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“Who’s that?”

Looking up, Arabella’s gaze fell upon a middle-aged female with blue eyes as piercing as shards of glass. Like the fae guards, she was garbed in worn leathers and animal skins and boots made for hard labor. Instead of carrying a spear or sword, she held a basket of what appeared to be laundry. Beside her, the child bore a smaller basket of similar fabrics and bounced on their heels.

Both had long, pointed fae ears.

Similar to Arabella, they had pale skin, long limbs, and a fellowship with the shadows.

“Mom,” the child whispered again, loud enough to wake sleeping ogres. “Who’sthat?”

Uncertain what to do, Arabella offered them a small smile.

“A guest of the prince,” the female responded, eyeing Arabella.

She didn’t miss the accusation in her gaze.

What do you want, outsider?

Why didn’t you come before?

If Arabella had been stuck in the Abyss for countless years, she’d probably feel similar—a mixture of curiosity, hope, and fury at no one coming sooner. For them, it had been a thousand years. Plenty of time to build distrust and resentment.

She shrugged off the lingering stares as they passed, feeling the spark of their magic grow smaller as the distance grew between them.

Arabella passed several tunnels that led to rooms filled with fae. All of them were busy with their work or talking with each other as they sat cross-legged on the ground. Some spared looks her way, but many kept their eyes on their tasks.

It felt strangely… domestic.

She hadn’t expected the fae to have found contentment within one of the underrealms. Part of her had thought they’d be starving or hardened from the environment. She hadn’t evenconsidered there’d be children there. But it made sense that some of the warriors could have fallen in love over time and might have wanted children.

Clearing her throat, she said to the guard, “What can I call you?”

She studied the way the cave walls and floors sloped downward and wondered if they were headed toward the base of the mountain.

“Colton,” he said, not looking back at her.

“Were you part of the army that fled to this place?”

Or were you born here?

She realized she had no idea how quickly fae children aged. But if she had to guess, Colton was about the same age as Arden, who looked like he’d be in his thirties if he were human.

“I fought in the fae wars,” he said, his voice cold. “And I followed my prince when he gave the orders to retreat.”

She considered her words for a long moment before saying, “Why do the other fae courts hate the shadow fae?”

Part of her disliked asking the question so bluntly. She didn’t want to imply that the shadow fae held some sort of blame for the terrible predicament they were in. They were victims to unspeakable violence. But why? How did the other courts convince themselves that such an atrocity was acceptable?

Colton paused mid-stride, and she nearly rammed into his back but managed to skid to a stop before colliding with him.

Slowly, he turned toward her.

She realized that, like Arden, his long brown hair was pulled back in a series of smaller braids, which he’d woven into a single long braid that fell down his back. Perhaps this was customary for shadow fae males. Unlike the prince, however, he kept the mask over his mouth and nose at all times.

Colton’s eyes narrowed on her in the dark tunnels. “Indoctrination.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The shadow fae were always among the least liked in the fae courts,” he said. “There has always been a mistrust of shadow magic. Many called it dark magic even though no fae can wield dark magic. Over time, the mistrust turned into hate. There was a slow trickle of misinformation. It was a carefully constructed narrative that the shadow fae were no longer satisfied in our own lands, that we’d take over other courts. That no one was safe so long as we were in power. One moment, it was simple prejudice, and the next we were being hunted down.”