Page 77 of Fallen Nocturne

She crosses the room and wraps her arms around me before I can answer. I hold her carefully, mindful of her wings, but guilt twists inside me. She welcomes me like an old friend, while everything she knows about me is built around a lie.

“You don’t know who I am,” I say as she pulls away. “Who I really am.”

Petal tilts her head. “You’re Fawn. Our friend.”

I look at Arescaine. Revealing myself here is dangerous, and the warning in his eyes is unmistakable.

His eyes seem to say, Do not tell them.

I reveal myself anyway.

“Thank you for accepting me as your friend, but you need to know something.” I pull back my hood, letting them see my face and silver hair clearly. “I’m Queen Rhianelle of Aelfheim.”

All three of them go very still. Petal’s lips part, but no sound comes. Fleur stares at my hair and then my face. River takes one slow step backward and nearly collides with the table.

Disbelief passes between them. They look at me as though trying to fit Fawn and the elven queen into the same person.

“The elven queen…” River breathes.

“You’re the ruler of Aelfheim?” Fleur’s eyes go wide.

Petal shakes her head slowly. “But you were here with us. You laughed when we were impersonating…” Her voice trails off as horror replaces the disbelief.

I look at each of them. “I couldn’t tell you last time. Forgive me—”

“We really need to go,” River suddenly says, reaching for my hand. The instant his fingers touch mine, he seems to remember what I just revealed and nearly pulls away. “Your Highness. I’m sorry. But we really need to go.”

He closes his hand around mine again and leads us from the room. Petal and Fleur hurry ahead, guiding us through corridors that seem to change each time we turn a corner.

At first, I think the shifting passages are another glamour. Then the wall beside us gives a low groan and bends inward before slowly straightening again.

Something is wrong with the building.

Arescaine remains close behind me, his attention moving constantly between the branching passages and every closed door we pass.

We’ve almost reached the main room when a figure steps out from a side passage. He is tall, dressed in shimmering clothes, with his hair arranged in an elegant coiffure.

The Auctioneer.

“Oh, Fawn! You’re here again,” Thorn Vale says with a warm smile, his eyes bright. “What an unexpected delight. I had wondered whether my mysterious friend would ever return.”

Before I can answer, his gaze moves to Petal. All theatrical warmth disappears from his face. The Auctioneer approaches her slowly and raises one hand. He reaches out and touches her face with two fingers, tilting it gently toward the light to look at the bruise.

His jaw tightens. “What that soldier did to you is unforgivable.”

Petal shivers. “He’s still here. In the building.”

“Oh, I’m very aware.” The Auctioneer’s smile is sharp and cold. “Which is why I’ve made a decision.”

He snaps his fingers. A small ornate case appears in his hand, filled with glowing seeds.

“The Painted Moth is leaving Greenvale,” he announces. “This town is no longer safe, not with fae commanders and soldiers who think they can abuse my people without consequence.”

“You’re closing?” Fleur’s voice catches.

“Yes, we’re relocating. These seeds will grow new Moths elsewhere. Smaller, quieter, away from the war.” He looks at Petal’s bruised eye, at River and Fleur’s haunted expressions. “We’ll go to places where people remember respect.”

“What about them?” River asks quietly. “Lord Kharlis and the commanders are still waiting for their servers.”