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ZOEY

I’ve touchedeach puzzle piece at least a dozen times, trying to make them fit where they don’t belong. The image is supposed to be a forest scene—trees and flowers and wildlife—but right now, it’s just fragments scattered across the table, much like my thoughts. Chaotic, broken, and senseless.

Aerix didn’t come to me last night.

The realization sits heavily in my chest, a cold weight that makes it hard to breathe. I’ve spent the entire night tossing in sheets that feel too empty, too cold without him beside me.

Now, I’m still in my nightclothes, hair half coming out of its braids, my face unwashed. What’s the point? If Aerix has decided I’m not worth his time anymore, then nothing matters. Not breakfast, not appearances, not even the hunger gnawing at my stomach.

I return to the puzzle, but no pieces fit.

So, I swipe my hand across the table, sending a bunch of them scattering to the ground.

I’m picking them up when a knock echoes through the room.

Three precise raps. Aerix’s knock.

I don’t move. I just stare at the door, bracing myself.

Will he be cold and cruel, ready to remind me what happens to humans who forget their place in the Night Court? Will his eyes be flat and empty again, his wings sharp with restrained anger?

The door swings open without waiting for my invitation.

Aerix steps into the room. He’s a vision in black, as always. His wings are folded behind him, sleek and lethal, his expression unreadable.

My heart stutters as I take him in, searching for any sign of the frost and fury from last night. But his face is calm, his midnight eyes clear and untroubled. As if our argument never happened.

And just like that, the pressure in my chest begins to ease.

“Are you coming to breakfast?” he asks casually, stepping into the room.

I blink, thrown completely off balance. “I—what?”

His lips curve into that familiar half-smile that always makes my pulse race. “Breakfast,” he repeats,crossing the room toward me. “The meal one consumes upon waking.” His fingers brush my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here playing with your puzzle?” He glances pointedly at the floor, where the pieces are scattered about. “Although, that looks like it’s going only slightly better than your harpsichord practices.”

Before I can reply, he leans down and kisses me. Not gentle, not explanatory, but a storm reasserting its dominion. His magic swirls around us, cold air caressing my skin, and my body responds instinctively, leaning into him despite my confusion.

When he pulls away, I stare up at him, searching his face for any hint of the wounded man who left me last night.

“What’s going on, Aerix?” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“Going on?” He raises an eyebrow, his head tilting in that predatory way of his that makes a thrill curl up my spine. “I came to ensure my consort will be joining me for breakfast.”

There’s that word again.

Consort.

The one that sparked everything last night.

“Last night, you—” I begin, but a warning tightens in his eyes, sharp beneath the surface.

A clear message: don’t push.

He turns away from me, moving toward the dresser where I keep my sketchbooks. Then, from inside his jacket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper I recognize immediately—the drawing I made with my blood pen. The one where I’d sketched myself riding beside him into court, each of us on our own jaguar.

“I took this while you were sleeping,” he says, unfolding it carefully. “You’ve been improving.”

The realization that he came into my room while I slept—that he went through my things—makes my breath catch, and I’m not sure if it’s in a good or a bad way.