Page 38

DOMINIC

L illith stood before the stone gates of the high fae court.

The loomed like the edge of the world—etched in runes that shimmered under moonlight, crowned with creeping vines that never dared wilt, silent and watching like they remembered every exile who’d walked away., breath shallow but spine straight.

“Still looks like a mausoleum,” she muttered, the corners of her mouth twitching bitterly.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Dominic stood beside his wife.

His fingers were laced with hers, warm and steady, anchoring her like he always did. She didn’t squeeze back, didn’t need to. Her silence told him she was holding together—barely. The kind of brave you only found when you had something to lose.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low, close to her ear.

“I need to be.” Her eyes stayed on the gate. “They summoned me. Because I called the Echoes. And they want answers.”

“They better be ready for the truth,” Dominic said, a rumble under his breath.

She smiled at that, faintly. “I’m not the scared girl who ran anymore.”

He didn’t say it, but she felt how proud he was. How furious, too, at everything this place had done to her. How he’d have burned it down if she asked.

The gates groaned open.

Two fae guards stepped aside and bowed. Not stiff formality. A deep, reverent bow, heads lowered as if she were royalty returned. Or myth come alive.

Dominic felt her still beside him. A moment of hesitation. Then she stepped forward.

The halls shimmered like they always had—arched ceilings rippling with starlight, magic humming under every footstep. But the air wasn’t cold this time. No disdain. Just silence. Awed. Anxious.

“Is it true?”

“She summoned them.”

“The Echoes answered her.”

“She’s the one who burned the prince.”

“Verdan has returned.”

And that name… it wasn’t an insult anymore. Not a chain. It was reverence.

A high court official approached, his robes stitched with ancestral thread and spells older than any of them dared speak aloud. “Lady Lillith Verdan,” he said, bowing low. “The council awaits your presence.”

Dominic glanced at her. She nodded once.

The council chamber still glowed like moonlight on ice—so perfect it made your teeth ache. High-backed chairs carved from glimmerglass, thrones wrapped in ancestral runes. The air was too still, like the chamber itself was holding its breath.

At the center sat her aunt, the High Matron, face unaged, eyes still violet and sharp enough to cut stone.

“Lady Lillith,” she said, voice cool and knowing. “Or shall I say… Breaker of Rules.”

Lillith did not blink. “You summoned me. I came.”

“And you brought a shifter,” a sneering voice cut in from the right.

Lillith turned toward the sound, and the breath caught in Dominic’s throat. He knew who it was before she spoke.

Her father.

Faelar Verdan.

He was tall, dressed in the layers of a court elder, and still handsome in the way power made some men seem taller than they were.

But his eyes had aged—gone brittle and guarded.

The last time Lillith had seen him, he’d been roaring at her to submit to a marriage contract.

To serve the realm. To become what he’d crafted her to be.

She met his gaze. Cold. Clear. “I brought my husband.”

That word cracked the room like thunder.

Faelar’s jaw ticked. “You defied the court, Lillith. You vanished. Disgraced this house.”

“I survived,” she said simply.

“You consorted with a prince who?—”

“Who you once told me to marry.” Her voice rose, still controlled, but sharp as a blade now. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know what Thaloryn was. You offered me up to his house like I was currency.”

A few elders shifted uncomfortably.

“I was a child. And you wanted power. So you sold me to it.”

The High Matron’s voice cut in like a dagger. “Enough.”

She stared at Lillith, unreadable.

“You summoned the Echoes,” the Matron said. “You risked the balance of the realms.”

“They came to me,” Lillith said. “Because I stopped pretending to be small. Because I faced what none of you would.”

“The shadow realm was contained,” her aunt snapped. “Until you broke the boundaries.”

“No,” Lillith said. “Until your prince did. Until Thaloryn clawed through the veil, and I stopped him.”

A murmur stirred through the room.

Dominic stepped forward then. “She saved you all. And you know it.”

Faelar stood. “This is treason.”

“It’s truth,” Lillith said. “I don’t want your titles. I don’t want a seat at your table. I came because I was summoned. And because the Echoes told me peace matters. That balance has to be rebuilt, not ruled.”

“Why should we believe you?” another fae asked.

Lillith raised her hand.

Magic flared—not violent, but bright. A shimmer of runes danced across her skin, glowing faint gold and blue.

“This is what’s left of the Echo sigil. Their mark. Their blessing. I didn’t steal it. I earned it.”

“And the realm is still intact,” Dominic added. “Because she fought for it.”

They didn’t move. Not right away.

But slowly, Lillith turned to Faelar. “You lost the right to decide who I was the moment you stopped seeing me as your daughter.”

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

She turned away from him, back toward her aunt. “I offer peace. No more than that. No less.”

The High Matron looked at her long and hard. Then finally, she nodded.

“You are dismissed, Lady Verdan.”

The guards did not escort her out.

They bowed again.

When she walked from the chamber, no one stopped her. Not even her father.

Because Lillith wasn’t the girl they remembered. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t small. She was a myth now. A story whispered in the dark to remind them that once, a girl called the ancient spirits and they answered.

Outside the gates, the breeze caught her veil, tugging it loose. Dominic caught it before it flew, tucking it back into her braid.

“You were incredible in there,” he said.

“I was terrified,” she admitted, leaning into his side. “But I think I needed to be.”

He brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “You’re a legend now, y’know. They’re probably going to name a holiday after you.”

“Maker help them,” she groaned.

“Lillith Day. Free cider and protective wards for all.”

She laughed then, the kind of laugh that had carried him through battlefields and shadow-riddled dreams.

“What if I don’t want to be a legend?”

“Then be mine,” he murmured, pulling her close. “Just mine.”

She kissed him, slow and deep. And when they finally parted, she whispered against his lips, “That part was never in question.”

They mounted their horse and rode back to Celestial Pines. Back to home.

To the town that would one day tell tales of the girl who set the forest on fire for the boy she loved. And the shifter who came back roaring, just to hold her hand.