Varek steps forward first. His hand spreads over my back, warm and steady, spanning muscle and softness like he’s memorising both, guiding me towards the open gate at the far end of the courtyard. The contact is light, barely there, but the bond reacts instantly.
Warmth.
Relief.
Behind us, Dawson slips his hand into Aelith’s again. “See?” he murmurs cheerfully. “That went pretty well.”
Aelith mutters something in Glowranthian that definitely doesn’t sound like agreement. He then leads Dawson away, and I swallow hard.
They’re really staying? Here? Fuck, but what about Dawson? Sure, he’s the prince’s mate, but he definitely won’t be safe.
The walk across the courtyard feels endless. Every step sends pain through my ribs and arm. My body has reached the point where adrenaline is the only thing keeping me upright, and even that’s starting to fade.
Varek stays close enough that if I stumble, he can catch me without making it obvious.
The Crown soldiers watch us the entire time, weapons ready, eyes intense.
We don’t speak until we pass through the palace gate and into the outer street. Even then we keep walking.
The city beyond the palace walls feels strangely distant after the tension of the courtyard. The bright green sky stretches overhead, the sun hanging low and harsh enough that myeyes continue to ache from the sudden exposure after days underground.
We move quickly through the streets. Or as quickly as my injuries allow, at least.
Varek glances over his shoulder once. Then again. Checking. Measuring. Waiting until we’re far enough from the palace that the soldiers on the walls can’t see us clearly.
I open my mouth to ask what the plan is.
He doesn’t give me the chance. “Hendroy.”
The word leaves his mouth like a command, and the air around us changes instantly.
Pressure builds, the temperature drops so fast the hair on my arms stands up, and then the air rips.
A plume of black smoke and shadow spirals into existence directly in front of us, twisting into a vortex that drags the light inward. The street distorts around it, sound dampening as the temperature plummets.
My skin prickles.
Cold and wrong and otherworldly.
Then something steps through.
The Hendroy.
Even knowing what I’m about to see doesn’t make the reality easier.
He towers over us, massive and vaguely humanoid but too fluid to fully belong to any species I recognise. His form seems carved from shadow itself, barbed edges coiling around limbs that shift subtly, as though they’re made of smoke rather than flesh.
His voice is a low distortion that vibrates through the air and straight into bone. “You call.”
I stare openly. “Holy shit.”
The Hendroy’s gaze sweeps over Varek, then moves to me. “You are injured.”
“Understatement,” I mutter weakly.
Varek speaks quickly. “We need transport.”
The Hendroy doesn’t argue.
