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But mornings, when he was smiling and lazy and only a little wicked—those were her favorite.

They moved together slowly, like they’d done this a hundred times. Like they would do it a hundred more. The bond pulsed bright, flooding her with the heat of him—of them—filling that hollowness inside her where her magic should’ve been. And for one breathless moment, she felt whole.

After, she lay with him a minute longer, his arm draped heavy across her waist, the bond a quiet thrum against her ribs. But she wasn’t built for stillness, and Skye would happily nap until noon. So, she rolled free, kissing his shoulder before climbing out of bed. Pulling her nightdress back down over her hips, she padded barefoot toward the washroom.

By the time she’d rinsed her face and braided back her hair, the warmth from before had already started to fade. Not between them—that still pulsed quietly in her chest, steady as breath. But everything else…

Everything else was wrong.

Without her magic, the world dragged. She moved through the house like she was walking through molasses, aware of time passing but unable to sync with it.

She made coffee and forgot to drink it. Tried to organize her notes, only to realize she was holding the same page ten minutes later. She started a dozen tasks and finished none—moving from one to the next with a strange, weightless urgency, like if she just kept going, she’d eventually remember what she was chasing.

And through it all, those runes on her wrists continued to mock her.

It was the same spell her mother had used to make her human—one of them, at least. But back then, she hadn’t known the difference. There were no memories to compare it to, no sense of what had been taken.

But now—now sheknew.

She knew what it felt like to touch the Weave. Not just power—it was a current, an extension of herself. An infinite reach that made the world sharper, every breath richer, every step more certain.

And now, she knew what it felt like to lose it.

Even walking felt strange. Her body didn’t move the way it used to. Not quite clumsy, just out of rhythm—like her feet landed a second after she thought about moving. She stubbed her toe on the chair leg in the library, ran into every sharp corner. She wasn’t allowed to help in the kitchen anymore after she kept slicing her fingers open.

When dinner finally rolled around, it was light—sandwiches and fruit. There would be plenty of food at the festival, enough even for a hungry shadow mage, though it didn’t stop Skye from raiding the pantry while Taly ran upstairs to change.

She passed Ivain on the stairs between the second and third floors, already dressed for the festival in a dark green brocade suit. He called after her.

“Taly, a moment.”

Back stiff, she stopped and turned to face him.

He didn’t balk beneath her silent anger.

“It’s important that we appear united tonight. As a family.” He held out a black velvet box in offering. “I’d like you to wear this.”

Great. What now? Did he want to give her a leash?

Taly descended the few stairs it took to reach the box, flipping back the lid to reveal a hairpin. At its center, two concentric circles gleamed, one made of polished silver, the other a darker, matte material—perhaps obsidian. A thin raised line of gold cut down the center like a boundary.

It was beautiful—exactly to her taste. Taly lifted her eyes, and Ivain searched them, obviously looking for some sign of approval.

She snapped the box closed. “Is this an order or a request?”

Ivain sighed. “Just wear it.”

An order then. And the only appropriate response to that was a flat, “Yes, sire.”

Ivain’s mouth tugged into a frown. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, sire?”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sire.”

His jaw tightened, and she had to bite her inner cheek to keep from smirking. Because while he knew how to handle her anger, he’d never been able to stand her indifference.