Riven exhales slowly, head tipping forward against mine for a brief moment before we pull back entirely.
Torryn just shakes his head, murmuring, “Fae theatrics never end,” before he follows Sylvin into the night.
I linger in the tent, reaching for Riven’s hand. We just stand there, hand in hand, staring into each other's eyes, and all I can hope is that he continues to trust my honesty and our connection. Because if he pulls away from me at any point, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.
Shouts from Sylvin outside as he directs a few fae into constructing his vision make the corner of my lips twitch into a smile.
Riven lets out a sigh and shakes his hand. “Are you sure about that one? I’m not sure I can promise to not rip his throat out if he reads you another poem when the rest of us are trying to sleep. I can at least handle the smell of Torryn for you, since he’s fairly quiet.”
I smack his chest playfully with my free hand. “Torryn does not smell bad and I quite liked Sylvin’s poem.”
He groans and tightens his grip on my hand. “You most definitely will be the ruin of me, darling.”
I lead him from the tent and the scent of the fae magic at work hits me first. Freshly turned soil and flowers in bloom. I glance toward the source of it and find a small cottage rising from the ground in place of the three tents that seem to have been hastily broken down.
It’s not as grand as I expected it to be with Sylvin at the helm of its design. It feels warm and inviting in its small size. New growth blooms along the walls and vines sprawl across the roof.
Sylvin stands just outside the door, arms flung wide as he faces me. “Behold! One custom-made temporary sanctuary. Perfect for housing one little echo and her questionable entourage.”
I huff out a breath that lands somewhere between a laugh and a snort.
Torryn’s hand falls to my shoulder, squeezing softly as he mutters. “We’re going to regret this.”
“I can always make it smaller if you’d both like to leave me alone with my little echo,” Sylvin calls sweetly as he opens the door. “Otherwise, there’s a moss-covered slab of dirt masquerading as anextremely large bed inside, and I fully intend to claim the inside corner before one of you.”
My hand lifts to smother a laugh bubbling up within me as he gestures at us to come in. Only then do I notice the hundreds of pairs of eyes on us then, all staring from the different faction camps spread out around us.
Mostly I see looks of deep confusion written into scrunched brows, but I also spot some curled lips of disgust. None of the kings seem to notice, and if they do, they don’t pay it any mind. Hesitation blossoms within me, seeing a chance for dissent amongst the masses here. The last thing I want is to cause an uproar the night before a battle.
“Don’t mind them,” Torryn murmurs in my ear, causing me to shiver from his warm breath fanning across my skin. “Change isn’t always welcomed, but many times necessary to bring about meaningful outcomes.”
I lean back into his warmth and nod. “You’re right, and honestly, as long as the three of you are with me, I don’t care what any of them think.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, causing a rumbling vibration to roll from his chest into my back. The words cause my eyes to widen, and I clear my throat as heat pools within me.
Focus, Wren.
We step inside and I turn in a slow circle to takethe craftwork in. The corner of the room is a gently sloped rise of dirt, soft grass blooming beneath the edges of mattresses laid side by side.
It’s chaotic, cozy, and deeply strange–but it’s perfect.
“You seriously expect us to sleep on the same bed?” Riven grumbles, one brow arched in disbelief.
“You’ll live,” Sylvin replies, already tossing a pillow dramatically into his corner along the dirt wall.
Torryn surveys the layout and shakes his head. “We’re all going to wake up with you sprawled on top of us, I’m sure.”
“Only Wren could get that lucky,” Sylvin hums before plopping down onto his back. “Come here, little echo. My tummy hurts from all this tension since you arrived. Soothe me, please.”
Riven groans and says he’s going to get the other pillows, meanwhile Torryn grumbles about going to get food for us all.
I don’t move, instead I just watch the dynamics between us unfolding like this is perfectly normal. There’s a pang in my chest as wonder and gratitude fills me.
They’re willing to give me this moment and share my heart, despite how messy all of our feelings are, how unresolved the details are of what this choice brings, and how disastrous it could be between the factions.
The warmth of the moment wraps around my shoulders and sinks into my bones, but even as I cross toward the shared bed to snuggle next to Sylvin, one name lingers in the back of my mind.
Azyric.
