We stood in a cavernous space. The candelabra hanging from the stone above glowed, casting a wide range of warm light throughout the expanse. I looked around. Each entry point to this place was by boat and oar or by flight.Everywherewas covered in water. Where we stood was a stony platform just above, rooted in boulders, above the moat. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to get out of here on my own, even if I tried.
“What in the inglorious stars...”
I spun around, languidly taking in the full measure of where Tassarion had brought me. It wasn’t a chamber. It wasn’t a loft. The space was shaped like a cave with walls of obsidian stone, but ostentatiously decorated like the bedchamber of a High King.
“Your Highness, what is this place? Where am I?”
I couldn’t stop turning my head from left to right as I tried to take it all in. It was dark but cozy. There was a chill in the air, yet I was still warm. The Nanmiess flittered about freely as a resonant hum slithered through the open air, filling the cavern with its muted song. It felt as if I were in another world.
I spun again and found the king casually leaning against a pillar of stone, carved like the Orèthe—the first angelic settlers of the Sorellien Islands. The pillar supported an arched alcove with built-in shelves embedded in the walls. Every shelf was covered with scrollbooks, feathered quills, an assortment of plant life, and candles. The king’s hands were in his pockets again, one footcrossed over the other, as he watched me get lost in the wonder, the absolute magic, of this place.
“This is my home, Phantimèssa.”
I blinked at him, perturbed.
“What are you on about? This entire manor is your home?—”
“No,” he cut me off coolly. He ruffled his wings, leaning on them as if they were a cloudchair. “The Manor is familial. Any Everthorn can lay claim to it for themselves. Everthorn Manor as a whole belongs to our family. This lair belongs tome.” He tilted his head, eyes watching me with an unreadable expression. “I steward the manor. Ilivein my lair.”
I nodded, understanding. It made sense. Most homes in Edenael, whether they were manors, villas, or even palaces, were often multi-generational. The homes were massive, and everyone in the family had their own wing. Something else I missed about being home with Manmi and Papi, though I didn’t regret living in Nahomie Manor alone.
At some point, while I was distracted, the king had taken to removing his crown. He looked kingly, yet so youthful, though I was almost certain he was older than me by a couple of centuries.
I couldn’t help feeling that he was also soalone. This enormous manor, and not a single other angel in the place except for a healer. And these souls.
“Do you host any royal gatherings?”
“No.”
“Hold any council meetings here?”
“No.”
I bit my lower lip.
“Throw any village parties?”
Tassarion’s eyes flashed. The corner of his lips twitched, almost curling into a smile.
“Exiled rejects don’t throw parties, Phantimèssa.”
Exiled? Reject?
I tucked that little piece of information away for another time.
“Mm.” I fidgeted on my feet, looking around again. “Sounds dreadfully boring.”
His lips twitched again, his eyes twinkling under the dimmed light.
“Was your life so lively back in Edenael?”
I snorted.
“Not at all.” I lifted a finger, looking back into his eyes. “But! I remember having a grand ole time at a village party... or two.”
His lips curled into a wicked grin then. My hearts fluttered at the sight. I felt sheepish. Exposed. I cleared my throat.
“Was there a particular reason you went through the dramatics of dragging me down here?”
