The amusement in his expression faded almost imperceptibly. He turned, posture sharpening. “Try to keep up,” he said flatly, already striding ahead.
We walked in silence, winding through a wing of the castle I hadn’t yet seen. Golden sconces shaped like unfurling vines lit the way, their glow warmer than the cold corridors I’d grown used to. It felt… alive here. Too alive. The warmth unsettled me more than the silence had.
I slowed as we passed a pair of half-open doors. That strange twilight Nyxarra never shed spilled across polished floors. Incense curled from within—sandalwood and smoke seeping into the hall, beckoning.
Opulent. Intentional. I lingered a beat too long.
Malachi didn’t bother to look back. “Keep moving…” he said coolly. “That’s Kaelith’s territory. You’ll want to stay clear unless invited.”
“I’m not in the habit of wandering into other people’s territory,” I replied, though I was already storing away every detail.
“That’s funny, since you’re here,” Malachi countered.
We continued on, descending a spiral staircase toward theheart of the castle. The air grew warmer, scented with herbs and baking bread. The scent grew richer as we approached a wide archway, which spilled into a bustling kitchen.
Figures of every shape and kind moved in practiced rhythm. A woman with translucent wings darted overhead, balancing a basket in her arms. A man with scaled hands chopped herbs in precise motions beside a man stirring a bubbling pot. Across the room, someone with feathers instead of skin turned skewers over an open flame, sparks flying.
I had never seen creatures like these, not in Synnex. Were they servants? Prisoners? Something else entirely?
I couldn’t let myself linger. Aeryn didn’t have time for me to stand here wondering.
“The dining hall is ahead,” Malachi said, not breaking stride.
The hall was a cathedral masquerading as a feast room. Vaulted ceilings soared above, painted with constellations and clouds. A single, massive table stretched the length of the space, black wood veined with gold, its runes glowing faintly. People filled it. Dozens of them—figures I didn’t recognize. Some looked human, others didn’t: eyes that gleamed like molten metal, skin faintly scaled, wings folded tight against chairs too small to hold them. A quartet played music quietly in the room’s corner.
My footsteps echoed against the polished floor as we entered.
And then I saw who must have been Prince Kaelith. He stood at the head of the table, tall and radiant, his silver hair tied at the nape of his neck, a few strands falling artfully loose. His skin gleamed like moonlit marble, his features sharp—handsome in a way that felt calculated. This was the man who stood between me and Aeryn’s life.
His eyes, an otherworldly shade of burnished amber-dark, unsettled me. Too perceptive. Too still.
He smiled as we approached. “Aurelia Moirae,” he said, voicesmooth and melodic. “Welcome to Nyxarra. I’m pleased to see the mist didn’t claim you after all.”
“I’m told it tried,” I replied, keeping my expression unreadable.
“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully, eyes scanning me with interest. Like I was something to be studied. Or unwrapped.
Kaelith’s smile deepened. “You’ve made an impression. Malachi doesn’t usually glower unless something unsettles him.”
“Or maybe he just doesn’t like being ignored,” I said lightly.
Malachi’s reply was quiet steel. “Or maybe I don’t like repeating old mistakes.”
Kaelith gestured toward an empty seat near the head of the table. “Please, join us. Tonight’s meal is a celebration of your arrival, and perhaps… an omen of change.”
That last part made something cold prickle at the back of my neck.
“Generous,” I said, taking the seat cautiously. “I didn’t realize I warranted a feast.”
Malachi pulled out a chair and sat beside me without a word, his expression unreadable.
“That,” Kaelith said, raising his glass, “is what I’m eager to discover. You are a Moirae. You have blood that should have died with your mother, blood older than the vows that bind this realm. The kind of blood legends claim cannot be chained.”
The words landed like a blow. My breath hitched, a sharp flash of confusion cutting through me. My mother? What did he think he knew about her?
The question sparked hot and jagged in my chest, but I swallowed it down, burying the tremor beneath a mask of iron.
His eyes gleamed, cold and curious. “That alone makes you dangerous… and desirable. But legends only whisper of what your line might become. I want toseeit. Test it. Bend it until it either breaks… or proves itself worthy of me.”