Page 27

The clothing was exquisite—a silver-blue tunic that shimmered with an almost liquid quality, paired with supple black leggings and a short jacket that reminded me of armor with its structured shoulders and intricate fastenings.

"This isn't yours," I observed, letting my fingers trace over the delicate embroidery at the cuffs.

Archer's mouth quirked. "No. It belonged to a Fae princess who once sought sanctuary in the Underworld. She left it behind when she... departed."

There was a story there, but now wasn't the time to ask. I stood, clutching the sheet around me with one hand while holding the clothes in the other.

"I'll give you privacy," Archer said, turning to leave.

"Wait," I called, surprising myself. "I... I might need help. My legs still feel shaky."

That was only partly true. What I couldn't say was that the thought of him leaving, even for a moment, sent a spike of panic through me. The bond was making me clingy, desperate for physical contact.

Archer paused, his ice-blue eyes assessing me. "Alright," he said simply, though I caught the subtle flare of his nostrils as he scented the air between us.

He turned his back as I let the sheet fall, giving me the illusion of privacy while remaining close enough to assist if needed. My fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar fastenings, and I swore under my breath.

"May I?" Archer asked, still facing away.

"Yes," I whispered.

He turned, his gaze carefully neutral as he helped me into the tunic. It fit surprisingly well, though perhaps a bit snug across my chest. As his fingers worked the intricate clasps at my sides, I struggled to control my breathing.

"The Fae are particular about presentation," he explained, his voice low and steady. "These clothes will help you blend in—though nothing could truly hide what you are."

"And what am I, exactly?" I asked, lifting my chin to meet his gaze.

His hands stilled at my waist. "Power," he said simply. "Raw, untamed power on the verge of awakening. Every supernatural creature in that realm will sense it."

The weight of his words settled over me as he helped me into the leggings and soft leather boots. By the time he fastened the armored jacket around my shoulders, I felt more steady, both physically and emotionally.

"Thank you," I said, stepping back to look down at myself. The outfit was unlike anything I'd ever worn—beautiful yet practical, feminine yet strong.

"One last thing," Archer said, retrieving something from a drawer. It was a slender dagger in a sheath, the handle inlaid with what looked like moonstones. "Keep this hidden, but accessible."

I took it, surprised by its weight. "I don't know how to use this."

"Let's hope you won't need to," he replied, showing me how to strap it against my forearm, hidden beneath the sleeve of the jacket. "But if you do—aim for the throat or the heart. Don't hesitate. Pointy end goes in the bad person."

His matter-of-fact tone sent a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of who and what he was—an assassin who had served the Lord of the Underworld for centuries.

A knock at the door announced Rowen's return. He'd changed as well, his usual black leather replaced with something more formal—a high-collared jacket with intricate silver embroidery that emphasized his regal bearing. His horns weregone, his tail hidden, his appearance almost human if not for those fathomless obsidian eyes.

"Ready?" he asked, his gaze lingering on me a moment longer than necessary.

I nodded, though 'ready' seemed laughably inadequate for whatever we were about to face.

"Remember," Archer said as he stepped between us, "stay close to me when we enter the shadows. Don't let go, no matter what you see or hear. The paths aren't meant for the living—they can play tricks on your mind."

"Comforting," I muttered, but I gripped his hand tightly. "Although you do know that I'm used to speaking with the dead, right?"

Rowen took my other hand, his skin surprisingly warm against mine. The contact sent a surge of heat through my veins, and I gasped softly. The bond between us flared, bright and demanding.

"Focus, Sierra," Rowen murmured, though I noticed his pupils had dilated at the contact as well. "We can address... other matters... once we reach my brother."

Archer led us to what appeared to be an ordinary wall in his chamber. He pressed his palm against the stone, and darkness bloomed outward from his touch like spilled ink. The shadows deepened, coalesced, until a doorway of pure darkness stood before us.

"Don't let go," he reminded us, and then stepped forward, pulling us into the void.