I watched from the window as Ambrose practiced his meditation in the meadow, the rhythmic sound of rushing water from the sink providing a soothing backdrop. His chest rose and fell slowly, and he looked so at peace—a stark contrast to the turmoil that never stopped swirling within me. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that peace might return. Then I turned away, giving myself permission to let go of him just long enough to retrieve his next lessons.

  The floorboards creaked beneath me as I stepped through the threshold into my room. I kicked aside the large gray shaggy rug, revealing the square cutout hidden in the wood. Kneeling beside it, I gently removed the panel, the scent of dust and time rising from below. Inside were old leather-bound books, volumes far older than I was. I picked one up, brushing my fingers across its dusty cover. The dust billowed upward and caught in my lungs. I coughed, blinking against it, reminded of how long it had been since I last opened the Fullvalda texts.

  The books had been protected by Cruthu magic—durable, intricate spells meant to survive even catastrophe. They'd made it through the Fall, but once the old magics died, that protection began to fail and disappeared. Many were damaged before I could find them. Others were lost forever. I had spent centuries gathering what remained.

  Human archaeologists spent lifetimes trying to decipher their strange symbols, chasing theories and crafting elaborate linguistic puzzles. They called it an "undeciphered proto-script." I almost pitied them. The language of the Fae Gods wasn't something you learned. It was something your soul had to remember. A truth buried so deep in your bones that only those descended from the divine could hear it.

  It took hundreds of years, but I had nearly the entire collection now. I ran my fingers down the spines, brushing off the last of the dust and stacking the selected journals in a neat pile beside me.

  I laid three of the texts out on the kitchen table. Each journal bore the voice of a different Fullvalda. Some dated back to the time of the First War—when the Gods first created the Fae. Their feuds had bled into our magic, twisting our gifts into weapons and sending us into war on their behalf. After centuries of devastation, they agreed to cease their fighting and severed the ties between their realms, isolating us within eight disconnected worlds.

  In those early ages, Fae could open portals freely. They traveled between Realms using their own magic, weaving paths and bridges through the invisible and unnamed space between our Realms. But once the Gods closed the threads, only one gateway remained per Realm. Control of those gateways became power. And those who claimed it became our royal families.

  Growing up, I used to dream about the other Realms—Valo's prism towers, Cordelia's sea temples, Arcanum's veiled cities. I'd lie awake wondering where the gate might be hidden within the Adair palace, listening for clues in court gossip. But no whisper, no rumor, ever revealed its location. It was their best-kept secret.

  I picked up one of the journals, tracing the gold-inscribed name along its spine. That was the one thing all the texts had in common. The name of the Fullvalda was always the title. A quiet declaration that their life had meant something. Mine was not among them.

  No name etched in gold. No legacy carefully recorded. My story had never been one with a happy ending, and I had never been arrogant enough to pretend otherwise.

  I gently placed the book back down and moved toward the window again. Relief bloomed in my chest when I saw Ambrose still sitting in the meadow, exactly as I had left him, sunlight catching in the dark curls that framed his face. I crossed the field slowly, tall grass brushing against my legs as I approached.

  I rested a hand on his shoulder.

  "It's time to come inside, Ambrose. I have something to show you."

  He opened his eyes and blinked up at me. Then he stood, brushing grass from his tunic, and followed me back toward the house.

  As soon as he entered the kitchen, he gravitated toward the books, eyes wide. "What are these?" he asked, reaching for the top journal, his fingers reverent.

  "Ancient Fullvalda texts," I said. "Written by those who came before us. I have more, but for now, you need to learn to read them."

  He opened the book carefully, scanning the symbols. His eyebrows furrowed.

  "I'm supposed to learn a whole new language?" he asked, his voice raising in disbelief. "It's just a bunch of squiggles."

  I slid into the seat beside him, the wooden chair groaning under my weight. "It's not a language you learn—it's one you inherit. You'll understand it soon. The meanings will begin to take a form you know."

  He flipped a page. Then another. His frown deepened. Even in the old worlds, I never had the time to teach him the language of the Gods. I wish I could have. Maybe if I had, this wouldn't be so difficult now.

  He stared at the same passage for a long time, willing it to make sense. I watched the determination in his face flicker into frustration. Eventually, he slammed the book shut and let his forehead fall into his palms.

  "This isn't working!" he groaned. "Can we do something else, please?"

  I couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped me. He sounded so young. And he was, in many ways. Even now. "What would you like to do?"

  He raised his eyes, resting his chin in his hands as he thought. "You still haven't told me where I come in the story," he said. "How did we meet?"

  A smile tugged at my lips. "That's precisely the next part of the story."

  He leaned in, eyes bright, elbows on the table.

  "It was at the illumination ceremony," I said, my voice growing distant as the memory stirred. "A few weeks after Briar proposed."

  -------

  I was lying on the mossy floor of my chamber, feet crossed, arms outstretched, staring up at the blackened scorch marks on my wall. The remnants of the day I lost Leo. The day Briar placed a ring on my finger.

  I rolled onto my side, tracing the gold vines that clutched the emerald at the center of my engagement ring. It was beautiful. I hated it.

  I hadn't left my room much since. Only when summoned. I played the part—walked beside Briar through gardens, attended dinners, smiled when expected. But inside, I was still that girl beneath the moss, wondering how much more of myself I'd have to give up.

  A loud knock shattered the silence.

  I sat up, smoothing the wrinkles from my nightgown. I walked to the door and placed my hand on the stone. Whispering the phrase carved above it, I stepped back. The stone shimmering gold and groaning open to reveal two guards. And between them—Briar.

  He stepped past them without ceremony, his eyes scanning my chamber. "You know," he said, "when I was a kid growing up here, I always asked my parents to open this door. It was the only place in the world I wasn't allowed to go. The one thing I couldn't have."

  He turned to face me.

  "Now that I've seen it, I think I should've spent my time wishing for better things."

  I didn't bother with a reply.

  He studied me, eyes narrowing slightly. "You look absolutely awful," he said. "I can't be seen at the illumination ceremony next to you like this."

  He clapped his hands twice.

  Lady Nerezza emerged as if she'd been waiting just beyond the threshold.

  "Please make my lovely bride-to-be presentable for the court," Briar said, his tone dipped in irony. He stepped toward me and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers grazed my cheek, and my skin flinched beneath his touch.

  But part of me wished he hadn't stopped. Part of me craved the warmth.

  Lady Nerezza reached for my arm, but I yanked it away.

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  "No," I said. "I'm done playing along so easily. I'll attend. I'll do what you want. But only if you let me see my mother first."

  The room froze. They hadn't let me see her in months. Not since the well before engagement. I knew they kept her as leverage—something to dangle when my loyalty wavered. But tonight, I had power too. The eternal pair bond was sacred. If the other realms learned the Adair family had broken it not once, but twice for political gain—especially with my true pair being from Arcanum—war would come. A storm they couldn't afford.

  Briar's expression shifted. He stepped toward me, closing the space between us until my back was pressed against the cold stone wall. He took my chin in his hand and tilted my gaze up to his.

  "You may see her," he said quietly, "after you're dressed and only If there's enough time."

  Then he leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of my cheek.

  "Don't get used to making demands," he whispered. "Even if I find your little rebellion adorable."

  He stepped back, gaze lingering on mine for just a moment longer. Then he left.

  I peeled my back from the wall and let out a deep breath, accepting the small victory I had won. Lady Nerezza's hand clamped onto my arm like a tether, her tone brisk but not cruel.

  "If you want any time at all with your mother, we must get to work quickly," she said. For once, it sounded almost like concern. Almost.

  I didn't protest or drag my feet; in fact, I pushed past her with uncharacteristic urgency, my steps swift through the twisting corridors I had memorized long ago. A smile crept onto my lips, and the muscles in my face twitched, as if surprised to find themselves in use. It felt alien—like my skin didn't know how to carry joy anymore. But I let it stay.

  I settled into the small white vanity chair and waited for the familiar ritual. At Lady Nerezza's rushed clap, the silent handmaidens flowed in like shadows. They worked quickly, twisting my hair into metal coils and braiding golden threads through the strands. New flowers—soft, glowing blooms I didn't recognize—were woven into the crown they created. I flinched at the cool, wet paste they smoothed over my face. A tint of red was brushed over my lips, sweet and syrupy.

  They sculpted me into the image of perfection, as if by polishing me enough they could erase the girl beneath. And this time, I let them. I had no interest in fighting—not when the reward was five precious minutes.

  They guided me onto the dressing pedestal beside the wardrobe. Lady Nerezza opened it and retrieved a gown I hadn't seen before—deep green satin, with lace trim curling like ivy along the hem. Simple. Clean. Striking. I stepped into it, and the corset tightened around me, locking me into place. When they slipped on the gilded shoes and fastened the final strap, I didn't hesitate. I jumped down and nodded toward Lady Nerezza.

  "Take me to her."

  She checked the position of the sun through the window and nodded once. We moved fast through the halls, descending into the belly of the palace. At the bottom of a narrow stairwell, two guards stood watch outside the cell block, their armor marked with the Queen's Guard mountain sigil. Lady Nerezza's voice cut through the air with sharp authority.

  "The Crown Prince has permitted the Fullvalda a brief visit with one of the prisoners."

  The guards exchanged glances, uncertain. Then they stepped aside.

  I didn't wait. I ran.

  Down the stone steps. Past the other cells. Past the prisoners who called out to me, some in desperation, others in hatred, and a few in reverent prayer. I didn't look. I didn't stop.

  At the farthest cell, I dropped to my knees, clutching the bars.

  "Mama?"

  She stirred in the darkness. Her steps were slow, her shackles heavy. As she emerged into the dim light, my breath caught in my throat.

  Her hair was streaked with gray. Her face lined with exhaustion. But her eyes—those radiant green eyes—were untouched by time. Fierce and soft all at once.

  "My Juniper," she whispered, tears already forming. "You look so lovely."

  I reached through the bars, cradling her hands in mine. The black iron of her chains gleamed with embedded Kuroga stones—dampening her power, rendering her magic inert.

  "I promise, Mama," I whispered. "I'll get you out of here. No matter what it takes."

  She shook her head, brushing her fingers gently against my cheek. "As long as you are who you are, I will remain here. That is the truth neither of us can change. But you—you must not let my fate become your own."

  She pulled me closer. "Promise me, Juniper. If you find a chance to run—run. Go to the gateway. Escape this place and never look back."

  "I can't—"

  "Promise me."

  Her voice broke, her hands trembling. But her eyes—those unyielding, forest-bright eyes—pierced me like prophecy.

  Before I could respond, Lady Nerezza's hand locked onto my shoulder.

  "We're going to be late."

  I tightened my grip on the bars. "No."

  "Promise me, Juniper!" my mother cried, her voice cracking like thunder. "Please!"

  "I promise!" I sobbed as the guards dragged me backward, her hands slipping from mine. Her voice chased me up the stairwell like an echo I would never outrun.

  By the time we reached the upper halls, I had stopped struggling. My limbs were leaden. My throat raw. Lady Nerezza pressed a cool cloth to my face, wiping away every trace of the truth. She reapplied the powder and rouge, reshaping my mask.

  Then she nodded. "Perfect."

  We emerged through the rear entrance of the throne room. The royal family waited just beyond the thick ivy curtains. The King stood tall, his expression unreadable. Queen Terra looked me over like a hawk assessing a weakened animal.

  "That was quite an impressive display of power at your engagement," she murmured. "Hard to believe the pathetic girl you used to be has come so far," the second part, a whisper only I could hear. She didn't wait for a response. She never did.

  Briar stepped into the space she left behind and slid an arm around my waist. His grip was gentle this time, like he didn't want to force me—like he didn't need to.

  "If I didn't know any better," he whispered, "I'd think you were starting to enjoy my company."

  I didn't answer. But I didn't pull away, either. His fingers traced soft circles against my hipbone. I let him. I glanced up at him, noticing the faint freckles near his eyes, the way his jaw curved softly beneath his high cheekbones. His dark curls framed his pale face like ivy curling around marble.

  I turned away, flustered. But he didn't tease me. He just smiled.

  I adjusted the bracelet on my wrist, careful not to disturb the paste covering the mark beneath. The lie beneath my skin. The thin layer of paint between peace and war.

  The King raised his hand, and we filed into the main throne room in formal procession. My throne—newly crafted and nestled beside Briar's—waited for me.

  We took our seats as the children began filing in. Nobility in the front. Orphans in the back.

  I was distracted by the festivities and I didn't notice the shadow lurking awfully close to the throne area—until it lunged at me.

  A blur of movement, a flash of silver—then the glint of a blade arcing toward me. I barely had time to inhale. I closed my eyes, accepting the fate that awaited me on the other side of that iron. But the blade never struck.

  I opened my eyes to find a vine—thick, thorned, and vibrant green—coiled tightly around the attacker's throat, lifting him off the ground as he choked and flailed. The air buzzed with power.

  Briar stood at my side, his hand outstretched, eyes glowing with green magic, his breath steady despite the sudden violence.

  "Don't you raise a finger against my love," he growled, each word low and laced with quiet fury.

  I reached for him, placing my hand gently on his arm. "That's enough," I whispered.

  At my touch, the vine loosened and dropped the attacker to the floor with a heavy thud. He gasped, coughing violently, but managed to rise to his knees.

  "Reveal yourself," Briar commanded.

  The hood of the dark cloak fell back.

  My breath caught.

  Light brown eyes, flecked with gold. Blond hair streaked with gray. His face was older now, weathered by grief—but still unmistakable.

  Leo's father. He rose shakily to his feet, eyes burning holes through me.

  "You killed my son, you murderer!" he screamed. A bright orange and yellow sphere of crackling light began to form in his palm. He raised his arm to throw it—But it vanished before it could leave his hand.

  Lady Nerezza stepped from the shadows, her violet eyes glowing with power. Her hands shimmered with a soft purple aura, the same color that snuffed out his magic like a candle in wind.

  Realizing he'd been defeated, the old General spat at my feet.

  "I see this court houses witches and murderers alike," he snarled. "Amathara is no ally of Valo. Not while she walks among you."

  Guards descended upon him, grabbing both arms and dragging him backward through the hall. His eyes never left mine, even as the doors closed behind him. He would be dealt with. And I had no doubt his punishment would be as final as his son's.

  The King, sensing the tension thick in the air, stood from his throne and raised his hand.

  "Let not one bitter soul ruin this most celebratory occasion," he declared, voice calm but firm. "May the first child step forward."

  Each child stepped forward one by one and knelt. The flame passed over their heads. Green light pulsed—Arden, Cruthu, Healer, Rubin….. Each name announced. Each fate sealed.

  I tried to listen. Tried to care. But my focus kept drifting to the boy beside me.

  Briar's hand brushed mine again. Not possessive. Just there. And I didn't move away.

  Hadeon, I reminded myself, as guilt tightened in my chest. Hadeon, Hadeon, Hadeon. Like his name could anchor me. Like it could undo the way Briar's warmth felt steadying and safe.

  We had been sitting here for hours waiting, and finally, we were nearing the end of the line. At this point, the children stepping forward were wearing tattered and dirty clothes, most of them orphans. A small boy with tanned olive skin picked at the skin around his fingernails as he stepped forward. I looked away back to Briar, expecting the same result as all the rest.

  Briar's face suddenly lit up with the most beautiful gold, as if the sun were setting, and the lightest part of his eyes turned into radiant flecks of amber. I smiled, taking in the beauty of his face, but then his expression shifted. Confusion clouded his features.

  I turned to follow his gaze and froze.

  Golden light filled the room—not coming from Briar, but from the small boy now kneeling before the King. The eternal flame flickered wildly above his head, drawn toward something ancient and powerful. The boy trembled, eyes lowered, completely unaware of what had just bloomed across his skin.

  There, glowing brightly on his forehead, was the symbol of the Fullvalda.

  -------

  "What did they do? The people must have been so happy to have two Fullvaldas at once!" Ambrose chimed in, interrupting my storytelling.

  I stood up from the table, taking in the night sky that peered through the window revealing how long the story had taken. "That part of the story will have to wait. For now, it is time for you to rest."

  Hope you enjoyed!