Eryndor lifts his head, and it takes him a moment before he acknowledges me with a smile that feels rehearsed. He rises slowly.
“Prince Daedalus,” he says. “Welcome to Valorne.”
He extends his hand to Elyss, and she rises also, dropping into a half curtsy and dipping her chin.
“Your Highness,” she says, her voice so low and raspy I can’t help but compare it to the serpents on their banners.
I barely have time to go through the formalities of my arrival before a pair of loud shrieks tear through the air, shattering the hollow silence, and I wince at the sting in my ears.
Two tawny-skinned Fae children, one male and one female, dart into the room, laughing and screaming as they chase each other without a care, oblivious to the fact their prince stands before them.
It is strange as I watch them to see no runes on their skin. They’re far too young to be marked yet, but all it does is remind me how rare Fae children are, and the fact that Eryndor and Elyss have produced two of them not only says much for their fated match, or the amount of fucking they must have done over the centuries, but also for the longevity of their house. These are not just children, but two healthy heirs for House Maledannan, which is more than I have.
The children continue to chase each other while I watch them in silence, an impatient glower on my hard face, but they don’t notice. They even weave between my legs in pursuit of each other. The male knocks my knee on his exit, and I buckle, stumbling forward, almost tripping over myself.
My eyes widen and I hear Arax clearing his throat, preparing for what I imagine will be the world’s greatest admonishing, but I raise my hand to him, cutting off the words before he can let them fly.
Instead, the hint of a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth and I find the sound they make, the laughter full of pure, innocent joy, is not as offensive as I found it a moment ago.
“Lysander. Sylara,” Elyss calls, with both her and Eryndor looking suitably nervous. “Come here. Now.”
The children race off, still giggling as they leap into their parents’ arms, the male to Elyss while the female latches onto Eryndor, tugging at her father’s braids. It catches me off guard the way the little one looks at him with such affection and adoration and…love.
The tightness in my chest is foreign and I can’t decide whether it is welcome amidst the cold inside me.
“Forgive them, Your Highness,” Eryndor says quickly, anxiety in his tone. “I told them to stay in their rooms, but it seems they do not want to listen to what their father says.”
Eryndor is speaking to his children, as much as he is speaking to me and I watch them pout.
“Sorry, Papa,” Sylara squeaks.
Eryndor goes to speak again, but I speak first.
“No need for apologies, Lord.” And the look of pure shock on their faces when I wink at Sylara is enough to undo the world. “They are just children being children.”
Eryndor bows his head appreciatively before pinching his daughter’s chin playfully between his fingers. “They can be a blessing and a curse.”
“I’m sure there are others who can only hope to be as burdened as you are.”
Eryndor and Elyss glance at me with confusion, and I don’t realize my words have escaped my thoughts. I draw back my shoulders and exhale the sentiment before it gets too comfortable.
“But if you wouldn’t mind?” I tip my head towards the door, and the lord and lady respond quickly, handing their children off to a maid who hurries them out of the room, snipping at their quiet protests.
“Now,” I say, straightening the collar of my black shirt and running a hand through my hair as if to reset myself. “You sent word of a very serious manner and I am here to settle it swiftly.” My eyes narrow. “So show me, Lord Eryndor. Show me this threat to the Fae that you have let thrive within your borders.”
Eryndor gulps, exchanging fleeting glances with Elyss that they don’t think I notice. But I notice everything. They’re scared, which means this must indeed be dire.
Eryndor extends his long, willowy arm, his green robe falling in a silken sheet as he gestures toward a wall completely overtaken by vines. They’re as thick as mooring ropes, their massive heart-shaped leaves marked with white mottled patterns that gleam faintly in the light.
“This way, Your Highness,” he says.
Over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Arax, his expression a mirror of my own. Curiosity tinged with mounting impatience.
I follow, crossing the room to where Eryndor stands before the living wall. He waits, far longer than I care for, his silence grating. Just as I’m about to speak, his hand moves in a slow, deliberate wave. The vines react instantly, slithering back like serpents, untangling themselves with unsettling grace. They reveal a large mirror, its surface dull and tarnished, the glass so clouded I can barely discern the faintest outline of our reflections.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the foggy surface begins to change. Swirls of mist gather, twisting and churning with the intensity of a storm. Slowly, the chaos subsides, clearing like smoke drawn away by the wind. And there, in the heart of the glass, I see a vision: a lush forest, the grass thick and wild, encircled by ancient, towering trees. A deer darts through the undergrowth, its movement so vivid I half expect it to leap from the mirror.
“Where is this?” I ask, my voice tight.
