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The day of the festival, Taly awoke with a scowl on her face.

Why? Because of the damn runes etched on the underside of her wrists, that’s why.

Ivain hadn’t gone back on his edict—she was still in magical timeout. It had been a week now without a flicker, without even a spark of gold weaving through her fingers. The enchantments were a wall slammed between her and the thing that made her Fey.

She sat up, rubbing her wrists absently. She’d given up trying to scrub the ink off. The runes didn’t burn or itch—they just sat there, a quiet silence that was somehow worse.

It was like she’d never had magic. Like all of it—leaving home, the Queen, Vaughn—had been nothing but a bad dream, the kind you wake up from drenched in sweat, heart pounding, only to laugh it off. She had to check the mirror every morning just to make sure her ears were still pointed.

“I can feel you thinking,” Skye grumbled.

She didn’t answer—just let the thread between them hum gently where it brushed the edge of her thoughts.

The bond was the only thing keeping her sane.

The only part of her that didn’t feel dulled.

Despite Ivain’s efforts to separate her from the Weave, no matter how far her magic slipped from reach, this remained.

Him. Them . That tether between their souls, quiet but unbreakable.

A hand snaked beneath the blankets, snagging her ankle. Taly squealed as she was dragged back under.

“Good morning,” she sighed as he kissed his way down her neck.

Skye murmured something that sounded like the same, his weight folding over hers. One hand crept beneath her nightdress, the fabric gathering slowly in his grip. Her legs parted without thought.

Then he was there, skin to skin. His hips settled between hers as he eased forward. She gasped, the stretch familiar and slow, her body curving up to meet him.

She loved mornings. Loved her nights too, though for different reasons. Nights were for fucking—for raw intensity and relentless exploration. There was no room for gentleness in those hours, just that endless push and pull of power and passion and the sweet, fraying edge of surrender.

But mornings, when he was smiling and lazy and only a little wicked—those were her favorite.

They moved together slowly, like they’d done this a hundred times. Like they would do it a hundred more. The bond pulsed bright, flooding her with the heat of him—of them—filling that hollowness inside her where her magic should’ve been. And for one breathless moment, she felt whole.

After, she lay with him a minute longer, his arm draped heavy across her waist, the bond a quiet thrum against her ribs.

But she wasn’t built for stillness, and Skye would happily nap until noon.

So, she rolled free, kissing his shoulder before climbing out of bed.

Pulling her nightdress back down over her hips, she padded barefoot toward the washroom.

By the time she’d rinsed her face and braided back her hair, the warmth from before had already started to fade. Not between them—that still pulsed quietly in her chest, steady as breath. But everything else…

Everything else was wrong.

Without her magic, the world dragged. She moved through the house like she was walking through molasses, aware of time passing but unable to sync with it.

She made coffee and forgot to drink it. Tried to organize her notes, only to realize she was holding the same page ten minutes later.

She started a dozen tasks and finished none—moving from one to the next with a strange, weightless urgency, like if she just kept going, she’d eventually remember what she was chasing.

And through it all, those runes on her wrists continued to mock her.

It was the same spell her mother had used to make her human—one of them, at least. But back then, she hadn’t known the difference. There were no memories to compare it to, no sense of what had been taken.

But now—now she knew .

She knew what it felt like to touch the Weave. Not just power—it was a current, an extension of herself. An infinite reach that made the world sharper, every breath richer, every step more certain.

And now, she knew what it felt like to lose it.

Even walking felt strange. Her body didn’t move the way it used to.

Not quite clumsy, just out of rhythm—like her feet landed a second after she thought about moving.

She stubbed her toe on the chair leg in the library, ran into every sharp corner.

She wasn’t allowed to help in the kitchen anymore after she kept slicing her fingers open.

When dinner finally rolled around, it was light—sandwiches and fruit. There would be plenty of food at the festival, enough even for a hungry shadow mage, though it didn’t stop Skye from raiding the pantry while Taly ran upstairs to change.

She passed Ivain on the stairs between the second and third floors, already dressed for the festival in a dark green brocade suit. He called after her.

“Taly, a moment.”

Back stiff, she stopped and turned to face him.

He didn’t balk beneath her silent anger.

“It’s important that we appear united tonight. As a family.” He held out a black velvet box in offering. “I’d like you to wear this.”

Great. What now? Did he want to give her a leash?

Taly descended the few stairs it took to reach the box, flipping back the lid to reveal a hairpin. At its center, two concentric circles gleamed, one made of polished silver, the other a darker, matte material—perhaps obsidian. A thin raised line of gold cut down the center like a boundary.

It was beautiful—exactly to her taste. Taly lifted her eyes, and Ivain searched them, obviously looking for some sign of approval.

She snapped the box closed. “Is this an order or a request?”

Ivain sighed. “Just wear it.”

An order then. And the only appropriate response to that was a flat, “Yes, sire.”

Ivain’s mouth tugged into a frown. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what, sire?”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sire.”

His jaw tightened, and she had to bite her inner cheek to keep from smirking. Because while he knew how to handle her anger, he’d never been able to stand her indifference.

“Go,” he finally said with a terse wave of his hand. Taly didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time all the way to the fifth floor.

Sarina had laid out her festival dress on the end of the bed. Light and flowy, the soft pinks and pale golds shimmered. A heavy silk robe in matching colors was folded beside it.

Standing in front of the closet mirror, Taly appraised the selection. It wasn’t that she hated dresses. It was the impracticality, the restriction to her movement, the constant fussing to keep things in place that served no other purpose than to look pretty.

She swung her arms, squatted down a few times, hopped in place. Festivals meant games, and games meant prizes—something that she took very seriously.

Everything stayed in place, nothing pulled uncomfortably, and the skirts fell just below her knees in layers, short enough to keep from dragging or getting stepped on. The wide cloth belt cinching her waist even had pockets. She could find no reason to change.

She considered “forgetting” the hairpin. But it was only a thought. Dutifully, she stabbed the shank into her hair.

Skye was waiting for her when she came downstairs, dressed in a dark blue tunic that showed off the lean cut of his body. He’d left the first few buttons undone, exposing a flash of the muscular chest underneath. His black leather coat was long enough to graze his knees.

Her stomach fluttered to see him. From the way his lips curled, he knew. But as she descended the final stair, she asked simply, “Where is everybody?”

The plan had been to meet in the front hall and then walk together to the lantern lighting, the official ceremony to kick off the festival. She craned her head to see down either hallway, but there was nobody else.

“I told them to go ahead.”

Well, that explained the empty house. “Why?”

Skye’s expression softened. “Because if we were courting, this is how it’d be done. The gentleman escorts the lady.”

Oh … There was that flutter again. Taly bit back a smile. “Courting, huh? Is that we’re calling this?”

Skye gave her a look that clearly said shut up.

And even though every light in the house had either been dimmed or extinguished, she could’ve sworn he was blushing.

“Look, I know we’ll probably never get our shot at normal.

Or if we do, it’ll be a long time from now.

But a festival—that’s normal. And I want to do all the things I’m supposed to do. It’s dumb, I know, but—”

“It’s not dumb,” Taly said, that flutter turning into a whole damn herd of butterflies.

His grin was slow and dazzling. He made a show of offering her his arm. She made an equal show of taking it.

As they stepped into the chill night, she said to him, “You know, if this were a proper date, you would’ve brought flowers.”

Skye just smiled and reached into his coat, producing a single, long-stemmed rose carved with pain-staking precision from pale wood. “Will this do?”

Taking the rose, Taly could feel her cheeks heating as she pressed her lips together.

“Smooth,” was all she said as the butterflies took off in full force.

Aiden. Hated. Crowds.

Maybe that made him a stick in the mud—it certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had accused him.

But he did. He hated it. Hated the noise and the shoving and the heat of so many bodies pressed closely together.

He hated having to yell what, what, what!

just to hear what Taly and Skye were saying as they ambled along beside him.