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Gods help me. There really was no way to hold on to my annoyance when confronted with that look on his face, with that infinitesimal crack in his deep voice – my father, feeling far too much, hitting my every weak spot all over again. I deflated like a leaking bag, the last of my defiant spite oozing out of me.

‘Alright,’ I murmured. ‘If anything’s wrong, I’ll tell someone.’

Relief washed over his face, and suddenly he looked years older – no wrinkles, not a grey hair to be seen, yet something in the frail lines around his eyes and lips betrayed every single long year he’d lived in this world. ‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’ A chuckle escaped me, wobbly and uncertain. ‘On my alf honour.’

His laughter broke through the tension like a breath of fresh air, unchecked and filled with unexpected gratitude. ‘I’m going to need a word with Tared about this, good gods.’

‘I think he’ll be tremendously pleased if you do,’ I said, jumping from the bed and offering him a hand. He grabbed it without hesitation, allowing me to help him to his feet even though he was a good head taller than me and towered over me as soon as he was standing. ‘I just figured fae honour wouldn’t be all that reassuring to you, given that it doesn’t seem to exist.’

‘Not as such, no,’ he admitted wryly, shaking his head. ‘All the same, I feel your fae upbringing is rather lacking in some areas. Which I suppose is no one’s fault but my own.’

‘You’re getting much better at being a father, though,’ I said without thinking.

It came out so lightly, a throwaway remark blurted out all the more easily because of the sincerity with which it fell from my lips. Only as he froze in place did I fully realise what I’d said – and how many times Ihadn'tsaid it, had barely given myself the time to think it.

Father.I rarely even spoke the word out loud to him. He’d been so far removed from any sense of family when we’d found each other at the Golden Court, with his ancient mind and his fae heart and his never-ending schemes and plots … But my hearthadskipped a beat at the news of the attack on the court. Hehadstormed in to rescue me from Creon’s wiles the moment Edored had revealed our secrets.

And then, for all his worry and objections, hehadcongratulated me.

‘Oh.’ His voice emerged a little choked. His eyes – that one part of him that had always been familiar, mirroring my own – gleamed with something that lay a fraction of an inch removed from panic. ‘I— Oh. That’s … good.’

I managed a laugh, suddenly no longer quite sure where to look. ‘Well. Yes.’

His answering chuckle was no less strained. He looked so lost, suddenly, more ill at ease than even that expensive silk shirt or twelve centuries of habitual dignity could conceal. I couldn’t help but wonder, with unexpected, almost violent urgency, how long it had been since anyone had told Agenor Thenes, former Lord Protector of the Mother’s court, that he was doing well; for all his prestige and respectable authority, hadn't he lived most of his life as starved for actual friends and family as I had?

‘Well,’ he said and cleared his throat, gold-stained fingers fidgeting restlessly by his side, ‘I should probably be going. They’re still evacuating the court – can’t leave the alves to manage it all by themselves.’

Wait! I wanted to burst out, thoughts spinning, words aching on my tongue.Damn the alves. Sit down and tell me about you. I know more about your titles than about your childhood memories, know how you fight your wars but not what food you like … Can’t you stop being the lord of the Golden Court for a minute? Can’t you just be my father for once?

‘Agenor …’ I started.

NotFather.NeverFather.

He frowned as I faltered. ‘What is it?’

‘I … I was just wondering …’ It shouldn’t be so damn hard, getting it past my lips. I shouldn’t be bracing myself for mockery and refusals, not from the male who’d told me plainly enough that hehadwanted me – and yet I found myself dragging out every word like a heavy boulder that might just bounce back into my face. ‘If things have calmed down a little – with the Golden Court and the evacuation and everything – would you—’

A door slammed, no more than a corridor away.

Running footsteps. Someone crying out in shock. And Beyla’s voice, sharp and urgent – ‘Emelin!Emelin!’

In the blink of an eye, all traces of vulnerability were gone.

Agenor had turned and swept open the bedroom door before I could even shut my mouth, wings flaring out in alarm behind his shoulders. Coral shot after him with her fangs out. Now I heard Lyn in the distance, crying something about fights and blood and for Inika’s dear sake, would we all becareful?

The Golden Court.

The evacuation.

There was no time to ask questions. No time to stop and think. Beyla stormed into the room in a flash of silver-blonde hair and drawn swords, a streak of blood running down her temple; the glow of alf magic pulsed around her in uneven flickers. She didn’t grant Agenor as much as a look. Instead, she easily jumped over Coral and strode towards me, free hand reaching for my upper arm.

‘What—’ I started.

Her fingers closed around my shoulder.

Agenor shouted my name, eyes wide with outrage. Lyn sprinted into view in a sizzle of fire. But the world was already blurring around me, their voices already muted, and the smoky light and the books and the iridescent walls of the Underground mingled like wet paint as Beyla faded me out of that safe room and into gods knew where in the world.