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CHAPTER THREE

JORGE

Twelve years old

T he stables smelled of clean hay, leather, and the musk of pegasus.

It was a good smell, familiar and grounding in a way few things were.

I crouched by Silverfoot, the oldest of the herd, and lifted his hoof, resting the weight of his leg against my knee.

His silver coat shimmered in the filtered light that trickled through the gaps in the stable walls.

“Easy, boy. I’ll fix it. Just hold still.”

I ran my thumb along the edge of the lightweight metal shoe fixed to his hoof.

The design was something I’d first created for the gredane, a way to ease their burden and give them more traction during long journeys.

It curved to fit perfectly against the hoof and lined with a soft material that absorbed the impact.

The pegasuses had taken to it just as naturally as the gredane, their wings catching less strain because of the even weight distribution.

For some reason, metal yielded to me. It listened to me. Sometimes I thought the material might even like me.

“There. All better.”

I patted Silverfoot's flank, and the animal flinched. Bruises, dark and angry, mottled the delicate membrane of his wings. Farther up, small rashes fanned out where the harness rubbed too tightly against his skin.

I moved down the row of stalls, inspecting the others. They weren’t much better off. I found more bruising, chafing, even small cuts where the straps had dug too deeply into flesh that was never meant to bear the strain of cargo.

Leaning against the stall door, I stared at the pile of discarded harnesses in the corner. Most were made of heavy leather. They dug into the wings, forcing the weight onto one part of the body. That was the problem. The weight wasn’t balanced. It was all concentrated in one place.

What if I made the harness of lighter material?

Metal—no, not just any metal. A lighter alloy, one that wouldn’t cut into their wings or strain their muscles.

I pictured it in my mind, a frame that curved around the body, distributing the weight more evenly.

Something sleek, something that could let the air flow over their wings without resistance.

The idea took root, growing with each second.

It would need padding, something soft to protect their skin.

Straps that didn’t bind, that could flex and move with the rhythm of their flight.

I’d seen the way they moved, how their wings beat in harmony with their bodies.

The design would have to honor that—work with them, not against them.

“Poor Princess Charlotte. Betrothed to the Beast Prince.”

“Better a beast than some human. Did you know that, in the south, Revenants are just as likely to sacrifice human brides as they are to marry them?"

"They marry humans? The cold of being in the south pole of the planet must addle their brains.”

"Come on, we're done with this birthday party. If we're quick, we'll catch Drakos' bout in the Convergence Games. I heard he's fighting with a mech fist this year."

"He'll lay Rip Vander flat with it."

I remained in the shadows of the stables, out of sight. Fairy boys were worse than my cousins. The maids would halfheartedly reprimand Olric and Dain when they got their hands on me. They would turn a blind eye to any fairy who did.

Outside, the faint red hue of the Hunter’s Moon bled across the sky, the eclipse casting Avarix into a bloody darkness as Lunaterra moved between Lyra and the first moon. The eerie light bathed everything in crimson, making the shadows deeper and the air heavier.

The fae boys darted across the darkening fields and into the woods. Once they were out of sight, I ducked into the forge. Inside, the air was thick and hot, alive with the scent of soot, iron, and oil. I stoked the embers until the flames roared to life, golden and hungry.

My uncle wasn't present. He'd likely be flat on his back in the cottage shared with his sons, an empty bottle on his bedside table. Goddess knew where his sons were. They could slack off because they knew I'd get all of their work done without complaint.

I wouldn't complain. Not when their absence granted me the space and time for my task. I’d been waiting all day for this moment—this chance to work on my project.

The dagger lay waiting for me on the workbench.

The blade was simple, but the design was elegant.

Vines coiled sinuously up the hilt, their etched lines winding like living tendrils.

Tiny blooms erupted along their length, each petal painstakingly detailed to resemble the soft, layered folds of lavender flowers.

At the base of the hilt, I was planning to add a cluster of blossoms before wrapping the handle in a purple leather to echo her lavender skin. I ran my fingers along the spine, the metal humming softly in response to my touch. It wanted to be finished. It wanted to be presented to her.

I turned back to the flames with the dagger in hand. The heat kissed my skin as I worked. The clang of my hammer rang against the blade like a song. My arms ached, my bad shoulder burning with each strike, but I didn’t stop.

“What is that?”

Her voice startled me like a bolt of lightning through the dark. I jerked, the hammer slipping from my grip. The dagger dropped from my hand. In my clumsy attempt to catch it, the blade skimmed across my palm. Pain flared sharp and bright as I hissed, stumbling back and clutching my hand.

Charlotte grabbed my hand. And just like that, I forgot the sting. Just looking at her made any ache, any weakness in my bones melt away.

To me, she was pure magic.

The gash on my palm was red and angry-looking. A bead of blood dripped onto the floor. I winced as she turned it over, inspecting it. Her fingers brushed my skin. The pain dulled. The cut closed. The warmth of her touch chased away the worst of the sting.

“You’re hopeless, Jorge.” She tugged a strip of cloth from her cloak and wiped away any evidence that I'd been hurt. “How do you survive on your own?”

“I don’t. You’re the one always saving me.”

Her touch was careful as she tied off the bandage. I swallowed hard, watching the way her fingers moved. For someone who claimed she had no skill for practical things, Charlotte was always gentle with me. Always careful.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s your birthday. You should be… celebrating.”

“You know I hate this day. If I'd only held on inside my mother's womb for a few more hours, I would have a different life. I swear I think she pushed me out on this cursed eclipse on purpose."

The bandage was tied, but she didn't release my hand. Her fingers idly twined with mine. Her numbing magic seeped into my knuckles, into my fingertips, into every crevice of my being that was lonely .

"You didn't answer my question. What is that?”

I bent to pick up the blade up, wincing as the movement tugged at my shoulder. “It’s for you. It’s your birthday present.”

“For me?” Her eyes lit up as she leaned closer, the light catching on the silver sheen of the blade. “It’s beautiful.” Then, as if realizing herself, she reached out to touch it—only to snatch her hand back at the last moment.

“It’s not iron. It’s something I’ve been experimenting with. A synthetic. It’ll be as tough as steel. You’ll be able to wield it.”

Charlotte gave me that smile, the one that had made my heart come to a full stop three years ago when we first met. The one that had given notice that I was no longer the owner of the organ inside my chest.

“Do you know what everyone else gave me today? Things befitting a future queen. Things they think the Beast Prince would like. None of those gifts were for me. They were for the princess they think I’m supposed to be. But you… you gave me something I wanted. Something my heart desired.”

My throat felt tight, and I looked away, focusing on the dagger. “It’s just a blade.”

“It’s from you. You always think about me."

She had no idea how right she was about that. I thought about Charlotte every waking moment. She was in my dreams, too.

“You’re my best friend, Jorge.”

“You’re my only friend, Charlotte.”

“I don’t have any real friends either. Everyone wants something from me. My favor. My power—not that I have any. They all want me to pretend to be someone I’m not.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her blue eyes searching mine as though trying to find something. Then she smiled again—smaller this time, but no less genuine. “I know. That's why you're my favorite person in the entire world.”

The forge glowed faintly, the last of the fire crackling low in its stone belly, like an animal reluctant to sleep.

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve.

I needed a moment without the full force of her.

The fire in her would eat me alive, and I would happily add more kindling to my funeral pyre.

“I managed to get away just in time for Drakos and Rip Vander's match." Charlotte clutched a crystal viewer in her hands. Its glowing surface pulsed with the promise of the Games. "I can't believe he succumbed and got a mech hand."

"You don't approve of mechanical enhancements?"

"I'm a fairy. Metal isn't my thing. "

"It could make him stronger."

"I like my fighters natural." She grinned. "Let's head to the stables to watch."

“I’ll be right there,” I said, gesturing toward the fire. “Just let me put this out.”

Her hand moved toward the dagger. Her fingers brushed the hilt. The metal hummed beneath her touch, as though it recognized her, as though it knew it had always belonged to her. She ran her thumb over the flowery engravings, a small, private smile pulling at her lips.

Then, without warning, she turned and leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek. Her lips were warm, just the barest brush of skin against mine. It sent a jolt straight to my chest like I’d touched pure starlight.