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“And no one else in the world is better suited to making sure she has those things. No one else would ever work as hard as you have to make sure she has the life she deserves. You’ve gone above and beyond, and I’m so proud of you.”

Before I can respond to his heartfelt words, my Mate’s lips twitch, and a mischievous twinkle appears in his eyes. “I mean… you even admitted to watching three entire seasons of that fantasy show with the dragons—and you hate when humans try to recreate fantasy while simultaneously denying its existence. But you did it anyway, because you said it was the perfect… what was the word you used again?”

He pretends to search for the word, and I roll my eyes. Even after a millennium together, this male never tires of teasing me.

And I never get tired of discovering all the little things he notices about me that no one else does.

“Inspiration,” I answer, then make one final check of our rooms to be sure we have everything we need for tonight.

He hums like he doesn’t believe my reasons for watching the human-created show, but we’ve had this argument a thousand times already, so I ignore him and follow behind him as we leave our chambers.

“I’m sure it had nothing at all to do with the fact that the cast are all stupidly good-looking.”

“Excuse you,” I scowl, falling into step with him as we make our way down the hall of the keep. “I would never misuse my time at the scrying pool. I can’t help that I accidentally saw a scene on some random person’s television and fell in love with the costume designer’s style. What better way to view the full range than to go straight to the source?”

“You know, just because the Last Daughter has silver hair doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to dress like the heroine,” he teases. “Especially after what I’ve heard happened in Season⁠—”

I spring in front of him, skid to a stop, and slap a hand over his mouth.

“No. Spoilers,” I hiss. “Fates! Don’t you know the rule?”

He pointedly drops his eyes to my hand, and after giving him a warning glare, I remove it so he can speak.

“I do not, in fact, know the rules of television, which could have something to do with the lack of electricity, subscription services, and—most importantly—televisions in our realm,” he answers dryly as we continue down the hall. “And in case you’ve forgotten, the valet to the Steward of the Return does not get special, unmonitored scrying privileges.”

“Yes, well, in case you’ve forgotten, I have nothing to do with that,” I tell him for the seven-hundredth time this decade. “Also, I’ll thank you to keep your voice down, lest the council get wind of my research and get the wrong idea.” Glancing around, I double-check that no one’s listening who shouldn’t be—which would be awful for more than one reason. Only Oneric and I live here full time. The staff—what little we employ until the Daughter returns—have long since returned to their own homes for the night.

Oneric hums as we round a corner and come to the stairs leading to the first level of the keep. I want to ask him what time it is, but I know once I ask I won’t stop asking. My whole body is buzzing with anticipation the closer we get, and I have to actively stop myself from skipping down the stairs like a child.

I can’t help it, though. I’m so excited. And nervous. I’m really, really nervous. But mostly excited.

Mostly.

I’m only, like, twenty percent afraid.

As we reach the landing, the town clock tower chimes, announcing the hour. I swear I feel the bell's reverberation down to my bones.

Oneric reaches over and takes my hand. “Are you nervous?”

I shake my head, scoffing as if the question were ridiculous. “Nervous? Not at all! I’ve been preparing for centuries. I know all there is to know about the Last Daughter. I've done as much research on her Fated Mates as possible—including those useless sacks of shit who are, by the way, our arch-nemeses. Oh!”

I pull him to a stop and turn him to face me so he understands how important this next part is. “FYI, we hate them, alright? Don’t forget. We are officially Team Not Daxen Or Vae.”

“Can’t we just say we’re Team Caelan and Soren?”

Damnit. That’s way more efficient.

“No. Besides, I’m still working on an official team name anyways. So don’t, like, put that in writing or anything.”

I pause in the entryway, rearranging the flowers I picked this morning. I shift the vase a quarter inch to the right so it’s even with the framed painting of the Royal Castle that hangs on the far wall.

Fates, it was gorgeous. A feat of engineering impossible to recreate without the kind of magic only the Royals once possessed.

Now it’s gone. Turned to dust the moment the realms were sealed. Another irreplaceable marvel in a long list of wonders we’ll never get back thanks to the Veylen.

It terrifies me to think of what else we might lose. How much more will they take before this is finally over? Our art? Our history? Our lives?

“So are we just not going to talk about the fact that you haven’t been able to locate her in the scrying chamber for three days?”