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Would she want to be my bride—my only bride—my wife, my queen, my love?

Gwyn’s hand trembles. It’s subtle but noticeable now that I know her signs of burnout.

She needs to end the connection soon.

This—whatever this has become—is something we’ll unpack later.

“Answer her question, Mother,” I demand again. “Elder or younger?”

Her hands find her hips. “Why does it matter? He’s not a threat to the Crown.”

“The male you once knew has betrayed you, Queen Eliana,” Gwyn explains, voice as shaky as her grip on the Threshold. “He told me as much this evening before he—” She cuts herself off as her free hand drifts to her cheek, and she swallows.

“He struck you?” Mother’s gaze fixes on Gwyn as she steps closer.

Gwyn nods briefly as Mother reaches out, fingers grazing the handprint on her cheek.

“I can hardly believe this,” she says, hand falling limply to her side. “Why would Devlin do such a thing?”

“Because I angered him after he told me he bent you to his will to get what he wanted.”

“He said that?” she asks, voice laced with disbelief.

“He did,” Gwyn murmurs. “Devlin manipulated you into cursing Riven, and now the Fae Isles are suffering because of it.”

“You must have it all wrong.” She eyes me skeptically and asks, “Who even told you about the vow?”

“Rosemarie,” I say.

Mother’s eyes widen. “You summoned your grandmother?”

“Gwyn did,” I clarify. “And Rosemarie told me exactly how to break your curse.”

“Your vow to me cannot be broken.”

“It can,” I say firmly. “By marrying an otherworld bride.”

Her nostrils flare. “If you’ve already spoken to your grandmother, why summon me, Riven? To ask for my blessing?”

“No,” I retort. “We summoned you because I require proof of Devlin’s corruption to remove him from my godsdamned council. His behavior toward Gwyn isn’t enough. And before I accuse the entire council of treason, I wanted to see if you knew of where I might be able to find a shred of evidence against Devlin.”

She lets out a hollow, incredulous laugh. “I’m dead, dear son. How would I know?”

“You spent plenty of time together when you were alive.” I tilt my head to the side. “Where would he hide important documents or anything that might incriminate him?”

She blinks. “I-I don’t remember.”

“Think, Mother.”

She goes silent, lips pressed into a thin line.

Finally, after another drawn-out moment, she sighs. “His desk drawer had a false bottom, but you need a key to open it.”

“Did he keep the key on him?”

Her brows knit. “Not that I recall.”

“Is there anything else at⁠—”