Page 36 of The Fox Heir

Something in my heart aches. It’s a beautiful story. Lovers separated by circumstance but brought together in darkness. Together, their love created the Northern Kingdom before it was Annwyn. Before the Dead Queens and the endless war with Llwyn. Their forbidden love created the fae. And the wolves who out-survived most of them.

My eyes drift from the glass ceiling to the tree. It feels oddly familiar.

“It looks like one of the trees from the tapestries in the throne room.”

“That’s because it is.”

I turn to look at him.

He meets my gaze. “It’s the first tapestry to the right of the throne.”

“And the others?”

“Those trees are spread across Annwyn. Each is sacred.”

“Sacred to whom?”

“Fair point.” He nods. “Sacred to some. The fae kings and queens worshiped here long before the humans took power.”

He trails his fingers along the carvings on another boulder. This one has the vague shape of a bear with antlers. It stands on its hind legs, ready to attack.

“Some people still pray here,” Tristan says. “Mostly hoping their savior will return, bringing an era of prosperity again.”

“The Heir to the North.”

He nods once, letting his hand fall. The motion is sharp, almost dismissive, though his eyes hold mine a beat too long. I wonder what fae family the carving represents. What deed earned them the right to be remembered in a temple built for a god?

“It sounds like a beautiful fairy tale.”

Tristan shrugs. “Some people think it is. Others …” His words fade, but I know what he means. One person’s fairy tale is another person’s faith. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Above our heads, a rumble makes me flinch. Snow falls from the ceiling’s highest point, cascading from the peaks to the valleys. The small avalanche clears a window to the sky above. Sunlight beams through, igniting the tree in a glorious halo. I lift a hand, shielding my eyes from the brightness.

I hold my breath as I take in the sight. “The mirrors,” I whisper. Each shard of glass reflects the light a hundredfold.

It takes me a moment to realize the ground is glittering too. Quartz stones push up from the soil and moss, some no larger than peas, others the size of human skulls. I crouch to pick one up, brushing dirt and lichen from the stone to examine it. I can only imagine what the courtyard was like before the castle around it fell to ruin. How sacred it must have felt when priestesses scrubbed the stones and lit candles in the moonlight.

“I can see why people worshiped here.”

When I glance up, Tristan’s eyes are on the tree. The mirrors above shift, scattering light in fractured patterns. One catches his reflection, and in it, his gaze meets mine. We stare at each other through the glass, as if through another realm. My heart beats faster, and a tight cord coils inside me. I can’t keep my imagination from wandering to the time when this temple was reserved to worship lovers. When it was sacred to a goddess made of moonlight and a god as immovable as a tree.

“These mountains are ancient,” Tristan says, breaking the spell.

I blink and look away from his reflection, heat rising to my cheeks.

He nods toward the stone in my hand. “Quartz. It survives pressure most things can’t.”

“It makes them sparkle.” I turn it in my palm. The thought sticks in the recesses of my mind like honey. Maybe I changed under the Fox King’s pressure. Perhaps I emerged luminous, even. “Too bad for my father.”

Tristan tilts his head. “Why’s that?”

“He always believed pressure makes people crumble.”

“The Fox King is a fool.” His voice is low but certain.

I let out a hollow laugh. “Maybe. But so far, his methods seem to be working.”

“To keep building his empire.”