Page 43
Before he could pick apart the lie, we rounded the grand archway leading into the central gallery. The quiet corridor suddenly erupted into a hive of activity. Heralds, armorers, and court stewards swarmed the halls; Hauling heavy oak tables, ceremonial banners, and polished silver platters in a rushed choreography.
“They’re throwing the formal rules out early today, Princess,” Soren murmured under the clatter of a passing tray.
“Fae lawlessness looks surprisingly tedious to organize,” I retorted, trying to ignore the knot tightening in my stomach.
We cleared the southern archway, stepping out onto the wide granite terrace that overlooked the valley. The solstice wind hit my cheeks like a slap of ice, but the freezing draft broke the moment my eyes locked onto the massive gathering at the edge of the castle walls.
My father stood at the center of the high stone precipice, his long charcoal robes whipping around his ankles. He carried no staff and wore no crown today, but his green eyes were wide and vacant, anchored in his foresight. Surrounding him in a wide crescent were seven high lords of the provinces—including Dellyn, whose emerald cloak stood out like a fresh bruise against the grey frost.
Together, they raised their hands toward the sky.
A massive display of magic hummed from their fingertips—a shimmering distortion of the air, a dome of glass-like energy that expanded outward, rolling down the rocky cliffs like a physical wave. The ward stretched far and wide, lacing deep through the ancient pine forest and sweeping across a dark section of the frozen lake below.
The moment the boundary settled into the stone, the environment inside the valley shifted.
Outside the shimmering dome, winter frost clung to the granite and snow drifted through the peaks. But inside the field, the air turned instantly warm. The ice covering the lake cracked and dissolved, the dark water transforming into a steaming mirror that radiated a tropical heat. The snow on the pine needles melted into glittering drops of dew.
It was an illusion built with one purpose: to make the environment comfortable. It gave the court an excuse to peel off their heavy armor, cast aside their stiff formal silks, and indulge every urge without the inconvenience of frostbite. A sanctuary where the high lords could drown in wine and skin, calling it a holy tribute to the three moons.
I leaned my forearms against the cold stone balustrade, watching the steam rise from the lake. In all my twenty-three years, I had never been in Nymeria during the winter solstice. Every single year, my portal dates had been adjusted with precision, keeping me on Earth until the festival had passed.
Aerynn. A dry smirk touched my lips. My brother had rigged the scheduling. The gilded heir couldn’t stomach the thought of his younger sister participating in a realm-wide ritual of uninhibited surrender. He’d probably bribed the portal mages with a cellar’s worth of Nyelmelle wine just to keep my grass-stained Converse firmly planted in California.
His protective manipulation had finally run out of time. I was here.
A strange, nervous spark flared in my chest, cutting through the physical bruises Caspian had left on my ribs. It felt like the eve of my twenty-first birthday back home—the same restless rush before hitting the dive bars off the highway, waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Only here, the stakes were steep enough to break a kingdom.
Standing on the cusp of this ancient lawlessness at twenty-three, I looked down at the chaos. If I survived the obsidian sand on the first day of spring—if I could somehow out-fight the hidden heir of More Alora—I would have centuries of these solstice nights ahead of me. One of the few wild privileges of this Fae blood was the long lifespan stretching out into the dark.
“You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re calculating the weight of the horizon.”
The gravelly voice came from my left, turning the skin on my neck warm.
Caspian.
He stepped up to the balustrade in his usual scuffed leathers. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the midnight hours tracking a princess through a freezing forest. He didn’t look like someone who had watched another lieutenant kiss me in the fog. His sharp features were a solid wall of military indifference. The possessive storm that had flashed in his blue eyes last night was locked away behind the stoic armor of the High Captain. He looked completely unbothered.
And that pissed me off more than anything.
He leaned his forearms against the stone rail, watching the shimmering distortion of the ward rolling across the black lake.
“Enjoying your day off from the mats, Princess?” Caspian asked, his voice low.
Princess. Not Tauriel. Not Trouble. Princess.
I shifted my weight, the sapphire velvet of my formal gown brushing against the tough leather of his sleeve, a sudden spark of friction passing between us. I tried to hide the sudden jump in my pulse, but the relief in my chest was hard to mask.
“It turns out my skull functions better when the royal instructor isn’t actively trying to turn my mind to liquid,” I said, a dry laugh escaping my lips as I leaned back against the rail. “It was brutal yesterday. If I had to endure another hour of Malakai digging through my childhood memories, I would have used my training blade on his throat.”
Caspian didn’t offer a smirk. His jaw set hard, his blue eyes narrowing as he caught the dark shadows beneath my eyes. He noticed the slight shake in my hands—he noticed everything—but before the quiet between us could turn heavy, Soren stepped up from the archway.
“The rotations are locked for the outer gates, Cas,” Soren said, his smooth baritone breaking the space between us.
I took two steps away from them, moving down to the corner under the guise of watching the high lords. My father’s fingers were still tracing invisible fractures in the air, his green eyes vacant as he anchored the tropical heat into the valley. I wrapped my cloak tighter against the breeze, tilted my head toward the horizon, and deployed a thin thread of magic—tuning my hearing to catch the deep tone of their voices over the wind.
“The King has altered the night’s watch,” Caspian’s voice drifted into my mind, low and clear through the magic. “You’re relieved of duty for the duration of the festival, Soren. Fjörn wants the inner guards rested, or perhaps he simply recognizes that even the shadow hounds need to answer the three moons. Enjoy the festival however you see fit.”
A brief pause followed the command. I caught the slight movement of Soren’s posture in my peripheral vision as he shifted his weight, his brow furrowing in surprise.
