a sharp exhale, “You don’t know what you’re involved in.”
“Because you won’t really tell me.” I descended one step toward him. “But I do know one thing.”
He drew in a sharp breath as I closed the space between us—as though a woman had never stood a step above him, as though my nearness unnerved him. “And what’s that?”
I swallowed, only half certain. “Whatever power Rhiannon has, it isn’t greater than the spiritstag’s.”
I knew by the look on his face I was right.
