He cuts me off. “It doesn’t protect me. It warns me so I can be prepared. And I’ve had it for a while. I don’t need a moon-amber anymore to understand when glamour is at play.”
I study his face, try to read him, and notice subtle scars that I missed earlier. They’re everywhere I can see. Along his exposed arms, back of his hands, on the curve of his neck. I can only imagine the horrors he went through before he claimed the throne and united the rogues under him. And all of it, because of me. Because he loved me. And he claims he still does.
“Don’t worry about me, Freya,” he says softly, stepping closer. But he still keeps his distance, maintains restraint. “You’ve never had to worry about me, and I won’t give you a chance now.”
“I did worry about you,” I confess, my throat thickening. “For a long time. I want you to know that I wish I had the power to change what happened.”
He chuckles then, but it’s bitter. “You don’t realize, do you? You have the power to do everything now. You only need to reach out and claim it. Make it yours.”
I look away to breathe. “Rowan—” My throat closes on his name. “What if I fail?”
His gaze soothes me, and although it pains him to say the next words because of their meaning, and because it is a glaring reminder of what happened with him, with us, he still says it, “You won’t fail. Hold on to that one word.Mama.Hold onto the love you bear for your children. That’s the truth. The rest is shadow.”
I curl my fingers around the moon-amber, feeling its weight. “I swear I will reclaim my children. Whatever it takes.”
Rowan inclines his head, but his green eyes blaze with something fiercer than approval. “Then it means the High Luna has already begun to rise.”
Mist swallows the clearing, and I feel the mark on my back burn. I clutch the stone and know there is no turning back.
THE FIRST RECLAIM
Freya
As I toss and turn on the bed, I tell myself to wait, to be patient. But the mother in me is restless. The moon-amber is gleaming on the bedside table, urging me to use it. I think of Rowan and his words: Hold on to that one word. Mama. Hold onto the love you bear for your children. That’s the truth. The rest is shadow.
I’m holding onto just that. My love for my children. And it is this love that drags me out of bed in the middle of the night and towards the nursery.
The guards outside glare at me before their gaze drops on the moon-amber, then something seems to flicker in their eyes before they part, allowing me to pass. I don’t waste time, knowing the crystal can only break through glamour for a few seconds.
Inside, the nursery is dark, even though the hearth is still burning. It’s as if the fire in it provides no light. I shiver at the strangeness of it, inhaling the scent of milk and lavender that clings to the air. The moon-amber is clutched tight in my palm.
I can’t find Finn, but Ivy’s there. I can recognise her silhouette even if it’s just the fading moonlight illuminating her. She stirs in her bed, her soft dark curls spread across the pillow. She has Kade’s black hair, but her eyes are an icy blue like mine. My heart hammers as I kneel beside her and press the warm crystal against her chest.
For a second, the air shimmers. The veil cracks. Her tiny lashes flutter, and she blinks at me. “Mama?”
The word breaks me open. I gather her close, tears spilling before I can stop them. “Yes, my baby. It’s me. I’m here.”
Her small hands clutch my dress, her little nose burrows into my neck. My scent runs through her—my blood, my child. “I’m scared, Mama. She scares Finn,” the words tumble out of her mouth.
“Who scares Finn?” I ask immediately despite already knowing who she’s talking about.
Before I can hold her longer, the glamour slams back, the hearth dimming at the exact same moment before blazing once more and yet, it gives out barely any light. Ivy stiffens in my arms. Her face twists in confusion, then fear.
“Let me go,” she whispers. “You’re not my mama. Mama Izel said—”
The door bursts open. Kade fills the threshold, tall and cold, golden eyes burning like fire. Behind him, the guards bear cruel looks on their faces, the earlier confusion wiped away.
“What are you doing here?” His voice cracks like a whip.
I rise slowly, still holding Ivy. “She knew me, Kade. For a moment, she knew me. Can’t you see what’s happening? Are you so blind?”
“You disobeyed me.” He crosses the room, plucks Ivy from my arms as if I’m nothing. Our daughter clings to him, whimpering.
“Kade—”
His glare silences me. He strokes Ivy’s hair, but his words cut like steel. “You frighten her. You do not belong here.”
“She is mine,” I whisper. “My child.”
