Page 7

Callum

I stepped through the shadows and into the Fae realm, expecting the usual rush of vibrant magic that always greeted me upon return. Instead, a sickening emptiness rolled through my stomach as my boots touched ground that felt... wrong.

Dead leaves crunched beneath my feet.

Wrong.

So fucking wrong.

The ancient oaks that had stood sentinel since before my birth were losing their luster, their once-emerald leaves now curling at the edges, turning an alarming shade of amber-brown. Magic that typically pulsed through their veins, magic that should have been eternal, was fading.

I reached out, placing my palm against the nearest trunk, feeling its sluggish heartbeat.

"What the hell is happening?" I whispered, my voice carried away by a wind that felt too cold, too hollow.

The forest had always been my sanctuary, the place I returned to when I needed solitude. Now it reeked of decay. I pressed deeper into the woods, toward the heart of the Dark Fae kingdom.

Toward my father.

Fae nobles passed me, their eyes downcast, their normally vibrant colors muted. They didn't speak to me. They didn't need to. The entire realm was in mourning, and I could feel it pressing against my skin like a physical weight.

My mother was gone. And now the realm itself seemed to be dying with her.

I paused at the entrance to the palace, the grand obsidian spires now looking dull under the weakened sunlight. Guards bowed their heads as I passed, a gesture not of respect but of shared grief.

"How is he?" I asked one of them, a warrior who'd served my father for centuries.

"Unchanged, my prince." His voice was rough with emotion. "He hasn't opened his eyes in days."

I nodded, swallowing hard against the knot in my throat. The corridors that led to the royal chambers seemed longer than I remembered, each step a slow march toward something I wasn't ready to face. But I kept walking, letting the shadows drift around me like a comforting cloak.

My father's chamber door was open. Inside, the healers had retreated to the corners, their magic expended, their arts useless against the inevitable. On the massive bed draped in deepest black silks lay Maxiun, King of the Dark Fae, my father, a shell of the formidable ruler he'd once been.

His skin was waxen, with a sickly yellow tinge to it. The dark markings that denoted him as the King of the Dark Fae were fading before my eyes.

The magic that had sustained him for millennia was visibly draining away, little motes of darkness floating up from his body like dying fireflies.

"Leave us," I commanded, and the healers bowed, filing silently from the room.

When the door closed behind them, I moved to his bedside, sinking into the chair someone had placed there. My father's chest barely moved with each shallow breath.

"Father." My voice cracked on the word.

No response. Just the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest.

I reached out, taking his hand in mine. His skin was cold, so fucking cold. Not the usual cool temperature of our kind, but a bone-deep chill that spoke of life slipping away. His fingers, once strong enough to bend steel, lay limp in my grasp.

"I know you can hear me," I continued, leaning forward. "The realm is dying without you. Without mother. The trees are turning black, Father. The fucking trees. I've never seen them do that. I don't know what to do."

Nothing. No twitch of awareness, or sign he'd heard me.

"You need to wake up," I said, fighting against the tightness in my throat. "We need you. I need you."

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of his labored breathing. I slumped back in the chair, exhaustion washing over me in a wave. I hadn't slept properly since I'd felt my mother's passing. That soul-deep rending that had dropped me to my knees in the middle of tracking Sierra.

Sierra.

Thinking of her brought an unexpected warmth to my chest, a tiny spark in the darkness threatening to engulf me.

"I met someone." I'm not sure why I'm telling him this, but somehow I know he needs to hear it. My voice sounds too loud in the quiet chamber. "Her name is Sierra. She's..." I paused, searching for the right word to describe my little omega. "Extraordinary."

I adjusted my grip on my father's hand, drawing comfort from the contact even if he couldn't respond.

"She has silver hair that catches the light in ways that remind me of the moonlit pools in the eastern forests. And she's fierce, Father. So fucking fierce. You'd appreciate that about her. She doesn't back down, not even when she probably should. Just like Mum always said of my mate."

A ghost of a smile touched my lips as I remembered the way Sierra had faced down Archer, how she'd stood her ground against Rowen.

"She can speak to the dead. Can you believe that?

Just... talk to them like they're standing right next to her.

And they protect her. It's the damnedest thing.

Necromancy such as hers is a talent only seen once in a millennia.

But it doesn't feel like the normal type of necromancy. I can't explain it."

I paused, running my thumb over the back of my father's hand, tracing the patterns of power that were fading from his skin.

"She's mine, but she doesn't know it yet. Her powers are only beginning to emerge. She's part witch, part something else. Something I can't quite place. But when I'm near her, everything feels right."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "It feels like coming home. Like how you told me you felt when you met Mother."

Home. A concept I'd never fully understood until I'd caught Sierra's scent, until I'd felt the pull toward her that defied explanation.

"She's my fated mate, Father. I'm sure of it. And I think she might be the key to everything you've worked toward. The union of realms. The peace that's always slipped through your fingers. She's Rowen's mate as well as that of his second, Archer."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the edge of the bed. "I wish you could meet her. She'd probably challenge you to your face." A huff of laughter escaped me. "And I'd pay good money to see that."

Outside, thunder rumbled across the sky. A sky that had been clear when I arrived. The realm responding to its king's failing life force. Magic was breaking down, the natural order destabilizing.

"I'm afraid," I admitted, the words so quiet they barely existed. "I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of what comes after. I'm not ready to rule, Father. I never wanted the throne."

The weight of impending responsibility pressed down on my shoulders.

I'd spent centuries avoiding court politics, preferring to move through the shadows, observing rather than participating.

First Darius had died. Now, my mother was gone and my father was slipping away, and the damned crown would fall to me. The only child of my father.

"I don't know how to be a king," I confessed. "I don't know how to hold this realm together when it's already falling apart. I should have listened to you sooner. Taken more of your advice to heart. Learned more about the kingdom and our people."

My eyes burned, a sensation so unfamiliar it took me a moment to recognize it for what it was. Tears. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. Maybe never. I'd been so concerned for my father that I barely mourned the loss of my mother. Now it hit me with the force of a tsunami.

"If you can hear me, if you can give me some sign, some guidance..." My voice broke. Fuck. I hated how utterly weak I sounded.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, to find that cold detachment I'd perfected over the centuries.

Then, so faint I almost missed it, a pressure against my fingers.

My eyes flew open. My father's hand had tightened around mine. And his eyes, those pale green eyes so similar to my own, were open, focused on me with startling clarity.

"Callum," he rasped, his voice like stone grinding against stone.

"Father." I surged forward, my free hand moving to support his shoulder. "Don't try to move. I'll call the healers."

"No." The single syllable was filled with the authority that had commanded armies. "No healers. My time has come."

"Don't say that," I argued, panic rising in my chest. "We can find a way."

"There is no way, my son." His lips curved into a smile tinged with sadness. "I go to join your mother. Both of us finally able to join Darius. It is the way of things."

"But the realm?—"

"Will have you," he interrupted. "A stronger ruler than I ever was."

I shook my head, denying his words even as they settled over me like a mantle. "I'm not ready."

"None of us are ever ready." He coughed, a terrible sound that shook his entire body. When he recovered, there was a smear of darkness at the corner of his mouth—not blood, but pure magic leaking from his essence. "Tell me more about her. This Sierra."

The request caught me off guard, but I obliged, grateful for any reason to keep him talking, to keep him with me.

"She's..." I searched for words that could possibly encompass all that she was. "Vibrant. Stubborn. Dangerous in ways she doesn't even realize yet. She's been through so much, but it hasn't broken her. Not even close."

My father's eyes gleamed with interest. "And you believe she's your fated mate?"

"I know it," I said with a certainty that surprised even me. "Every instinct I have recognizes her. Being near her is like finding a piece of myself I didn't know was missing."

"Then she is the future," my father said solemnly. "Your future. The realm's future."

"What do you mean?"

He shifted slightly, wincing with the effort. "I have tried for centuries to unite our worlds. To bring the Fae realms together with the human realm, with the demon territories. Always, I have failed."