I just stare at him–at his outstretched palm, at the moonlight that paints the high cut of his cheekbones and the lazy curve of his smile, as if this very moment hasn’t happened before. As if this is the first time he’s welcomed meinto his kingdom.
But it’s not. This is the same moment I lived before–the same welcome, the same waiting hand, the same hush in the trees.
Footsteps crunch softly against the frost-dusted path.
“My king,” a voice calls out. “We’ve received word from the northwestern watch.”
The sound of it nearly knocks the breath from my chest.
It’s him. The same general, but with a succinct, clipped tone. This time there’s no panic. No stammering apologies. No shame.
Sylvin lowers his hand, turning just slightly to face him. “Report.”
The general inclines his head. “A fleet of human vessels attempted to approach from the sea shortly after dusk, but they were sighted well before they reached the shore. Our guards responded instantly. The ships were halted offshore and remain frozen in place. No landfall was made.”
My ears ring and I stumble back as my hand presses to the tight pain coiling in my chest.
I didn’t imagine any of that.
Did I?
I can still feel the scream building in my lungs from the pain the earth felt with the attack that shook the ground. I can still see the wide eyes of the youngguard before he fell from his bullet wound. I can still hear the cry of the forest as it burned.
No…I didn’t imagine it. I lived it, even if no one else did. Even if this world wants to pretend it never happened.
The cold wraps tighter around me, seeping into my bones as I listen.
Sylvin nods once, his expression unreadable. “And casualties?”
“None on our side,” the general says. “They didn’t get close enough to engage.”
I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to anchor myself in this version of the world.
Because it’s real–this moment, this quiet, this breath of peace.
But so was the other one.
Chapter 17
Sylvin
The halls of the castle are eerily quiet tonight.
Frost curls along the edges of each arched corridor in spiraling, deliberate patterns, glittering beneath the suspended orbs of light that hover near the ceiling like low stars. The walls gleam in soft tones of blue and white, lacquered stone catching moonlight through the high, beveled windows. The castle has never looked more regal, more precise.
So why does it all feel perfectly misaligned?
Wren walks beside me, her steps unhurried, her silence pressing heavier than it should. She holds her arms loosely across her midsection, fingers shifting against her bare arms as though warding off a chill she isn’t acknowledging.
I don't think she’s afraid–she never seems to be–but there’s a quiet unrest to her tonight.
She has always met discomfort with mettle made of steel and words of honesty, yet tonight she doesn’t even meet my gaze.
I glance at her again, more subtly this time. The light catches the edge of her cheek, painting the curve of her jaw and lips. She’s beautiful, but beneath that, she’s unsettled.
My magic is quiet, but not at rest. It skims beneath my skin, slow and coiled, as though waiting for a thread to tug it loose. I’ve always listened to my gut, and right now, I know something isn’t right…not just for Wren, but myself, as well.
Still, I say nothing, not wanting her to feel I’ve become too overbearing after having her in my court for mere minutes.
