Page 15

"What the hell is happening?" I whispered, my voice carried away by a wind that felt too cold, too hollow.

The forest had always been my sanctuary, the place I returned to when I needed solitude. Now it reeked of decay. I pressed deeper into the woods, toward the heart of the Dark Fae kingdom.

Toward my father.

Fae nobles passed me, their eyes downcast, their normally vibrant colors muted. They didn't speak to me. They didn't need to. The entire realm was in mourning, and I could feel it pressing against my skin like a physical weight.

My mother was gone. And now the realm itself seemed to be dying with her.

I paused at the entrance to the palace, the grand obsidian spires now looking dull under the weakened sunlight. Guards bowed their heads as I passed, a gesture not of respect but of shared grief.

"How is he?" I asked one of them, a warrior who'd served my father for centuries.

"Unchanged, my prince." His voice was rough with emotion. "He hasn't opened his eyes in days."

I nodded, swallowing hard against the knot in my throat. The corridors that led to the royal chambers seemed longer than I remembered, each step a slow march toward something I wasn't ready to face. But I kept walking, letting the shadows drift around me like a comforting cloak.

My father's chamber door was open. Inside, the healers had retreated to the corners, their magic expended, their arts useless against the inevitable. On the massive bed draped in deepest black silks lay Maxiun, King of the Dark Fae, my father, a shell of the formidable ruler he'd once been.

His skin was waxen, with a sickly yellow tinge to it. The dark markings that denoted him as the King of the Dark Fae were fading before my eyes.

The magic that had sustained him for millennia was visibly draining away, little motes of darkness floating up from his body like dying fireflies.

"Leave us," I commanded, and the healers bowed, filing silently from the room.

When the door closed behind them, I moved to his bedside, sinking into the chair someone had placed there. My father's chest barely moved with each shallow breath.

"Father." My voice cracked on the word.

No response. Just the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest.

I reached out, taking his hand in mine. His skin was cold, so fucking cold. Not the usual cool temperature of our kind, but a bone-deep chill that spoke of life slipping away. His fingers, once strong enough to bend steel, lay limp in my grasp.

"I know you can hear me," I continued, leaning forward. "The realm is dying without you. Without mother. The trees are turning black, Father. The fucking trees. I've never seen them do that. I don't know what to do."

Nothing. No twitch of awareness, or sign he'd heard me.

"You need to wake up," I said, fighting against the tightness in my throat. "We need you. I need you."

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. I slumped back in the chair, exhaustion washing over me in a wave. I hadn't slept properly since I'd felt my mother's passing. That soul-deep rending that had dropped me to my knees in the middle of tracking Sierra.

Sierra.

Thinking of her brought an unexpected warmth to my chest, a tiny spark in the darkness threatening to engulf me.

"I met someone." I'm not sure why I'm telling him this, but somehow I know he needs to hear it. My voice sounds too loud in the quiet chamber. "Her name is Sierra. She's..." I paused, searching for the right word to describe my little omega. "Extraordinary."

I adjusted my grip on my father's hand, drawing comfort from the contact even if he couldn't respond.

"She has silver hair that catches the light in ways that remind me of the moonlit pools in the eastern forests. And she's fierce,Father. So fucking fierce. You'd appreciate that about her. She doesn't back down, not even when she probably should. Just like Mum always said of my mate."

A ghost of a smile touched my lips as I remembered the way Sierra had faced down Archer, how she'd stood her ground against Rowen.

"She can speak to the dead. Can you believe that? Just... talk to them like they're standing right next to her. And they protect her. It's the damnedest thing. Necromancy such as hers is a talent only seen once in a millennia. But it doesn't feel like the normal type of necromancy. I can't explain it."

I paused, running my thumb over the back of my father's hand, tracing the patterns of power that were fading from his skin.

"She's mine, but she doesn't know it yet. Her powers are only beginning to emerge. She's part witch, part something else. Something I can't quite place. But when I'm near her, everything feels right."