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“She made them,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. “The unicorns from the northern legends. Exactly as they were described in the old books.”

“They’re too perfect,” Riven adds, eyes narrowed.

Because that’s the point. Branwen’s whole world here is a copy—a warped, obsessive recreation of the empire she lost. Shedidn’t create animals or forests because she loved them; she made them because they were hers.

Everything here was.

Everything except us.

I glance at Luna without meaning to, catching the way she’s watching Silas trip over himself like he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life. She shakes her head, exasperated, but there’s something soft at the edge of her mouth.

Something almost fond.

That shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

Because she smiles like that for him. For all of them.

Except me.

Not yet.

“Tell me you’re not going to let him go near them,” I murmur without looking away from her.

Luna’s lips twitch. “He’d be devastated if I didn’t.”

Silas is already making his way down the hill like he’s immune to consequence, like he’s never been bitten, torn apart, or burned alive before—which, frankly, is debatable at this point.

Elias leans forward, whispering toward her loud enough for all of us to hear. “I mean, if anyone here deserves to ride a unicorn, it’s me. Look at me. I’ve got the bone structure.”

Luna doesn’t look at him, but her mouth twitches again. “You’d fall off in two seconds.”

“That’s rude,” Elias replies. “I’ve been practicing. I’m very good with… mounts.”

Silas howls from below. “That’s what she said!”

I glance back toward the herd—perfect, still, watching us with too-bright eyes, unmoving. Predatory.

The world Branwen built here doesn’t give anything freely.

And whatever those creatures are, they’re not here to be touched.

“Keep him back,” I murmur to Luna, my voice lower now, quieter. “Or they’ll gut him.”

She glances at me then. “You cannot be serious.”

She starts walking toward them like she knows how this will end.

And when she passes me, Elias leans in, voice pitched low, lazy amusement curling beneath it. “What do you think’s more dangerous—the unicorns, or Luna?”

It’s almost funny, how fast it happens.

One second, Luna is moving, quiet and deliberate, weaving between the low skeletal trees toward creatures that should kill her without hesitation—and the next, Lucien is moving too.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. That’s the part that almost makes me laugh. Cold, ruthless Lucien Virelius, who would rather die than bend, walking after her like he’s tethered. No barked orders to stay back. No clipped warnings about how reckless she’s being. He just follows.

That’s how I know we’re all fucked.

Because it was never supposed to be like this. She was never supposed to be the thing around which all of us revolved.