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Gabe nodded, knowing without asking that Wren meant for him to stay and guard the witch.

The door closed behind them and Wren sat down in one of the abandoned chairs and closed his eyes. He’d nearly forgotten Skye was there until he spoke.

“Who are your witnesses?”

Wren jumped and scrubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly before looking up at his friend where he leaned against the wall by the window, peering outside.

“My mother, my uncle, you, Gabe, cousin Rela, Jamison and his second.” Jamison was the captain of the guard, and Rela was next in line for the throne until Wren had children of his own—though not everyone was keen on a female reigning monarch.

Skye nodded, expression indecipherable. Unlike Wren and Gabe, Skye wasn’t a shifter, but he was one of the most incredible fighters Wren had ever known.

Part of it was sheer skill, but it helped that Skye had witch ancestry that had manifested into a subtle gift for precognition.

He often knew exactly what move you were going to make before you made it, rendering him a formidable opponent even before his powerful ancestry came into play—his line was much akin to royalty amongst the witches and the consequences would be costly if it were discovered he was aiding a lunar witch.

More than any of that, Skye’s friendship was one of the few constants in Wren’s life. Between court machinations and now the curse, Wren was sure he wouldn’t have survived if not for Gabe and Skye keeping his head on straight and his back protected.

He was taller than Wren and when Skye turned, his piercing blue eyes left no room for escape.

Skye often reminded Wren of the Valeneos trees that were his kingdom’s namesake.

Shockingly tall and solid, with a sombre dignity that spoke of a wiseness beyond Skye’s years, and dusky brown skin that matched the bark of the Valeneos trees almost perfectly.

He’d known Skye his whole life and he hoped he would know him for many more.

“I take it that there’s no dissuading you from this course of action?”

Wren smiled slightly. Skye may not have killed Sonnet on sight, but that didn’t mean he trusted her magic. “I’ve come this far.”

“The magic of the soul is dangerous?—”

“And so is my curse.” Wren raised a brow and Skye sighed as he rounded the table to fold himself into the chair at Wren’s right.

“For all you know, her line is responsible for the curse in the first place.”

Wren lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “That may be. But right now she’s the only chance I’ve got. Unless you’ve had any luck in finding a cure?”

The words hadn’t been a taunt, nor a reproach, but Skye frowned as if it had been meant as such. “Not yet. But?—”

“I’m running out of time, Skye.” The words were quiet, featherlight, and the pain on his friend’s face tightened the skin around his eyes and darkened his irises to cerulean.

“I know,” he said gruffly. “I just don’t like this. I don’t like that I can’t see the outcome. Too many pieces are shifting, and altering the soul…”

They’d had this discussion before. Wren understood Skye’s beliefs, but he didn’t agree with them. “If the lunar witches weren’t supposed to exist, the Goddess wouldn’t have gifted them magic.”

Skye frowned, the expression darkening his face until he looked almost unrecognisable.

Usually, his friend was one of the most easy-going people Wren knew—but maybe that had more to do with his ability to know what futures were in motion, the strands of fate visible to him in a way they weren’t for the rest of them.

This loss of control had them all on edge. “You know my thoughts about that.”

He did. Skye, and the majority of all witches, believed the lunar witches were accidental magic, a perversion of the natural order. Wren couldn’t say either way for sure, but it seemed unlikely that Selene would bless this course of action if she disapproved.

“Will you be there?” It was the question Wren had been most anxious to ask his friend.

Skye’s presence would be a balm, knowing there was someone there who would unfalteringly watch out for him, but tolerating the presence of Sonnet was a different matter to being present while she performed her magic.

Skye glanced at him, surprise flashing across his face. “Of course. I don’t like this path you have set us on, but I do understand it. And I wouldn’t leave you alone in the hands of that witch either.”

Wren refrained from reminding Skye that he wouldn’t be alone, his family would be there, but he knew that didn’t count as far as Skye was concerned. None of them were witches. If something went wrong, Skye would undoubtedly consider it his responsibility to right it.

“Thank you,” he said instead and Skye nodded.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

His hands squeezed the wooden arms of the chair and made the structure creak. “So do I.”

The moon was full and bright the following evening, a beacon against the sky that spilled silver light onto the rounded balcony of the palace’s highest tower.

A crisp chill made their breath fog, though nobody complained as adrenaline and anticipation kept their hearts pumping fast and their blood hot.

Sonnet had arranged them all into a circle with Wren standing in the centre as she walked the inside with burning incense.

She spoke quietly under her breath and Wren didn’t try to listen for the words, instead keeping his eyes closed and his mind as clear as possible even when Sonnet approached and wafted the sweet smelling smoke over his form and made his skin tingle.

Her hands clapped together and Wren jumped, eyes flashing open as all of the candles set out at the edges of the circle flashed into life.

The flames didn’t flicker despite the breeze and the fire beneath the bowl on the podium he stood in front of seemed to have a silver glow, like it was reflecting the moon itself.

Steam wafted from the silver bow atop the podium and curled into the night sky and the stars seemed to sway in response, like a reflection rippling in a lake and Wren could have sworn he heard the Goddess laugh.

Warm hands gripped his and Wren blinked, coming back to himself as he looked into the solid medallion gaze of Sonnet’s eyes.

She nodded and Wren breathed in the incense in three deep breaths, just like she’d told him, before flipping his hands to be palm up inside of the witch’s.

Chanting began, the words unfamiliar, but Sonnet had talked him through each step of the ritual before and so he knew that she was calling to Selene, asking for the Goddess’ attention, to grant them magic so that he might find his mate.

In some ways, this ceremony was similar to that of the marriage and bonding rites, but when magic rose up in the air around them Wren knew it was an entirely more powerful ritual.

The energy raised the hair on his arms and he heard his mother gasp when his skin began to glow silver-white. Sonnet’s hair lifted, drifting in a wind that nobody else could feel, and for a second Wren felt an overwhelming swell of peace fill his body.

Then the burning began.

His head fell back, a hoarse cry ripping from his throat as the magic plunged into him, coiling around his essence as it searched every inch of his mind, his soul.

It wasn’t quite pain, but it wasn't pleasurable either.

The magic delving inside every crevice of his being to find the small thread that would tie him to another.

Warm words brushed against his mind, the voice unfamiliar, unintelligible, a slow sweetness pushing through his veins like liquid caramel and in it he could feel her .

He had no name, no images, just the warmth at his centre that pulsed harder and harder until his eyes re-opened and a lance of silver light shot out from him, lighting up the clouds from within, as he slumped, falling to his knees.

“Don’t.” The words were harsh but Wren barely heard them, his body wrung out, sweat coating his skin, and an intense longing filling him in a way he’d never felt before. Like he’d been missing a part of himself and hadn’t realised it until that moment.

He blinked, sweat dripping into his eyes and making them burn, and he made out Skye’s blurry form stepping back into the place Sonnet had assigned. “I’m okay,” he rasped and Skye nodded, eyes burning brightly as he watched Sonnet the way a predator sized up prey.

Sonnet reached for him, unflinching when Skye hissed out a warning, and took Wren’s hands, helping him to his feet and guiding him on stumbling steps to the silver bowl.

Her dagger gleamed brightly, the hilt plain silver and the blade reflecting his own feverish gaze back at him. She cradled his palm in one hand and pressed the tip of the dagger to his life line, tracing the thin line so delicately he nearly didn’t feel the sting of the cut.

The droplets of blood fell into the bowl and his stomach dropped as the magic took what it needed from him, energy or magic or both, Wren couldn’t tell.

A map of the kingdom was laid out on a small table in front of the bowl and his blood sank into the depths of the mixture.

Sonnet’s hands glowed as she placed them on either side of the altar, her head falling back as light erupted from her form until it faded.

She murmured her thanks to the Goddess and when the bowl spilled onto the parchment, it moved languidly like it had thickened.

His muscles shook, the energy the magic had taken from him leaving him weak, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off of the place where the mixture met the map and began to fade as if it had been absorbed, leaving only a ring marking the parchment.

As quickly as it had come, the energy in the air dissipated and Sonnet murmured under her breath, the candles extinguishing with only a motion.

“Did it work?”

Exhaustion pushed at every inch of his body and remaining upright was taking more effort than he had. Sonnet looked nearly as wrecked as he felt.

Her fingers traced the ring on the map. “It worked.”

Relief made him dizzy and Wren leaned gratefully on Skye when he approached before accepting a skein of water from Gabriel and gulping it back.

It helped some, but sleep was the thing he needed most right then.

He’d known to expect the energy drain though, so his men were readying themselves to travel out and retrieve what was his.

“Where?” The words were half-gasped as hope squeezed the breath from him.

“Midmyr Forest.” Sonnet smiled and Wren reached for her, squeezing her hand in thanks and then wincing at the lingering soreness in his palm. It would heal, but not until his body rested. He had too little energy right then for his magic to tend to the wound. “Your mate can be found there.”

“Half a day’s ride,” Gabe murmured and Wren nodded shakily. His mate had been so close this whole time. “I’ll instruct the guard.”

“Thank you.” He sagged and then his mother was there, clasping his face in her cool palms as she smiled at him, green eyes twinkling.

“I know this was a necessary evil, but I’m so proud of you, cub.”

Wren pressed a kiss to her cheek and knew he needed to leave before he fell down. “Skye,” he murmured quickly, sensing the encroaching bliss of sleep as his body demanded rest and recovery. “Look… after Sonnet.”

The words were all he was able to sigh out before his eyes closed and his body fell limp.