As though it had been refurbished not for a king, but to impress the gods.
From a distance, the castle truly shone. A washed white fortress, radiant and inviting, where light itself had taken root in stone. A new parapet wrapped the grounds, its fresh walls smoother than the rest.
Its gate stood ajar, welcoming. A clever deception. A hunter letting prey drink freely from his hand, only to snap its neck the moment it leaned in. The peril of it revealed itself only once you had stepped too far inside.
And by then there was no escape.
I slipped quietly through the garden gates, the air there still carrying the weak perfume of what once thrived. Most of the flowers had withered, petals curled in on themselves like secrets too heavy to bear. Though a few stillclung stubbornly to life, dull purples bruising into blue, bursts of orange and pink lifting their faces skyward, desperate to be devoured by the sun.
They reminded me of Princess Elvira, the way they appeared so fragile and delicate. And yet, in every sense, she radiated life and beauty, fighting to bloom where life had caged her.
I bent low, ripping a handful of flowers from their roots. Whatever beauty remained, I claimed for her.
The stone path wound on, pulling me deeper into the gardens. I lifted my hood, shielding my face from the eyes of the remaining gardeners as I passed.
Technically, yes, I wasemployedby the palace and the king, but slipping in through the back garden was not exactly on theapproved list of entrancesCallum had drilled into me with that damned rule book.
I’d tuned him out somewhere between page three and his tenth sigh.
This morning, I half expected guards strung across the fortress like ornaments. Instead, the grounds were empty, almost quiet. Until I spotted one lone sentry stationed by a side door.
I dropped my hood, strolling toward him, casual.
He sighed the moment he saw me, the sound of a man already defeated. I gifted him my sweetestI’m perfectly innocentsmile.
“Ms. Vale—” His voice was low and graveled, stripped of any illusion of patience. “You and I have both been informed,many times, that you are not to enter through the garden any longer.”
The sun behind the wall cast him in shadow, turning him into little more than a silhouette. Only the gleam of the regal lion, a predatory emblem against the blue of his uniform, stood out.
“I’m insulted you think we aren’t on a first-name basis yet, Duke.” My hand flew to my chest as though he’d stabbed me straight through the heart.
He didn’t buy it.
His lips pressed together, the makings of a scowl threatening, but softness flashed in his sky-washed eyes before he smothered it away.
From inside, a cluster of guards passed the door, boots clanging against the stone.
Duke leaned down toward me, armor rattling as he shifted the shield he carried. The metal plate, barely three feet in length, was nothing compared to the breadth of his frame.
No helmet today. Lucky me.
The light finally caught his skin as he stepped from the shadows, warm and rich, gilded in deep mahogany.
“With how often I’ve let you break the rules, we might as well be on first-name terms,” he murmured, “seeing as we’ll likely be sent to the dungeons together.”
Ah, a man after my own heart. Nothing more romantic than rotting behind bars together.
I’d always guessed Duke was about Callum’s age, four centuries, give or take. But the Awakening had frozen him in youth, gifting him muscle masquerading as grace, leaving him no older in appearance than his mid-twenties.
The Awakening came to every Fae on the eve of their eighteenth year, whether they were ready or not. A birth within a birth.
For three days, the body collapsed into a sleep so deep it was mistaken for death. Their skin cooled, their pulse slowed until even the most frantic parent could not find it.
But this was not dying, it was a transformation. The soul was tested in those hours. And when their eyes finally snapped open, when the deep sleep broke like glass, the change was undeniable.
Power throbbed beneath their skin, settling into bone and blood as if it had always been there. From then on, they belonged to it as much as it belonged to them. A binding no oath could sever.
The Awakening was not only the arrival of magic, it was also the claiming of it. The raw, unfiltered essence of who the Fae were meant to be.
