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“Uncle Mark?” The words crack from me in a shriek as my heart thunders in my ears. My nails dig into the armrests of the chair as I hold on for dear life.
Sigurd mumbles some curse I don’t understand. Something clatters on the table, but I can’t look away from this man who looks like he just stepped out of the photograph on grandma’s mantle. His head tilts to the side, and his brows draw together, the mirror image of my memories. It has to be him.
Unless I hit my head harder than I thought.
Hawke stands and brushes the arm of the man who might be Mark. His gaze slides to me, his pupils widening as they emanate a strange glow. “You once mentioned a niece named Wren. Your brother’s daughter?”
“Could it be?” Moria asked in barely a whisper.
The hairs on my arms stand on end. It shouldn’t be possible, but there’s no other explanation.
“Uncle Mark, you remember me, right?” Tears well up out of nowhere.
This man’s ears are pointed, sticking out of his hair. His skin doesn’t have the wrinkles it should, and his eyes are a little too bright. He’s the image of the man who left years ago when I was still a teenager but different all the same.
“Your name sounded familiar,” Hawke says. “But I never thought…”
“Wren.” Lines furrow across Mark’s slightly wrinkled forehead. “Wren…” Then, like a curtain has been pulled back from his mind, his gaze snaps to me. “Wren! Of course, Tim’s daughter.”
I nod, unable to form words. Something hard is lodged in my throat that I can’t quite swallow down. My chest tightens painfully as he takes a step my way.
“You’re here.” He shakes his head. “I can hardly believe it. And you’ve grown so much.” His congenial smile is the same as it always was, but it hits me like a slap to the face.
Here he is, all happy, fine, and calm like we’re meeting at some weird family reunion, as if he didn’t straight up vanish on us all years ago. And apparently, he got remarried. And became a…a fae? He dumped his old life, his old family—heck, his old self—and traded up for this magical life.
“It’s so good to see you.” He steps closer, and I flinch back into the chair.
Oh no. He’s not going to act like this is all fine and peachy.
“You left us and came here? You abandoned your kids. Your wife. Your mom. Me.” All the buried hurt digs its way to the surface. Here he sits, among royals if everything is to be believed, and he couldn’t bother to let us know he was alive? Help us out? “God, you don’t even know you have grandkids!”
Moria whistles and looks away.
I run my hands down my face, trying to scrub away this moment. I stand, unable to be still, and pace in front of my seat. What’s already a nightmare has become even more twisted.
“Wren, I can explain.” Mark reaches for me.
I twist away from him. “I don’t want to hear it.”
It’s too much. All of it. Breaths come short and fast. My face feels like it’s on fire. Fae are real. I’m trapped here. My uncle is alive. He abandoned us to become fae and marry some royal, when all this time we feared he might be dead.
A rogue tear leaks down my face.
I can’t be here. I’d give anything to wake up from this nightmare right now.
My fingers dig into my arms, where I hug them about myself. I don’t wake up, no matter how deep my nails cut.
“Wren.” Sigurd’s voice slices through the cloudy haze of panic rising within me.
Only then do I realize the humorless laughter floating from my lips.
“Sit,” he says. “We’ll—”
“No!” I fling my hands wide. “I’m done with this. I’m done with all of you. Leave me alone!”
I stumble from the table, knocking over the chair and banging my thigh in the worst way. It doesn’t matter. It can’t possibly make this any worse. My face flames as tears run unchecked down my face. I sprint for the bedroom, the one place I can flee to.
They call after me.
