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She was armed to the teeth. Good weapons too. Not fancy or bejeweled, but quality. Cared for.

“Who are you?” I whispered, low enough no one else could hear.

She smirked. “I said you could stay. I didn’t say you could ask questions,Your Majesty.”

Your Majesty.The way she said it, with disdain, made me shiver. She had no love for royalty, no fear.

“So you figured it out?” I scrunched my face in mock embarrassment. “Erm, Guess I drank a bit too much. Got carried away. How’s the handkerchief?”

“Beautiful workmanship.”

“My sister’s.”

“Is it spelled?”

“Shadow-stitched for protection.”

She shrugged. “Then it’s a good gift.”

I almost regretted the loss of Eleanor’s handiwork, but knowing this female had accepted my protection calmed my nerves. It bolstered me.

“Ugh, I can’t fight like this,” she murmured, tugging off her headscarf. Strands of silky red hair tumbled over her shoulders.

My gaze went to her fae features: arched ears and antlers. Her antlers were small, like a youth’s. But she was clearly my age…

“I havesomefae heritage,” she explained. “My mother is human, but she never told me about my sire. I don’t even know if he was full-fae.”

She stepped to the side, storing her scarf and cloak before facing the denser fog. The mists swallowed our ship. Visibility decreased with each moment, and while a hopeful sun glowed in the distance, we journeyed into darkness.

“I’m curious,” she mused. “I assume you have shadow magic.”

“I do.”

She grinned, so different from the timid woman I’d met the night before. When she removed her cloak and scarf, she had shed the last of her illusions. With this encroaching fog, there was no longer space for pretense.

She stood strong and tall, her head reaching my chin. She wasn’t rigid, but aware and poised, prepared to wield her weapons. It was a posture I understood, a readiness learned under the watch of vultures, those ready to strike the weak.

There was fuel to her fire. Would she warm me or burn me? Either way, I wanted to get closer. “Well, can you at least tell me your name?” I asked.

“You’re Zayne, aren’t you?” she replied. “Prince of the Shadow Court.”

“I asked for your name, not mine.”

She smirked, glancing around. She seemed to be hiding from someone… I could respect that.

“In the possibility of an attack, my shadow magic will be useful against the Shades,” I answered.

“Do you know much about the Shades?”

“Some.” Most necromantic knowledge was taboo and lost. Luckily, I’d discovered a few abandoned texts on my last trip into Gloom.

“What are the Shades?”

“If I tell you, will you give me your name?”

After a moment, she answered, her voice low so nobody could overhear, “It’s Ayla.”

I had expected her to lie, but it sounded true.