The figure was bound in heavy chains, his body battered and scarred as though he had been dragged from a torture chamber. Dark blond hair, blue eyes, sun-kissed skin…
What on earth was my brother doing here?
My body froze. The shock was so overwhelming that, for a heartbeat, the cabin, the iron bars, Malek—everything vanished. There was only him, chained like an animal, his body a map of bruises, gashes, and dried blood. His face, once so full of life, was hollow and pale, etched with an expression of agonizing pain that sliced straight through me.
Malek stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the prisoner with predatory intensity.
"He's a High Fae," he growled.
Without a shred of gentleness, Malek seized a dazed Leone by the collar of his tunic and hauled him out of the iron structure.
A whimper of alarm escaped my lips, drawing a sharp look from Malek over his shoulder. Air refused to reach my lungs properly, and my legs felt like sodden paper.
It was Leone. My twin brother.
"Leone," I whispered, my voice breaking.
Malek spun to face me.
"You know him?" His question echoed, sounding like it came from deep underwater.
My world shrank until only my brother remained. He was far too thin, a mere shadow of the male I had left behind, what felt like an age ago. The chains binding him looked far too heavy for his frame, and his linen shirt hung in bloodstained tatters. His breathing came in thin, jagged pulls; every gasp sounded like a battle he was on the verge of losing.
I knelt by his side, my fingertips brushing his bruised face with a feather-light touch, terrified of causing him any more pain. He didn't stir. My eyes burned, and a thick lump lodged in my throat at the sight of my dear brother broken like this.
"Who is he?" Malek insisted, impatience sharpening his voice.
I ran a trembling hand through Leone's matted hair, feeling the heat of fever radiating from his brow.
"Leone, please," I pleaded, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Open your eyes."
My brother groaned in pain. His blue eyes fluttered open slowly, but his gaze remained vacant, lost in a fog of agony and exhaustion. He stared at me for a heartbeat, yet there was no spark of recognition; I was nothing more than a shadow in his delirium.
"Water," he whispered, his voice raspy and nearly inaudible.
"Bring water and the ingyl leaves," I barked at Malek, never shifting my gaze from my brother. "Quickly!"
He hesitated for an instant, surprise tightening the strong line of his shoulders. He didn't ask questions, but I felt his doubt pressing against the silence. To my relief, he obeyed. I knew that once I could think rationally again, I would regret barking orders at a Ruk’hai like that—but right now, I didn't have a choice.
Malek vanished and returned minutes later with a bowl of water and the herbs. I took the water and carefully pressed it against Leone’s cracked lips. He drank in small gulps, the liquid spilling over his chin.
His wounds weren’t the scars of a fair battle, but deep gashes and heavy bruising from repeated blows. The enchantment that had bound him had likely compounded the damage, siphoning his strength and life force, leaving his body unable to heal itself.
Malek remained only a few paces from me, silent. The surprise had vanished from his face, replaced by the same impenetrable walls he’d worn when we first met. His attention stayed fixed on Leone, bordering on hostility. He looked ready to intervene at any moment.
"How do you know this High Fae?" Malek questioned again, his voice harsher this time.
I cleaned my brother’s wounds with painstaking care, my thoughts racing to find an answer that wouldn't end in our deaths. Malek still believed I was an orc from Oguk, and his hatred for the High Fae ran deep. If he discovered my true identity—and that the male before him was my brother, the heir to Ceilte—the situation would become irreversible.
On the other hand, if the Autumn Court had been transporting my brother as a prisoner and marching toward Ceilte, it meant our alliance no longer existed. If that was the case, I had to choose which side to trust with my life—and Leone’s.
"Fiona?" Malek pressed. His tone no longer allowed for evasion.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think quickly. In the end, I made a decision that I prayed to Danu and Nemain wouldn't be my last mistake.
"I’m not who you think I am."
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