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Shaking off the trance I was stuck in, I realize that while I was immersed in the siren song of the book and the beauty of the view from our window, the guys managed to send the goblin packing. In fact, they’ve even started unpacking our bags that someone brought to this place in anticipation of our arrival. Every second of our time here feels planned to the nth degree, yet the fanfare dissipating because of an emergency was not.

“I’m fine, but there’s… I’m having a lot of conflicting emotions about this place and it’s making my magic go haywire. Isn’t that happening to you?”Revelin shakes his head and I frown. “Why is it only me?”

“I don’t know, witchling, but Tiernan is right about being on our guard. I have a strong feeling about the timing of a situation so dire that it interrupted our arrival.”

Nodding at the vampire, I stand, clutching the book as I walk over to the window. “Agreed.”

“No one goes anywhere alone,” Khol says as he joins me. “Not even for a moment. If the Midnight contingent isn’t doing this for drama, then someone else is here—and they’ve been waiting for us to arrive.”

I have no idea what the fuck is going on in this court or Faerie in general, but I’m not leaving without answers.

Whatever monsters are lurking, whatever secrets have been buried, I will get to the bottom of this if it kills me.

Four

REVELIN

Sometimes, being raised in a gilded cage means you know exactly how the bars taste.

The room they give us is a masterstroke of architectural overkill: domed ceilings painted with nebulae, mirrors inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and furniture so heavy with silver trim it could anchor a warship. The floors are velvet, and the windows—five of them, all arched—look down into gardens engineered to drive even the most focused mind straight to distraction. Most would call it luxurious; I call it a politely padded cell.

The Court vanished after we arrived. Flitwick left us with enough food and wine to sedate a garrison. Since then, nothing—not even a whisper.

You can always tell when something’s wrong in Faerie.

Silence is not normal in the Fae lands; there’s too much nature to sing and speak. Magic hums in the air, and the people are always working an angle. The fact that we haven’t seen even one curious staff member peeping in tells me that whatever the emergency is, it is not a drill or something silly like a basic perimeter breach.

My family has adapted to the situation well, but I’m struggling with it.

Dezi hasn’t said a word in the last hour. He’s stretched across a fainting couch, eyes half-closed, the picture of boredom—as long as you ignore the way his fingers tap along the gilded wood. If he were truly relaxed, he’d be suggesting far more interesting pursuits rather than playing a furniture drum solo.

Interestingly, Khol hasn’t looked at his phone once. Instead, he’s perched on the window seat, arms crossed, and eyes fixed on the darkness outside. He should be keeping tabs on his minions on the other side of the Veil as he promised his twin, but right now? His snake has to be slithering inside of him in suspicion. I know because his eyes are slitted and yellow as he stays as close to Sassy as possible.

Meanwhile, my old friend and bodyguard stands at the door, his back perfectly straight. He hasn’t moved since the goblin left us. I suspect he’s tracking every heartbeat and footfall in a hundred-yard radius, ears tuned for the faintest scrape of trouble. He, too, finds this troubling and refuses to rest so he can be ready to react if something tries to open our door without permission.

My eyes move to our mate, taking in the chaotic energy she’s desperately trying to contain. Fiadh’s planted in the window with her knees up, Fidget at her feet and the ancient tome open in her lap. Her hair is a mess—half wild, half scooped into an elastic—and her eyes are even wilder, chasing lines of script that flicker and shift whenever she blinks.

None of us is comfortable with this fucking situation, and I’ll be damned if I know what to do about it.

I’ll give it ten more minutes. If no one from the Court has come by then, I’ll drag myself off the bed and stroll over to Fiadh’s window. After all, if we can’t do anything outside this room, then maybe doing stuff inside it will ease our tension. My fingers strum chords on my leg as I wait for the time to pass, and when it does, I rise to my feet and stretch.

Fi’s not reading anymore; she’s staring out into the garden, her eyes sharp and searching. Walking over to her quietly, I lean in to ask, “Hey. Are you okay, Sassypants?”

She snorts, but the sound’s brittle. “Why would I be? The book’s useless, and the air’s so thick with glamour that I’m getting a migraine. Is that normal for Midnight, or do they just crank it up when royalty shows?”

Shrugging, I reply, “I haven’t noticed that so I’m not sure if this is new or not. It seems to only be affecting you as far as I can tell. Why are you so focused on the garden? Is that where it’s coming from?”

I scan the garden, hoping to figure out what’s entrancing her. The paths twist and double back, vanishing under hedges and reappearing farther out. The flowers are all silver and blue, night-bloomers, some of which are carnivorous. But all of it looks normal for Faerie, and even more so for the Midnight Court.

She turns, fixing me with a look that feels like a physical poke to the sternum. “You don’t seem concerned that I’m having a problem with this place that doesn’t affect any of you. Why not?”

I give her a grin and make a show of stretching. “That’s because if I let myself worry about everything that feels wrong here, I’ll start breaking things. And these guys,” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at the others—“are all Debbie Downers. Someone has to break up their broodfest.”

Her lips twitch, almost giving me a smile. “You are the most sunshine-y one of us, I’ll agree with that.”

I nudge her knee with mine. “Thanks. Now, what’s got you staring at the garden like you’re ready to leap out the window and go full on Nancy Drew?”

Fiadh is quiet for a long moment, and I sense her weighing whether to brush me off or answer. “It’s calling to me, or at least, I think it is.”