Page 8

RONNIE

I have no idea why I'm following this woman. My head throbs with each step like someone's pounding nails into my temples, and my stomach still rolls with nausea. Yet here I am, trailing a complete stranger through the back of some village restaurant like a lost animal.

"Just through here," the woman—Harmony, she'd introduced herself—gestures toward a small alcove behind the kitchen. Her voice is warm but not cloying, practical rather than pitying. I appreciate that. Pity I could do without.

The space she leads me to has a small cot and a basin of clean water. It's simple, sparse, but meticulously kept. Like everything else I've seen in this place.

"Sit," Harmony says, reaching for a nearby cloth. She dips it in the water and wrings it out with practiced efficiency. "You look like you're about to topple over, and I don't fancy scraping you off the floor."

I almost smile at that. Almost.

"I'm fine," I mutter, though I sink onto the cot anyway. My legs feel like water, and the room hasn't quite stopped tilting.

Harmony passes me the damp cloth. "Sure you are. And I'm the Queen of the Westlands." She turns to a small cabinet and begins rummaging through glass jars filled with dried plants.

She selects a jar filled with something that looks like dried leaves. When I don't say anything, her eyes flick back up to me.

"Look, you don't need to explain anything to me. But just know I would understand." Harmony pours hot water from a kettle into a mug, adding pinches of the dried plants. The scent that rises is earthy and soothing. "Drink this. It'll help with the nausea."

I take the mug, wrapping my fingers around its warmth. "I still don't see why you're helping me." I guess I have a really twisted way of saying thank you.

She shrugs, settling on a stool across from me. "Because you needed it."

I snort. "Nobody does things just to be kind."

"Maybe not where you're from." She tucks a loose curl behind her ear. "But here in Saufort, we look after people."

I'm about to argue when the door to the kitchen swings open, bringing a gust of conversation and clinking dishware. I tense, shoulders hunching instinctively.

"Mama! Mama!"

A tiny bullet of energy bursts into our sanctuary—a little girl with wild curls and golden-brown skin. She skids to a halt when she sees me, her enormous silver eyes widening further.

"Hello," she says solemnly, then immediately turns back to Harmony. "Mama, Papa and I were on a walk, and look!" She lifts her hand and a small ball of iridescent fire forms in her palm. "Look what I can do!"

My eyes flick between the child and Harmony, trying to process everything that's happening. But before I can think too much about it, another figure fills the doorway.

And my entire world stops.

A xaphan.

Massive gray wings fold against his tall frame as he ducks under the door frame.

He's all lean strength and sharp angles—high cheekbones, strong jaw, eyes like quicksilver.

His white-blond hair falls haphazardly around his temples, giving him a deceptively boyish look despite the dangerous aura that surrounds him.

"Brooke, I said wait for—" His words cut off when he spots me, those silver eyes narrowing slightly.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Xaphan. Here. In this quiet village. My hand flies to my dagger on instinct.

"Adellum," Harmony stands, her voice so normal it's jarring. "This is Ronnie. She's not feeling well."

The xaphan—Adellum—nods once in acknowledgment, but his attention shifts immediately back to Harmony. There's something in the way he looks at her—possessive, protective, like she's the center of his universe.

"Brooke was too excited to wait," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "And we were nearby. I hope we aren't interrupting."

The little girl—Brooke—tugs at Harmony's apron. "Isn't it cool, Mama?"

"Very, my little sunshine," Harmony says, smoothing a hand over those wild curls.

My chest tightens as I watch them—a family. A human woman, a xaphan man, and their...

I look closer at the girl. No wings. But those eyes—unmistakably xaphan. Half-human, half-xaphan.

Just like the child growing inside me.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. My hand returns to my stomach, this time consciously.

"Are you okay?" Harmony asks, noticing my expression.

Words bubble up from somewhere deep inside me, words I never thought I'd say aloud to anyone.

"The father is xaphan," I blurt out, my voice barely above a whisper. "My baby's father is xaphan."

Understanding dawns on Harmony's face like the slow break of daylight. Her eyes widen slightly, then soften at the edges. She glances at Adellum, something unspoken passing between them before returning her attention to me.

"I see," she says quietly.

The xaphan's silver gaze flicks to my belly, then back to my face with unsettling intensity. I can practically feel him calculating, assessing. My fingers twitch toward my dagger again.

"Brooke, sweetheart." Harmony kneels before her daughter. "Why don't you and Papa go wait for me at home? I need to talk with my friend for a bit."

"Is she sick?" Brooke asks, those uncanny silver eyes fixing on me. "I can help! I'm learning healing from Ansel."

"Not today, little spark." Adellum's voice is surprisingly gentle as he extends his hand to his daughter. "Your mother needs some privacy."

The girl pouts momentarily before placing her tiny hand in her father's. "Okay. But I want to help next time."

"We'll see," Harmony agrees, kissing the top of her head.

I watch, transfixed, as the massive winged xaphan leads the little girl away. His wings shift slightly to shield her as they pass through the busy kitchen, a protective gesture that makes something twist painfully in my chest.

When they're gone, Harmony returns to her stool, her expression carefully neutral. "Is that why you're traveling alone? Because of the father?"

I stare into my cooling tea, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. "He doesn't know."

"And you don't want him to."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "No."

She doesn't press immediately, giving me space to collect myself. The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken understanding.

"The father..." she finally ventures. "Is he...?"

"A smug, arrogant, self-satisfied bastard?" I laugh without humor. "Yes."

"That wasn't what I was going to ask."

I look up, meeting her steady gaze. "What then?"

"Dangerous," she says simply.

The word hangs in the air between us. Is Araton dangerous?

My mind floods with images of him—the golden gleam of his eyes when he's aroused, the casual strength in his hands, the calculating intelligence behind every charming smile.

The way he looks at me sometimes, like he can see straight through to the parts of myself I try hardest to hide.

"He wouldn't hurt me," I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. "Not physically, anyway."

"But you're still running."

I take a deep breath, trying to organize my churning thoughts. "He works for a very powerful lord in Soimur. He's not just any xaphan—he's connected, respected. If he knew about this baby..." My voice falters.

"You think he'd take the child from you," Harmony finishes.

I nod, my throat tight. "I'm nothing to him. Just a human he visits when he's passing through. A convenient lay."

Even as I say the words, something inside me rebels against them.

The way Araton kisses me goodbye each time, lingering a moment too long.

The way he sometimes made me feel like he wanted to stay.

The lunox carving tucked into my pack, carved from blue-veined white stone, its face tipped with azure that reminds me of the skies over my village at dawn.

"He doesn't love me." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "But a half-xaphan child? That would be a prize worth claiming."

Harmony reaches across the space between us, her calloused fingers closing over mine. "Listen to me, Ronnie. I understand what you're afraid of. Better than you might think." She glances toward the door where Adellum and Brooke disappeared. "I've been where you are."

"With him?" I can't keep the incredulity from my voice.

"In a way. Scared, pregnant, alone." Her grip tightens on mine. "You're not alone anymore. I'll help you. We'll all help you."

"Why would you do that?" I ask, still suspicious despite the desperation clawing at my insides. "You could wipe your hands of the trouble.

"Because someone helped me once," she says simply. "And now I'm helping you. That's how it works in Saufort."

I don't trust her—not completely. But as the nausea finally begins to subside and the panic in my chest loosens its grip, I find myself nodding.

"I don't regret leaving," I say firmly, more to convince myself than her. "It was the right choice."

Yet even as I say it, a traitorous, tiny part of me aches at the thought I'll never again see Araton's crooked smile when he appears at my door.

Never feel the heat of his skin against mine, or the way he tangles his fingers in my hair when he kisses me.

Never hear that low laugh when I say something that genuinely amuses him.

It's just the sex I'll miss, I tell myself firmly. Just the physical release. Nothing more.

I don't talk about him after that. Not his name, not what he looks like, not the way he calls me "fierce one" in that rumbling voice of his. Not the way I know he will have found out I'm gone by now and I don't know if he even cared.

I don't talk about any of it. Some secrets are safer kept buried.