I shake my head. “No. You should get dressed. Go above deck. The others will be waiting.”
He turns his head, gaze heavy with quiet certainty. “I’ll keep you safe here, wife. Lady Ilyra has guarded Baev’kalath well. There is nothing to fear.”
“I know,” I reply, and though I nod, the smile that touches my lips feels paper-thin and unconvincing, even to myself. A lie dressed in softness, spoken only to reassure the man I love.
Daedalus rises, stretching to his full, towering height, the muscles in his back flexing before he reaches for the dark folds of his clothing. I trace his runes with my gaze and notice the red scars just above his shoulder blades where his wings once were, but he pulls on his shirt before I can linger. Before stepping out, he casts one final look over his shoulder. The smile he gives me nearly breaks me. Then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
I cradle our daughter to my chest, her small body warm and familiar against my skin as she latches, her soft suckling the only sound in the dim cabin. Her tiny fingers curl instinctively around mine, holding me as if she senses the storm I try so hard to hide.
Time has moved too quickly. Her silver eyes, once cloudy and uncertain, are now bright and aware, watching everything. Her hair has grown longer, curling at the ends. Even the points at the tips of her ears seem sharper.
My poor daughter. She has already survived more than most children will ever have to, and she doesn’t even understand what she has endured. She doesn't yet feel the looming dread and I fear... I fear the worst is still to come.
Daed believes Baev’kalath is safe. That within those impenetrable walls, with their ancient towers and old magic, no harm can touch us. But Baev’kalath has never been safe. Not for me. Not for his mother or sister. So how can it be for the child in my arms?
I long for the Grove. For the hush of wind through the branches, for the songs that echo through the trees like lullabies. I yearn to hide her there, deep within the embrace of the forest, beneath the protection of the Souls. She would be safe there. We all would.
But Daedalus will never agree. He cannot sever his crown from his soul, and though I once thought I could live beside that duty, now I wonder if I am strong enough to stay.
As my daughter feeds, my hand drifts to my throat, fingers brushing the two crescent wounds still raw on my skin. His bite lingers, bruised and burning. A mark of more than passion. More than marriage. The bond we sealed was deeper than blood, deeper than any vow whispered beneath stars.
I am his. He is mine. That is the truth of it.
But never did I think loving him would mean having to choose.
Between him... and everything else I hold dear.
Because never did I believe that the journey which began in chains would lead me here. That I would board that ship as a prisoner and find myself falling for the Fae male I was forced to marry. That the one I once resented, feared, would become the one I crave with every breath. That I would bear his child. That he would become my mate, my other half, written into my soul with blood.
Once, I would have fled him without hesitation.
But now… now the thought of running feels like the unraveling of everything I’ve built. Of everything we are. Of my family.
And it would destroy me.
My daughter dozes off, her lips still parted in sleep as I gently ease her back into the crib. I move quietly while Ashen stirs at the foot of the bed but does not rise. I dress in silence, brushing out my hair and weaving it into a loose braid that drapes over my shoulder.
Only when I’m fully clothed do I pause, drawing in a long, steadying breath.
Then I step out, leaving behind the warmth, the quiet, the safety, and climb above deck.
The air bites colder here. Through the misted light and slivers of cloud veiling the morning sun, I see it.
Baev’kalath.
Spires clawing toward the slate sky. A fortress of black stone and nightmares.
We have arrived.
I join Daedalus at the helm, flanked by his brethren. The silence between them is thick enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms as they stare out at the black rock ahead.
“It’s quiet,” Orios mutters, narrowing his eyes at the courtyard that should be crawling with Blades of the Ebon Flight. “Why is there no one to meet us?”
Reon plants one boot on the railing, his brow furrowed. “Something’s wrong.”
I step up behind Daed, slipping my fingers into his. He curls his hand around mine, firm but distracted, gaze locked on Baev’kalath.
“Lady Ilyra sent no warning,” he says.
