Page 23

Zoey

“Zoey.” Aethelthryth’s sharp knock pierces my dreams. “Come to the courtyard. Now.”

I jump out of bed, walk to the window, and peel back the curtains. The sun is just starting to set. I’m not supposed to be up for another hour or so, when twilight’s settled in.

When I crack the door open and see Aethelthryth, her midnight eyes are uncharacteristically troubled.

It’s happening again.

I had an inkling it would, given what happened yesterday. So, I throw on the first dress I find, not bothering to fix my hair, and follow Aethelthryth through the warm halls of the human wing.

A handful of humans are gathered around the fountain, their handlers standing behind them.

Aurora is cloaked in a velvety robe too elegant for a normal morning. Henry stands on the other side, half-hidden behind a column. Tanya at the edge of the group, hugging herself like she’s cold, even though the night fae use their air magic to keep the courtyard warm for us. Finally, Isla’s next to Tanya, her expression so blank that she’s clearly in shock.

No one’s speaking.

Then, I see Matt.

He’s sprawled next to the fountain where Jake was killed, his neck tilted at an unnatural angle. The basin behind him is tinted the same deep red I saw last time—thick, pure blood pooling in the water. His throat is slit wide, like some monstrous second mouth.

Aethelthryth lays a hand on my arm, and I realize she’s trying to comfort me.

“He did it again,” I say flatly, unable to tear my eyes away from the hideous gap in Matt’s neck.

Because I knew this might happen. I knew it from the moment he touched me in the courtyard.

But it’s his fault. Not mine. He knew Aerix’s warning, the same as anyone else. He acted impulsively. He took the risk.

Maybe it’s a good thing it happened quickly. It was probably less painful than the slow weakening of strength he was already experiencing from the queen’s feedings.

Aurora’s nearly silent as she moves toward me.

“There was another note,” she says, handing it to me.

My fingers tremble as I take it.

The paper is thick and expensive, the handwriting elegant but sharp. Like whoever wrote it was trying to be careful, but couldn’t hide their anger enough to successfully do so.

I read it quickly.

Anyone who touches what’s mine pays the price.

That’s it. No signature. No elaborate threats. Just a simple statement of fact.

But it’s not my fault.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Because Jake mistreated me. Matt threatened me. They were each so delusional—Jake with his imaginary love for me, and Matt with his desperate infatuation with the queen—that there was no getting through to them.

Aerix recognized that. And now, I can’t imagine anyone touching me in this court ever again.

I can all but feel my piece on the metaphorical chessboard capturing another pawn.

No—not a pawn. A more powerful piece. A bishop or a knight.

But as I study the note’s lettering, something tugs at the edge of my mind. Because there’s a sharper slash through the lowercase T. A tiny extra curl on the capital A.

They’re tiny details. Ones most people would miss. But they’re definitely there.

“I need to keep this,” I say, holding it closer.

However, Aethelthryth reaches for it.

“I’m afraid not,” she says, her tone making it clear that it isn’t up for debate. “This note is court property. It’s not yours to keep.”

From her hard expression, I know arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere. So, I take one last look at the letters before handing over the note, burning them into my memory.

Now that I’m no longer holding it, I look around the courtyard with new eyes.

Henry lurking in the shadows. Victoria’s barely concealed hostility—she must have followed Aethelthryth and I outside—and Sophia standing behind her, unable to meet my eyes. Aurora studying me, as if she’s trying to read my mind. Even the handlers have their wings on high alert, as if they’re on edge, too.

“The king will want this cleaned up before the court wakes,” Aurora says from next to me, as serene as always. “We wouldn’t want to spoil anyone’s appetite.”

She’s watching me carefully, like this is some kind of test.

I can’t fail it. I don’t know why, but I feel like my safety here might depend on it.

“Yes,” I agree with her, and her lips curve slightly, as if I’ve passed. “Someone should clean this up.”

Then, I turn on my heel and head out of the courtyard with measured steps, passing Victoria and Sophia as I do.

“I hope you enjoy breakfast with Aerix,” I tell Victoria, hurrying away before she can reply.

I don’t look back at Matt’s body.

I can’t.

All I can do it walk into my suite, enter my room, and cross to where my painting hangs—the one Aerix altered—focusing on where he signed his name with a flourish at the bottom corner.

My fingers trace his signature, studying each curve and slash of the letters. The way his capital A swoops gracefully, missing that tiny curl from the note. How his lowercase T’s cross with a gentler line.

Aerix didn’t write that note.

Which means someone else is watching over me. Someone powerful enough to kill without consequence. Someone who wants to make sure everyone knows I’m protected.

The question is… who?