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“Thank you,” Desmond said. “Please find her. The spirit of Morgana Solaria.”
Her eyes widened. “Morgana Solaria,” she echoed. “The Queen of Syrus? You…You’re…”
“Prince Desmond Solaria. Son of King Darius Solaria.”
A look of hurt crossed her face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You loved me for me. I wantedsomeoneto love me as I am. For once.” Emylia stared back at him, brow furrowed. A tic formed at the corner of Desmond’s jaw. “Besides, Father always told me being a royal of this world was nothing when we were the true monarchs of the fae. Now will you find her or not?”
She gave him a curt nod and settled into her meditation.
The room fell under a tense silence as seconds ticked past. Then minutes.
Desmond remained in place at the other side of the desk, hands perched upon his knees. The only sign of his anxiety was the slight jitter of his leg.
“I see her,” Emylia whispered.
Desmond sat upright, posture rigid. “You…you do?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “She looks just like you.”
“Make eye contact. Draw her to you.”
“I…I don’t know—”
“Do it.”
Emylia returned to silence. Then, “I made eye contact. She…she doesn’t look happy.”
“Draw her soul to yours. See yourself connecting with her mind. When she’s close, touch her ethera.”
Emylia trembled from head to toe. “She…she doesn’t want me to touch her.”
“Do it, Emylia,” Desmond growled. “Do it now.”
Emylia let out a strangled cry, then her eyes shot open. Rage darkened her expression. “Desmond,” she said, but her voice sounded wrong. Too deep. Too lilting. “What have you done?”
Desmond clasped a hand over his mouth, his expression twisted with emotion. His throat bobbed. Once. Twice. Finally, he lowered his hand and approached Emylia. “I wanted to hear your voice again, Mother. I miss you so much.”
His mother’s voice hesitated before it emerged from Emylia’s mouth again. “I missed you too, my darling, but this isn't right. You should leave me at peace.”
“I want you to come back.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“What if it is?” With slow, deliberate movements, Desmond leaned forward. One palm covered Emylia’s hands and the crystal within. The other reached for the collar of his jacket and began to loosen the buttons, one at a time.
“What are you doing, Desmond?” his mother’s voice asked.
“I want you back, and I’m willing to sacrifice half my heart to get it.” He now had the top of his coat unbuttoned. He pulled it back to reveal a strange marking on the white shirt he wore beneath it. It was a complex pattern drawn over his sternum, illustrated with a dark ink Teryn suspected was blood.
“No!” his mother’s voice shouted, erupting from Emylia’s lips. A cyclone of air spiraled around Emylia, blowing the seer’s hair back and sending papers soaring off the desk. “I don't want to come back! Leave me at peace!”
“No, Mother,” Desmond said calmly as he lifted Emylia’s hands and brought them toward the marking on his shirt. “I need you.”
The wind increased, and Desmond struggled to bring her hands the rest of the way to his chest. The lanterns lighting the room flared in a roar of fire, casting it in an orange glow. Emylia’s face angled up at Desmond, her lips peeled back from her teeth. “Let. Me. Go.”
Teryn wasn’t sure whose voice spoke then, for it seemed both Emylia and Desmond’s mother cried out in tandem.
