“Why do you think, Elorie?” Callum smirks.
“But you’re here.”
He shrugs. “Guess he doesn’t see me as a threat.”
My chest swells, and I don’t know what to make of what Wilder has done. He must have sensed my unease returning from Solace, my worry for what the king might want. So he found a way to protect me.
And here I am, preparing to participate in a Rite that will doom everyone he cares about.
“Don’t worry about the king,” Callum says in an attempt to be reassuring when the king isn’t who I’m worried about. “He’s busy preparing the palace for the Rite. We all are.”
No one has bothered to explain the details of the Rite, and while I should probably care, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think about tomorrow night and what it will mean for me or Wilder.
Will the Rite change how I feel about him? Will we lose this thread that connects us entirely? Will I suddenly have stronger feelings for King Malachi?
Is the king capable of feeling anything for someone else? If his relationship with Selia is any indication, I doubt it.
For Alyssium, I remind myself.
For Letia. For her siblings.
For Mabel.
For everyone I’ve left behind who the Fae don’t care about. I fight for them.
Callum reaches for my hand. “It will be okay, Elorie. I’ll be here.”
“I know you will.” I squeeze back.
“I mean it. I’ll be here even when it’s done.”
“You aren’t going to return to Alyssium?” My eyebrows lift in surprise. “Assuming the Rite heals whatever is blocking passage? I know you don’t want to be a part of the royal court anymore.”
“I promised your father I’d protect you. I’ve failed you on that in more ways than I care to remember, but I’m not going to leave you alone in this.”
There’s sadness in his eyes, even as he toys with a strand of my hair.
“What about your father? You can’t avoid him here.”
He shrugs. “I’ll survive.”
“And your mother? You never talk about her.”
“My mother is dead.” His hand falls to his side, and my heart sinks as he turns and paces toward the window.
With the glowing shell of magic, he can’t see through, but he stares at the glass anyway.
“Were you close with her?” I take a step, pausing when I realize he may not want to talk about it. “If you prefer I don’t bring her up, I understand.”
“It’s fine.” Pain swirls in his eyes when he glances at me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve let myself think about her. I was still young when she died.”
“What’s young for a Fae?”
“Ten.”
My eyes widen. “You were truly young then.”
“I was.”
