Page 32 of Awakened Destiny (The Dark Ascendant #3)

Brigid

The path widens as we venture deeper into the kingdom. My fingers itch to sketch the impossible structures that rise around us, buildings that shouldn't stand but do, defying gravity with spiraling towers and walkways that connect tree to tree.

"Did you grow up here?" I ask, gesturing to a crystalline structure that catches sunlight and fractures it into rainbows.

Callen shakes his head. "The palace is ahead. But I spent plenty of time exploring."

A small creature—part hummingbird, part lizard—darts past my face, hovering for a moment to examine me before zipping away. I freeze, heart stuttering.

"What was that?"

"Whisperling," Lochan explains. "Harmless, just curious about newcomers."

I let out a breath. "Where I grew up, the most exotic wildlife was Mrs. Peterson's overweight tabby cat."

"Hard to imagine you in that world now," Callen says, his hand finding the small of my back. "You belong here."

Do I? The thought both thrills and terrifies me. In Newton, I was invisible—the quiet, weird girl who no one liked, who kept to herself, who worked at the hardware store and sketched during breaks. Here, I'm something else. Someone else.

We pass a marketplace where fae merchants sell goods I can't begin to identify: glowing fruits, bottles labeled with the names of emotions—like fear and desire, fabrics that shift colors with each touch. A child with butterfly wings sprouting from her shoulders runs past us, laughing.

"This is..." Words fail me.

"A lot?" Lochan offers.

I nod. "In Newton, last year ’ s fall fair was considered exciting because they added a new funnel cake flavor."

They both laugh, but not unkindly.

"My mother would have loved this," I say quietly. "She always believed in magic, even when there was no evidence of it in our lives. She read me fairy tales every night before bed. Before they died."

Callen's fingers lace with mine. "Maybe she knew something you didn't."

The path curves again, and suddenly the trees part to reveal our destination. The palace rises before us, a structure that seems woven from moonlight and iridescence, its architecture both imposing and ethereal.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

Two guards stand at attention before massive doors that appear to be carved from a single piece of opal. Their armor shifts like liquid silver, and their faces remain impassive as we approach.

"Prince Callen," one guard says, bowing his head slightly. "The Council wasn't informed of your visit."

"The Council doesn't need to be informed when the crown prince visits his mother," Callen replies. His posture shifts subtly—shoulders back, chin raised. Gone is the playful man from moments ago, replaced by royalty. "I'm here to see Queen Maywen."

The guards exchange glances.

"Her Majesty is... resting."

"Then she can rest with her son at her side." Callen's voice is hard. "Unless you believe your authority outranks mine?"

I feel Lochan tense beside me.

The second guard steps forward. "Of course not, Your Highness. But protocol—"

"Protocol," Callen cuts him off, "dictates that the heir to the throne has unrestricted access to the queen. Or has that changed during my absence?"

The guard's jaw tightens, but he steps aside. "No, Your Highness."

"Excellent." Callen smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We won't be long."

We continue forward, and I can't help but stare at everything we pass. The path beneath our feet glitters with flecks of some mineral I can't identify. Small creatures dart between flower beds that bloom with the most beautiful colors I've ever seen, some singing as we walk by.

"You're practically vibrating," Lochan whispers, leaning close.

"I never imagined..." I trail off, watching a fountain where the water flows upward instead of down.

A group of fae children race past us, their laughter like wind chimes. One of them, a little girl with pointed ears, pauses to stare at me before darting away to rejoin her friends.

"They can sense you're different," Callen says, his eyes scanning the grounds with practiced vigilance. "Your magic has a different signature than theirs."

"Does that make me an outsider here, too?" I ask, suddenly conscious of my plain dress. All around us, fae move with casual grace, their clothing as vibrant and otherworldly as their surroundings.

"It makes you interesting," Lochan corrects. "And potentially dangerous, which they respect."

We pass a garden where plants twist and curl of their own accord. In the center, a tree grows crystals instead of fruit, each one catching the light differently.

"My mother had that planted when I was born," Callen says, following my gaze. "Each crystal represents a year of my life.”

I stare at the tree laden with glittering crystals.

As we approach the palace proper, two more guards step forward, these with more elaborate armor and stern expressions.

"Prince Callen," one says, her voice carefully neutral. "The Council is in session and has requested no disturbances."

"I'm not here for the Council." Callen's voice rings with authority. "I'm here for my mother, Queen Maywen. And unless they've officially stripped me of my title while I've been away, I am still the Crown Prince of the fae kingdom and heir to the throne."

The female guard studies him for a long moment. "Your companions—"

"Are under my protection and will accompany me." His tone leaves no room for argument.

I hold my breath, heart hammering against my ribs. The contrast between the Callen I know—the one who teases me and whispers filthy promises in my ear—and this royal figure commanding respect hits me. He ’ s a real prince, real royalty.

"Very well," the guard finally says, stepping aside. "Her Majesty is in the east solarium."

Callen nods curtly and guides us forward. As we enter the palace, I feel a heaviness settle over me, not oppressive, but significant. I'm about to meet a queen, the mother of the man I'm in love with, a man I ’ m mated to, in a world where I barely understand the rules.

"Just be yourself," Lochan whispers, somehow reading my thoughts.

I almost laugh. Myself. A small-town girl with newly awakened shadow magic and the blood of chaos and fate personified, walking into a fae palace to meet the queen. What could go wrong?

The corridors of the palace unfold before us like a dream—hallways that stretch longer than should be possible, ceilings that soar so high they disappear. Light filters through crystal windows, casting rainbow patterns across marble floors polished to a mirror shine. The palace isn't just beautiful, it's alive with magic. Colors shift subtly as we pass, and I swear the patterns in the floor move when I'm not looking directly at them.

"The east wing was built during the Spring Convergence," Callen says quietly as we walk. "The stone absorbs magic from its surroundings."

I nod, trying to appear casual while cataloging every detail. The walls display intricate paintings depicting fae history with scenes of coronations, battles, and celebrations. Some figures have Callen's chiseled features or Lochan's strong jaw hands. I'm walking through their history.

But beneath the beauty lies something else. Court fae watch us pass, their expressions carefully blank but their eyes calculating. Servants pause in their duties, heads bowed but gazes following. There's tension strung through the air like invisible wire, ready to snap.

"Why is everyone so..." I trail off, not knowing the word.

"Afraid," Lochan supplies, his voice low. "The Court hasn't been stable since King Cillian's death."

We approach a set of silver doors etched with flowering vines. More guards stand at attention, their armor more decorative than the ones outside, but no less dangerous.

Callen straightens. "Her Majesty is expecting me."

One guard nods and opens the door without a word. The scent of flowers spills out, sweet but with an underlying bitterness.

I take a deep breath as we enter. The room is circular, with glass walls that curve upward into a dome. Sunlight pours in, illuminating plants that grow in a carefully maintained wildness. At the center sits a delicate-looking woman on a simple chair rather than the throne I expected.

Queen Maywen.

Even across the room, I feel a pull of recognition. Her dark hair falls in gentle waves past her shoulders, and her features are finely drawn. She's beautiful in a way that makes your heart hurt, like looking at something fragile that's already been broken and put back together imperfectly.

Her eyes—Callen's eyes, that pale, icy blue—look through us rather than at us. They're vacant, distant, as if seeing something far beyond the glass walls of her solarium.

"Mother," Callen says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it.

She blinks slowly, her gaze gradually focusing. "My son." Her voice is feathery, words floating like dandelion seeds. "You've brought friends."

"This is Brigid," Callen says, placing his hand at the small of my back. "And you remember Lochan."

I step forward and give a small curtsy, not sure of the proper protocol. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty."

Her eyes land on me, suddenly sharp and present in a way that makes me shiver. "You carry shadows," she whispers. "Like him."

My blood turns cold.

"Brigid is special," Callen says carefully.

Queen Maywen reaches out a pale hand. "Come closer, shadow girl."

I glance at Callen, who nods almost imperceptibly. Moving forward, I stand beside her chair. Up close, I can see the fine lines around her eyes, the subtle tremble in her fingers.

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "No. The dangerous one is gone now." Her fingers brush my cheek, cool and light as butterfly wings. "But they never believe me when I say that."

There's something unbearably sad about her. Not just sad, but wounded in a way that never properly healed. I think of what Callen told me about his father, the cruel king, and what this woman must have endured as his queen.

"I believe you," I say quietly.

Her eyes well with tears. "Do you? How strange. We've only just met."

"Sometimes you can sense things about people," I say, thinking of my own intuition, the way shadows speak to me now, how I see the threads of fate.

She nods as if this makes perfect sense. "Yes. Yes, exactly." She turns to Callen. "This one understands. The others just see brokenness."

I feel a wave of protectiveness toward this fragile woman. Whatever happened to her—whatever was done to her—left scars deeper than physical ones. I recognize trauma when I see it, having lived with my own.

"Mother," Callen says gently, "how have you been feeling?"

Her focus drifts again, gaze wandering to the plants around us. "The moonflowers bloomed last night. Did you see them? They open only in darkness." She sighs. "Like memories."

The conversation shifts like this several times. Callen asks direct questions, the queen answers in riddles or changes the subject entirely. It's like watching someone trying to catch smoke with their bare hands.

Throughout it all, I watch her, this queen who is both present and absent, powerful and vulnerable. I wonder what she was like before—before a cruel king, before whatever broke her spirit.

When we finally rise to leave, Queen Maywen catches my hand. "You'll come again," she says, more statement than question. "The flowers like you. They never liked him."

I squeeze her hand gently. "I'd be honored to visit again, Your Majesty."

She nods once, then turns back to her flowers, my presence already forgotten.

Callen lingers behind as Lochan guides me to the door.

"Has the Council been to see you recently?" Callen asks his mother, his tone carefully casual.

Queen Maywen's fingers still on a silver leaf. "They come. They speak." Her voice drops. "They think I don't understand what they say when they think I'm not listening."

Callen moves closer, kneeling beside her chair. "What do they say, Mother?"

"They speak of crowns and blood and power." She touches his face with trembling fingers. "They fear you. The son returns with darkness at his side." Her gaze flickers to me, then away. "They'll try to stop you before the moon turns."

"Do they hurt you?" Callen's voice is tight with barely contained rage.

She shakes her head. "Not since..." she trails off, her eyes going distant again. "But they wait. Like wolves. Hungry for what isn't theirs."

"I won't let them near you again." Callen takes her hand, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice. "I promise."

The queen smiles, a small, sad thing. "My beautiful boy. Always fighting." She cups his cheek. "Be careful who you trust.

I watch them from across the room, transfixed by this tender side of Callen I've rarely glimpsed. His shoulders have lost their rigid set, his face softer as he speaks to his mother.

"The Council has called a meeting," Queen Maywen whispers. "I heard them. Something about… containment."

Callen's posture shifts subtly. "When?"

"Soon. Tomorrow, perhaps." She plucks at the sleeve of her gown. "They think I'm simple. That I don't notice things."

"You see more than they know." Callen presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'll return soon, Mother. When I do, things will be different."

I follow Callen and Lochan through the winding corridors of the palace. The guards stand at attention as we pass, but their eyes follow us with undisguised curiosity.

"Your mother seems to understand more than she lets on," I whisper to Callen.

He nods. "A survival tactic. The less my father thought she comprehended, the less he tormented her."

We're almost to the main entrance when a small, older woman steps from behind a column. She wears a simple green dress that marks her as palace staff.

"Prince Callen," she hisses urgently, motioning him closer.

Callen's face lights with recognition. "Marna." He steps toward her, signaling for Lochan to keep me back.

"My prince." She clutches his arm, her knuckles white. "I shouldn't be speaking to you, but I had to warn you." Her eyes dart around the corridor. "The Council meets tonight, not tomorrow. They know you've returned, and they speak of death."

"What exactly did you hear?" Callen asks, his voice low.

"They speak of execution. The girl." Her gaze flickers to me. "And of binding you, my prince, until they can ensure your cooperation." Her voice trembles. "They fear what your return means."

Callen's expression shifts, brow furrowing, then smoothing as steely determination replaces concern. His jaw sets as he places his hand over Marna's weathered one.

"Thank you, Marna," he says, voice steady and quiet. "You've always looked out for me."

"I watched you grow from a babe," she whispers fiercely. "I won't see them destroy what's left of this kingdom."

Callen squares his shoulders, standing taller. The transformation fascinates me—from charming rogue to commanding prince in an instant.

"They won't succeed." His tone carries absolute certainty.

"The Council has eyes everywhere," she warns.

"And I have shadows," Callen says with a cryptic smile. "Marna, you've risked enough. Return to your duties."

"What will you do?" she asks.

"Reclaim what's mine." He squeezes her hand.

We watch as she scurries away, disappearing down a servant's corridor.

"We need to leave," Lochan says. "Now."

Callen turns to us, his blue eyes electric. "Change of plans. We're staying in the kingdom a little while longer."

We walk briskly through the palace corridors, Callen leading with confident strides. His back is straight, his movements purposeful. Guards and courtiers stare as we pass, whispering behind their hands. I feel exposed under their scrutiny, like a specimen under glass.

"Keep close," Lochan murmurs beside me. "Don't make eye contact."

The palace suddenly feels like a beautiful trap. I focus on Callen's back as we follow him down a sweeping staircase and through the grand entrance hall. Sunlight streams through stained glass, painting the marble floor in jewel tones.

"Are we really staying?" I ask quietly.

"Seems that way," Lochan replies, his hand hovering near the small of my back, not quite touching but ready to guide or protect.

Outside, the kingdom looks different now—still breathtaking but threaded with danger. The fae who bow respectfully to Callen might be reporting our movements to the Council. The charming architecture could hide a dozen watching eyes.

"I know a place," Callen says over his shoulder.

"What about Queen Maywen?" I ask, hurrying to keep pace.

"My mother has survived decades of court politics," Callen says. "She'll be safer if we're not with her tonight. The Council won't move against her directly—she's too valuable as their puppet if they can get rid of me."

We turn down a less traveled path, away from the main thoroughfare. The buildings here are more modest.

"You seem very certain about confronting the Council," I say.

Callen glances back at me. "They think they're gathering to plan our demise. Instead, they're walking into their own reckoning."

I catch Lochan's eye. His expression is grim but determined, a silent communication passing between him and Callen that speaks of years of trust.

"And what exactly is your plan?" I ask.

"That," Callen says, stopping before a weathered door in an unassuming building, "is what we're about to discuss."

He places his palm against the door, which glows faintly before swinging open to reveal a modest but well-kept interior.

"After you, my lady," he says with a theatrical bow.

I step inside, my heart racing with equal parts fear and exhilaration. Today I walked into a fairy tale kingdom. Tonight, it seems, we're planning a coup.

The room inside is simple—a stark contrast to the opulence of the palace. A large table dominates the center, maps and papers scattered across its surface. Various crystals embedded in the walls provide soft illumination.

"Your secret hideout?" I ask, running my fingers along the edge of the table.

"One of the few places in the kingdom not under the Council's surveillance."

Lochan moves to secure the door behind us. “ Callen and I used to sneak in here as children.”

I circle the room, taking in the detailed maps of the kingdom. "It's really happening, isn't it? You're going to claim the throne."

Callen comes to stand beside me. "We're going to claim the throne. I can't do this without you, Brigid."

His words send a flutter through my chest that has nothing to do with fear. I look up at his face, searching for doubt and finding none.

"What can I possibly offer that you don't already have? I know nothing about fae politics."

"You underestimate yourself," Lochan interjects. "Your shadow magic is unlike anything the fae have seen in generations. The Council fears it—and that makes it valuable.”

He doesn ’ t mention that the Council doesn ’ t yet know that I have the Morrigan ’ s power, and the ability to see the threads of fate. I wonder if he ’ s worried about speaking that out loud.

"And," Callen adds, taking my hand, "you have something no strategist can teach—compassion that tempers strength. You saw my mother today and understood her without a word passing between you."

I think back to Queen Maywen's haunted eyes, the fragility beneath her regal bearing. "She's being controlled, isn't she? Not just manipulated, but actually controlled."

"Yes," Callen nods, squeezing my hand. "And you sensed it immediately."

"So, what's our next move?" I ask, surprising myself with the "our." This morning, the idea of being involved in fae politics would have seemed absurd.

“ We have the advantage of knowing their plans,” Callen says with a dangerous smile, "so we use their own plans against them."