I woke slowly, the scent of lavender and old paper curling through the room like a memory I hadn’t lived yet.

  The sheets beneath me were impossibly soft, like woven moonlight, and the air carried that same quiet stillness from the night before. Thick. Watchful. Gentle.

  I didn’t move at first.

  The vines on the ceiling. The sunlight filtered through etched glass, stars and branches frozen mid-breath. The warmth beneath my feet.

  This place…

  It felt like a dream.

  A soft knock broke the spell.

  Before I could answer, the door creaked open.

  “Good morning!”

  Calista burst in like a gust of perfume and purpose, practically glowing. “I was going to let you sleep longer, but I just had to see how you were settling in!”

  She didn’t wait for permission. She spun through the room like she owned the air itself, brushing her fingers over the dresser, the books, the glowing vines that coiled around the window frame.

  “I still can’t believe you found this place,” she said, eyes darting everywhere. “The forest almost never lets anyone through. You’re lucky.”

  “Lucky,” I echoed softly, glancing toward the window. “It doesn’t really feel like luck.”

  She paused, tilting her head. “Feels more like fate?”

  “I don’t know what it feels like,” I admitted. “But it’s beautiful. And strange. And… I wish I could stay a little longer. Learn more about it.”

  Calista smiled, and for a moment her usual brightness dimmed into something tender. “I wish you could too. But Farren said you’re leaving today.”

  “Right,” I murmured, the word heavy on my tongue. “Leaving.”

  She reached out and smoothed the sheets near my hand, her voice softening. “Still, I can’t have you walking out looking like a wilted flower. Up. I brought clothes, something simple but flattering. You’ll thank me later.”

  “I already do,” I said, half laughing.

  Calista helped me sit up, fussing with my hair, adjusting the sleeves of a soft green dress she’d somehow pulled from the wardrobe. Every motion was graceful but gentle, her teasing threaded with warmth.

  “I envy you, you know,” she said as she tied the sash. “The way those idiots looked at you yesterday… I think the sun itself stopped to stare.”

  My cheeks burned. “That’s not—”

  “Oh, it is,” she said, grinning. “But don’t worry. You’re safe from me. I only collect scandalous stories, not the men involved in them.”

  A knock interrupted her laughter.

  Calista’s smile faltered, and she glanced toward the door. “Speaking of trouble…”

  Before I could ask what she meant, the door opened, and there he was.

  Elian stood framed in gold light from the corridor, dressed in travel clothes that somehow looked infuriatingly regal. His gaze found me immediately, then softened.

  “Morning, little thorn,” he said, his voice too casual to be casual at all. “Ready for your grand return?”

  My stomach tightened. “I suppose.”

  Calista’s eyes darted between us, reading more than either of us said aloud. She straightened the fabric at my shoulder, her touch light but grounding.

  “Try not to make her late,” she told him, and there was no mistaking the sisterly note in her tone now.

  “I’ll do my best,” Elian said, though the gleam in his eyes promised the opposite.

  Calista winked at me. “Good luck, Freya. If you decide to stay…” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I’ll pretend I didn’t see a thing.”

  She squeezed my hand and slipped out, humming as she went.

  When the door shut, Elian’s smile lingered. Slower this time. “You really don’t want to go, do you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Because maybe I didn’t.

  The palace was quieter in the morning.

  Sunlight spilled through the high windows, turning the marble floors gold and soft. Servants moved like whispers in the distance, their steps echoing faintly against the walls.

  Freya walked beside me, slow and curious, her gaze snagging on everything we passed: the shifting mosaics, the hovering lanterns, the way the air itself seemed to hum.

  “You’re staring,” I said lightly.

  She blinked. “Everything here looks… alive.”

  “That’s because it is. The palace is bound to the realm,” I explained. “It breathes with us. Every light, every vine. Even the walls listen.”

  She looked around again, quieter this time, as if she didn’t want to disturb it. “That’s… beautiful. And strange.”

  I smiled. “Welcome to my world.”

  We turned down another corridor, the glow beneath our feet shifting from gold to green. For a few moments, she said nothing, and I didn’t push. I could feel her thoughts pulling in different directions, half wonder, half worry.

  “I suppose this is goodbye,” she said finally.

  The words landed heavier than they should have.

  “Suppose so,” I said. “Unless you plan on getting lost in another forbidden forest.”

  She laughed under her breath. “I think once was enough.”

  We reached the grand hall and stepped out into sunlight. Farren was already waiting at the gates, every line of his posture perfectly composed, as if he hadn’t moved all night.

  “Morning,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes flicked between us, assessing. “Ready to return her?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” I said.

  Freya hesitated, looking back at the palace one last time. Her hand brushed the stone beside her, and for a moment, the vines along the wall seemed to brighten under her touch.

  Farren noticed. So did I.

  Neither of us said a word.

  We left through the gates. The morning air was sharp and clean, laced with dew and something older, magic, waiting. The road curved down toward the forest, where mist still clung between the trees.

  Freya stayed close, her voice quiet. “Does it always look like this?”

  “Never the same twice,” Farren answered. “The forest changes for those who enter it.”

  “And for those who leave it?” she asked.

  “Usually,” I said, “it lets them.”

  Her brow creased, but she didn’t ask more.

  The closer we got, the quieter everything became. No wind. No birds. Only that low hum, like the world was holding its breath.

  Then, without warning, the ground shifted.

  Vines tore through the earth, thick and wild, curling upward like serpents. Thorns burst from their sides, gleaming with sap that shimmered green. Within seconds, the path was gone, sealed behind a wall of living thorns.

  Freya stumbled back, hand pressed to her chest. “What—what is this place?”

  The air around her vibrated faintly, and the vines pulsed brighter. I felt the tug of it in my bones. The magic wasn’t just reacting. It was listening.

  Farren drew his sword and stepped forward. His blade struck the vines—

  but instead of cutting, they flared with light, pushing back hard enough to make him stumble.

  The glow crawled up the thorns, a deep emerald burn, alive and defiant.

  Farren stared. “It rejected me.”

  “That’s not possible,” I said.

  “This isn’t normal,” he muttered. “The forest’s wards don’t act like this. Ever.”

  We both turned toward Freya.

  She stood very still, eyes wide, the green light reflecting in her irises.

  The forest thrummed again, and I swear it answered the rhythm of her heartbeat.

  I stepped closer. “Freya.”

  She looked up, startled. “Yes?”

  I hesitated.

  “Would you mind…” I glanced toward Farren, then back at her. “Staying a little longer?”

  For a moment, surprise flashed across her face, then relief. She smiled, bright and certain.

  “I’d love to.”

  Something in me eased.

  And burned.

  Farren sheathed his sword slowly. “Then it’s settled. The forest has spoken.”

  “Seems it has,” I murmured, though I couldn’t look away from her.

  Behind her, the vines pulsed one last time, steady, alive, protective.

  As if the entire realm had just agreed.

  We’d gone several steps when it happened.

  The forest shifted again.

  Not violently.

  Not defensively.

  Reverently.

  The thorns parted with a slow, deliberate grace, vines unfurling and bowing back into the earth. The emerald glow dimmed, softening, until the air itself seemed to breathe out.

  A single step sounded.

  Heavy.

  Measured.

  Alive.

  I stopped.

  So did Farren.

  Freya turned first.

  At the edge of the path, where the forest thickened into shadow, something massive stood half-hidden among the trees.

  A Heartquine.

  For a moment, none of us moved.

  She was built of moss and muscle, her form powerful but unhurried, legs rooted deep as if the earth itself had shaped them. Bark traced her flanks in natural armor, vines threading through her mane as though they had grown there willingly. Faint green light pulsed beneath her skin, slow and steady, like a living pulse.

  I hadn’t seen one since I was a child.

  And even then… only once.

  I’d heard the stories since, how rare they’d become. How some claimed the noble heartkin no longer walked freely at all.

  Freya inhaled softly.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “She’s beautiful.”

  Before either of us could stop her, she took a step forward.

  Then another.

  “Freya,” Farren said carefully, not raising his voice. “Be cautious. They trust slowly.”

  She nodded, but didn’t stop.

  Her movements were unhurried, open. No sudden gestures. No tension in her shoulders. Just quiet awe as she approached, as if drawn by curiosity rather than intent.

  The Heartquine didn’t retreat.

  She watched.

  Freya lifted her hand, palm open.

  For a breathless moment, nothing happened.

  Then the Heartquine shifted her weight and leaned forward, just enough, lowering her head until her broad snout brushed Freya’s fingertips.

  Green light flared softly where they touched.

  Not bright.

  Not violent.

  Alive.

  I felt Farren still beside me, felt the same stunned disbelief locking my own breath in place.

  Freya laughed quietly, a sound full and unguarded.

  “Hi,” she murmured, as if greeting a skittish horse rather than something out of legend.

  The Heartquine exhaled, warm and earthy, then drew back a single step. She held Freya’s gaze a moment longer, ancient eyes steady and unreadable, before turning smoothly and disappearing into the trees.

  The forest closed behind her without a sound.

  Freya lowered her hand slowly, as if afraid the moment might shatter if she moved too fast.

  Neither Farren nor I spoke.

  Some things didn’t need words.

  We walked back toward the palace, sunlight breaking through the trees in thin, glittering strands.

  My heart wouldn’t slow.

  Not from fear this time, but from the quiet, humming thrill still coiled beneath my ribs.

  I kept replaying it in my mind: the weight of the air, the warmth of breath against my skin, the way the green light had answered me like recognition rather than reaction.

  The Heartquine hadn’t just tolerated me.

  She had seen me.

  The forest had chosen to keep me.

  The thought made my chest feel too full, like something new had taken root there and was stretching, testing its space.

  I tried to act calm. Tried very hard not to grin like an absolute idiot as I walked between them.

  “Just for a few weeks,” I said quickly, before either could object. “If that’s alright. Then I’ll go home.”

  Home.

  The word felt… strange now. Smaller somehow.

  Elian glanced sideways at me, lips twitching like he wanted to smile. “A few weeks.”

  Farren made a sound that could have meant anything, from fine to you’re insane.

  I swallowed and kept going, the words spilling out before I could second-guess them. “I’d like to explore. This place… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The light, the air, the way everything feels, alive. It’s remarkable. I never thought the kind of magic I read about in stories could actually be real.”

  Because it felt real.

  Not flashy or theatrical.

  But old. Patient. Intentional.

  Neither of them answered.

  The silence pressed in, and heat crept up my neck. I laughed softly, trying to brush it off. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I probably sound like a child discovering fireflies.”

  Elian’s voice dropped low, amused. “No. You sound curious.”

  Something in his tone loosened the tightness in my chest.

  I glanced at him, then at Farren, both unreadable in entirely different ways. The question slipped out before I could stop it.

  “Is the magic just in the forest?” I hesitated. “Or… do you have it too?”

  The air shifted. Subtle. Charged.

  Elian’s mouth curved, slow and secretive. Farren’s gaze flicked toward me, then away.

  I immediately regretted it. “You don’t have to answer. I was just… curious.”

  Elian smiled, but didn’t reply.

  And somehow, that told me everything.

  The palace came into view at the top of the hill, sunlight catching on its pale stone and turning the spires molten gold. It should have felt overwhelming.

  Instead, it felt… inevitable.

  Waiting by the gates, hands on her hips and an I-told-you-so already on her lips, stood Calista.

  “I had a feeling you’d be back,” she called, voice bright with triumph. “The forest never returns someone it doesn’t like.”

  A strange, quiet pride stirred in me at that.

  Farren stopped a few paces from her. “She’ll be staying a few weeks,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Make sure she’s shown around so she doesn’t lose herself.”

  Lose myself.

  As if the forest hadn’t just handed me a piece I hadn’t known was missing.

  Calista lit up like dawn. “Oh, I’ll take excellent care of her,” she said, looping her arm through mine before I could protest. “Come on, mystery girl! You haven’t even seen the gardens yet. They’re practically singing this morning.”

  They are, I thought faintly, though I didn’t know why I was so sure.

  “Besides,” she added with a grin, “I have a full itinerary.”

  I blinked. “You what?”

  “I thought we could start in the kitchen,” she said brightly. “Or the upper balcony, best morning light, if you ask me. Then we can peek into the archives and—”

  A shadow passed behind me.

  Warmth.

  Presence.

  Before I could turn, a hand slid lightly around my waist, steady and confident, and pulled me back against a solid chest.

  My breath caught.

  Elian’s voice brushed my ear, low and silk-smooth. “Forget the archives. I’ll give her the tour.”

  Every thought in my head promptly scattered.

  Calista’s words died mid-breath. “Of course you will,” she muttered, stepping back with a knowing look.

  My heart practically climbed into my throat.

  Elian didn’t move right away. He stayed there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my clothes, his breath stirring the fine hairs near my temple. His hand lingered, half a second too long, before he finally let go.

  When I dared to look up, his smile was pure trouble.

  “What do you say, little thorn?” he asked softly. “Ready to see our home?”

  My voice barely functioned. “I—sure.”

  Calista crossed her arms, smirking. “She’s all yours then.”

  I might have said I’m not an object, but Elian’s gaze held mine, bright, intent, and so full of warmth it nearly burned.

  Yeah.

  I said nothing.

  Calista gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she turned toward Farren. “Try to make sure they come back alive, will you?”

  Farren sighed. “I’ll try.”

  Elian extended his hand to me again, all mock formality and mischief.

  “Shall we?”

  I rolled my eyes, but my fingers found his anyway, too easily, too naturally.

  As he led me down the path toward the palace gardens, he leaned in just enough to murmur, “Something tells me you’re going to like my version of a tour better.”

  And judging by the way my heart answered, loud, reckless, and undeniably alive, I already did.

  Gods, she’s beautiful.

  Not just her face, or the soft curve of her mouth when she’s thinking.

  It’s the way she fills a space. Like sunlight sneaking into every shadow it finds.

  She walked beside me through the marble corridor, her dress whispering against the floor, green silk and silver thread, far too fine for where I planned to take her.

  I cleared my throat. “You can’t wear that.”

  Freya stopped, brows lifting. “What?”

  “You’ll ruin it,” I said, gesturing toward the hem. “And Calista will hunt me through the halls for letting you drag half the gardens with you.”

  Her lips parted in surprise, then amusement. “You’re serious.”

  “Painfully.” I nodded toward her room. “You’ll need something easier to move in. Shirt, trousers. Boots if Calista left any that fit.”

  She looked down at the gown, then back at me. “I don’t think I know how to get out of this without breaking something.”

  The words shouldn’t have hit like they did.

  “I’ll… help,” I said, a little too quickly.

  She blinked, cheeks warming, but nodded and turned back toward her door. “Alright.”

  Inside, the light spilled gold through the tall windows, dust catching like glitter in the air. Calista had apparently anticipated this. Laid neatly across the bed were folded clothes: a linen shirt, soft brown trousers, and a green cloak pinned with a silver leaf clasp.

  Freya touched the cloak, smiling faintly. “She thinks of everything.”

  She reached for the ties at the back of her dress, fingers fumbling. “These knots… why are there so many?”

  “Decoration,” I said, stepping closer. “Or torture. Depending on who you ask.”

  She huffed a laugh, trying again. “I think torture.”

  “Here,” I murmured. “May I?”

  She nodded once.

  I lifted the silk laces, careful not to brush skin, but the closeness still burned. Her scent, fresh earth and lavender, filled the space. My fingers moved slowly, undoing each tie. The fabric loosened and slipped from her shoulders, revealing the line of her spine, graceful, unguarded.

  Something in me stilled.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, mistaking my pause for hesitation.

  “Don’t be,” I said softly. “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting you to glow in every kind of light.”

  She turned slightly, eyes meeting mine. “You really need to stop saying things like that.”

  “I’ve tried,” I said, smiling faintly. “Hasn’t worked yet.”

  Her laugh was quiet, nervous, lovely. She gathered the new clothes and disappeared behind the divider.

  I leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. My pulse hadn’t settled since the forest. When she said she would stay.

  When she reappeared, shirt half-tucked, hair loose, cloak draped across one shoulder, I swear the air itself bent around her.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Like you belong here,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Her cheeks flushed again. “You’re impossible.”

  “Completely.”

  I offered my hand. “Come on, little thorn. Let’s see how well you handle my home on foot.”

  She slipped her hand into mine, warm, trusting, curious.

  And for one unguarded heartbeat, I let myself imagine never letting go.

  The corridors opened into a hall so wide it seemed to hold its own sky.

  Light streamed through arched windows, brushing dust motes into gold. Rows of shelves stretched toward the ceiling, endless and elegant, their spines glinting in shades of copper and moss.

  The scent hit first.

  Paper. Ink. A whisper of cedar and sunlight.

  A library.

  I stopped in the doorway, stunned.

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  “You… have an entire world in here.”

  Elian’s voice came softly from behind me, amused. “You mentioned reading stories growing up.”

  “I practically lived in them.” I turned, smiling. “Books were my way of traveling when the real world wouldn’t let me.”

  Something flickered across his expression, quick and gone before I could name it. It was neither amusement nor sadness.

  “In that case,” he said, motioning me forward, “I should show you something.”

  He led me between towering shelves until we reached a wide table near the far wall. Spread across it was a map, old parchment edged in gold, its corners held down by smooth crystal weights that caught the light and scattered it across the wood.

  The parchment shimmered faintly, as if it remembered something warm.

  “This,” Elian said, resting his hand lightly on the edge, “is our world.”

  I leaned closer.

  “Our… world?”

  He glanced at me sideways, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Careful. You’re saying that like it surprises you.”

  I huffed softly. “It kind of does. You mean this isn’t just some… hidden country?”

  “No,” he said gently. “This is Mythara.”

  The name settled somewhere deep in my chest.

  I traced the markings with my eyes, and then frowned.

  “There are four sections,” I said slowly.

  Elian nodded. “Three kingdoms. And what connects them.”

  He pointed first to the bottom of the map, where storm-cloud sigils curled over sharp mountain ranges.

  “This is Elmaris. Southern lands. Strong winds. Shifting skies.” His voice warmed slightly. “This is where you are now.”

  Then his finger slid west, to a region marked by radiant lines, like sunlight etched into the parchment.

  “Wraithmere,” he said. “The western kingdom.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

  “It was,” he corrected quietly. “My mother was born there.”

  Something in his tone made me look up. “Was?”

  “It was destroyed many years ago,” he said carefully. “The skies there never lost their light, she used to say.”

  My throat tightened. “I’m sorry.”

  He inclined his head once, accepting the sympathy without comment.

  Then his hand moved again, north and east, covering the largest territory on the map.

  “This was Illorath.”

  I didn’t realize I’d whispered the name until it left my lips.

  Illorath.

  At its center stood the symbol of a massive tree, roots stretching outward like veins, branches reaching beyond the borders as if lines meant nothing to it.

  My fingers hovered, then brushed the parchment.

  A strange warmth pulsed beneath my touch.

  Elian exhaled slowly. “My aunt and uncle lived there,” he said. “There was a massacre when I was young.”

  The word hit harder than I expected.

  “All of this,” I said quietly. “Gone?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  I pulled my hand back, suddenly afraid to touch the map again. “They were all so beautiful.”

  “They were,” he agreed.

  “So…” I swallowed. “Elmaris is the only one left.”

  “For now,” he said. “Which is why Farren doesn’t trust easily. Strangers are… risks we can’t afford.”

  That made sense. Too much sense.

  My gaze drifted toward the center of the map, where a golden field glowed softly, etched with delicate lines that flowed outward.

  “And this?” I asked.

  Elian’s expression softened in a way I hadn’t seen before. “The Golden Field. It’s the heart of Mythara.”

  Heart.

  “The rivers begin there,” he continued, tracing the thin gold lines that branched outward. “They carry life through the land. Like veins.”

  I shivered from the feeling of recognition.

  My fingers drifted again, this time farther east, beyond Illorath.

  The map faded there. No borders. No symbols. Just pale parchment, worn thin by time.

  “It looks unfinished,” I said.

  “It isn’t,” Elian replied. “All our maps end that way.”

  “But there’s nothing there,” I said. “No ocean. No land. Just… blank.”

  He studied the empty space as if seeing it for the first time. “Some say it’s simply the edge of the world.”

  I frowned. “That feels wrong.”

  A beat passed.

  “Maybe,” he said quietly, “some things were never meant to be named.”

  I looked at him then, and for just a moment, the gold in his eyes dimmed, like a light turned inward.

  Then he smiled, easy and familiar, the expression sliding back into place like armor.

  “Anyway,” he said lightly, “that’s your introduction to Mythara. I’ll test you on it later.”

  “A test?” I groaned.

  “To see how much you remember.”

  “I’ll fail on purpose.”

  “I’ll allow it.”

  He stepped closer, close enough that his sleeve brushed my arm, warmth radiating off him like sunlight trapped beneath skin.

  “Come on,” he said softly. “Before I decide you’re too curious to let out of my sight.”

  I followed him from the library, my thoughts tangled and racing.

  But behind us, the map still glowed faintly,

  its golden heart pulsing, patient and alive.

  The hallways stretched wide and sunlit, veined with gold that shimmered under our steps. Every arch and curve of marble seemed alive, carved with such purpose it almost hummed when we passed.

  Elian moved through it like it was his second skin.

  Confident. Unbothered. Effortless.

  He didn’t look back to check if I was following.

  He just knew I would.

  Finally, I broke the silence.

  “So… is this what you do? Lure lost girls down long hallways?”

  He glanced sideways, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “Only the interesting ones.”

  I didn’t want to react, but my face warmed anyway.

  “Oh. So I’m a project now?”

  “A mystery,” he said. “Much more exciting.”

  I gave a soft scoff. “I think Calista might stab you.”

  His grin turned almost fond. “She’s tried. Didn’t take.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” I muttered, hiding a smile.

  He chuckled. “And yet, here you are, walking with me anyway.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I’m just braver than she is.”

  He laughed, a real one this time, and it echoed through the corridor, warm and easy.

  As Elian led me away from the gates, my thoughts kept circling back, green light, warm breath, the weight of something ancient lowering its head to me.

  “Back there,” I said at last, unable to hold it in any longer. “The Heartquine… was that normal? I mean, do they just appear like that?”

  Elian slowed, glancing at me with something like surprise. Then he shook his head once, quietly. “No. Not normal.”

  “And today?” I asked softly.

  “She touched you.” His mouth curved, faint and awed. “That alone makes it different.”

  I hugged my arms around myself, goosebumps rising. “Farren said they trust slowly.”

  “They do,” Elian agreed. “That’s why the elders say they’re gifts from the gods. Not creatures to be hunted or summoned, only answered.” He glanced at me sidelong. “Most live their entire lives without seeing one.”

  I swallowed. “Why are they so rare?”

  “No one really knows,” he said. “Some believe they appear only when the balance of the realm needs witnessing. Others think they follow the gods’ footsteps, wherever those once walked.”

  My chest tightened. “Have you seen one before?”

  “Once,” he said. “I was younger. Barely more than a boy.”

  His gaze drifted ahead, unfocused, as if the corridor had fallen away entirely. “She stood at the edge of the western glade. Didn’t move. Just… watched.”

  I waited.

  “I remember thinking she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he went on quietly. “She never came closer. And I’ve always wondered…”

  He stopped himself, then exhaled softly.

  “…if today’s Heartquine was the same one.”

  Something about that made my chest ache.

  “Are there others like that?” I asked. “Creatures that… don’t show themselves often?”

  “There are others,” he said after a moment. “Not many. And not much is known.”

  He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Skyrends pass through storm currents once in a generation. Heliostags are said to appear only at solstice, and even then, most sightings are secondhand. Moonlynxes leave no tracks at all.”

  “So… mostly legends,” I murmured.

  “Mostly,” he agreed. “There are records, though. Old ones.” His mouth curved slightly. “There’s a book in the library. Fragmented. Half theory, half observation. I’ll show it to you sometime.”

  I smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “when I take you to the Golden Field… I’ll call for a solhound.”

  I blinked. “Call?”

  “They don’t always answer,” he said lightly. “But when they do…”

  His eyes flicked to mine, bright with promise.

  “…you’ll know.”

  I shook my head, laughing under my breath. “I don’t even know how to wrap my mind around this place.”

  “Good,” he said. “It wouldn’t be Elmaris if it made sense all at once.”

  We turned a corner, and the world opened.

  A wide balcony unfurled before us, framed by flowering vines heavy with pale blossoms. Sunlight poured through the arches, scattering gold across the stone beneath our feet. Far below, courtyards bloomed with color, silver fountains catching the light, winding paths threading through soft green lawns that stretched toward the forest’s edge, where the trees still glimmered faintly, as if remembering me.

  Beyond that, hills rolled toward the horizon, dotted with light, slow, steady pulses, like the land itself was breathing.

  My breath caught. “This is… incredible.”

  The wind lifted my hair, warm and fragrant, carrying something sweet and alive. I leaned forward on the railing, dizzy with it. “How does a place like this even exist? How has no one ever found it?”

  Elian stepped up beside me, folding his arms on the stone. “Maybe it’s not meant to be found.”

  I turned to him, frowning. “That’s not fair. Something this beautiful shouldn’t be hidden.”

  He looked at me then, really looked at me, and the sunlight caught in his eyes until they seemed almost liquid gold.

  “Then it’s too bad,” he said softly, “you hadn’t found it sooner.”

  My heart stumbled, sharp and sudden.

  I looked away quickly, pretending to study the courtyards below. “If I had,” I murmured, “maybe I wouldn’t have believed it was real.”

  A quiet, breathless sound slipped from him, half a laugh, half something else. “You still don’t.”

  I didn’t argue.

  For a moment, we just stood there, his shoulder brushing mine, the hum of the realm curling around us like a held breath. Sunlight. Stone. Wind. It felt like the world had narrowed to this balcony and the space between us.

  I cleared my throat. “Could you… show me the gardens next?”

  His smile returned, slow, knowing, unmistakably pleased. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  His head tilted, amused. “You want a tour?”

  “You said I’m a mystery,” I said. “Might as well learn something while I’m being studied.”

  That earned another grin, slower this time. He straightened, turning toward me, and extended a hand.

  Not just extended. Lifted.

  He took my hand gently, bringing it up as though I were something precious and fragile. His thumb brushed the back of my knuckles, the warmth there too deliberate to be accidental.

  “Then, little thorn,” he murmured, voice dipping low, “it would be an honor.”

  And before I could think to breathe, he led me down the marble steps, sunlight chasing the edges of his hair as the gardens waited below.

  The garden.

  This place had its own rhythm. Its own heartbeat.

  He pushed the door open without a word, and I walked in like I’d done it a thousand times.

  The air changed the moment I crossed the threshold.

  The flowers tilted toward me. The vines curled closer.

  Everything felt… heavier and softer all at once, like the whole garden was exhaling.

  Elian glanced at me, that slow grin tugging at his mouth.

  “Did you dream about me?”

  I blinked. “You’re impossible.”

  “I just ask the important questions.”

  I hesitated, then looked up at him. “Actually… I did have a dream.”

  His brow lifted, amused. “Should I be flattered?”

  “No,” I laughed. “Not that kind of dream.”

  I wandered down the path, fingers brushing the leaves. “It was peaceful. Warm. I was standing on a beach, I think. The waves were crashing into the rocks, loud, but not scary. More like… they were speaking.”

  “Waves speaking?” he asked, intrigued.

  “They sounded like voices. Laughing, teasing. One shouted, you can’t catch me! and another said, try me! Then a third sighed and told us we were being childish.”

  I smiled faintly. “I couldn’t see them. Just shapes in the distance. Like I was standing too far from the shore to reach them.”

  Elian was quiet for a moment.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he said finally.

  “You mean the ocean?”

  He nodded once. “We don’t have anything that vast here. Rivers, lakes… but nothing endless.”

  I frowned slightly. “That’s still strange to me. A world without big bodies of water, it feels incomplete somehow.”

  He glanced at me, curious. “Incomplete?”

  “Where I come from, the sea touches everything,” I said softly. “It feels alive. Constant. Like it keeps the world breathing.”

  He studied me for a moment longer, as if memorizing the words. “Maybe it does where you’re from,” he said. “But here, the earth does the breathing for us.”

  I looked down at the moss beneath our feet, glowing faintly in the light. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

  “Beautiful,” he agreed. “And alive.”

  The garden seemed to hold its breath.

  Light pooled around us, gold flickering through lavender.

  Elian crouched beside a low blossom, fingertips brushing its petals. The flower opened wider, light spilling from its heart.

  I blinked. “How did you do that?”

  He didn’t answer right away. The gold reflected in his eyes as he watched the petals sway. Then, quietly, almost like confession,

  “Everything alive carries a thread.”

  “A thread?”

  “It runs beneath the skin,” he said. “It’s the part of the soul that glows when the world remembers you. The stronger the soul, the brighter the light.”

  I looked down at my hands. “So I have one too?”

  He smiled, small and crooked. “You do.”

  “How do you know?”

  He glanced at the flowers, then back to me.

  “Because I feel it. My thread dances beside yours.”

  For a heartbeat I couldn’t breathe. “Dances?”

  “Threads recognize their own,” he said softly. “Have you ever felt it, that pull in your chest you can’t explain?”

  I hesitated. “I’ve felt it since I was little.”

  His smile deepened, gentle now.

  “That’s your thread trying to find where it belongs.”

  The light between us shimmered, gold twining with violet before fading back into the garden’s hush.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke.

  Then he tilted his head, that impossible grin creeping back.

  “So,” he said, voice sliding into mischief again, “by my calculations, our threads are… remarkably compatible.”

  I blinked, still a little breathless. “Calculations?”

  “Strictly scientific.”

  The spell cracked. I smacked his arm. “You are impossible.”

  He laughed, rich and low. “And yet, you keep proving my theory.”

  “What theory?”

  “That you can’t resist me for long.”

  “Wrong.”

  “We’ll test it again later.”

  I groaned, turning away before he could see the color rising in my cheeks.

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “Anytime you want to see your thread dance again,” he called after me, “you know where to find me.”

  “I think I dislike you.”

  “That’s fair.”

  I stepped beside him. The garden pulsed beneath my feet, like the roots were whispering something I couldn’t hear. I reached out and touched a lavender bloom.

  It trembled.

  My breath caught.

  Why does it feel like this place already knows me?

  Elian’s smile faded slightly. “You okay?”

  “It feels… familiar,” I whispered.

  He looked at me for a long moment, longer than he should have.

  His gaze dropped to my hand where it still hovered over the bloom, then back to my face.

  His voice was low. Almost hesitant.

  But smug. Always smug.

  “If you really want to know if it’s real,” he murmured, that dangerous glint returning to his eyes, “you could try… kissing me.”

  I froze.

  Heat slammed into my face like a backdraft.

  “You—” I sputtered. “Are you serious?”

  He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s just a theory.”

  “I swear—”

  “Purely scientific.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  I turned sharply away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my face absolutely on fire.

  He was infuriating.

  And maybe brilliant.

  And maybe… beautiful.

  Still, my voice softened.

  “Can I… come here whenever I want?”

  He stepped closer.

  His fingers brushed a curl from my cheek, tucking it gently behind my ear. They lingered, for just a breath.

  Then stopped.

  He stilled.

  His eyes locked on something just beneath my temple.

  A shift in his face, quiet, reverent. A flicker of something deep and knowing.

  The birthmark.

  The little lavender bloom hidden beneath my hair.

  Oval-shaped. Quiet. Faint as a memory.

  He didn’t speak at first.

  Then, softly,

  “It’s yours,” he said. “As much as it is mine.”

  The halls were too quiet.

  Sunlight bled through the high windows, warm and steady, but beneath it, something shifted. A faint hum. A pull. Not loud enough to alarm anyone else.

  Enough to make my chest tighten.

  I stopped mid-stride.

  The air buzzed against my ribs like static before lightning.

  Strange.

  It faded almost as quickly as it came, but I’d learned long ago not to ignore instincts like that. Storms never announced themselves until it was already too late.

  “Farren.”

  Cal’s voice cut through the thought. She fell into step beside me, skirts whispering against the marble, silver eyes sharp with their usual mix of curiosity and mischief.

  “You’ve paced this stretch three times now,” she said lightly. “Thinking about our mysterious guest?”

  I kept my gaze forward. “Thinking about the forest.”

  Her smile sharpened. “And the girl it refused to let go of?”

  “That too.”

  She hummed softly. “A stranger appears, paths vanish, vines bow, and then the forest sends her back to us untouched.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “I can’t wait to figure out every little thing about her.”

  “I’m sure you can,” I murmured.

  We turned another corner.

  The pull returned, stronger this time. Like my thread was being drawn taut.

  “We saw something,” I said abruptly.

  Cal blinked. “What kind of something?”

  I slowed. “A Heartquine.”

  She stopped walking.

  For the first time since I’d known her, Cal’s expression went utterly still.

  “You’re serious.”

  “I am.”

  Her voice dropped. “Those don’t just appear.”

  “No,” I agreed. “They don’t.”

  I didn’t tell her how the forest had bowed. How the creature had touched Freya without hesitation. How the land itself had felt… settled afterward.

  Cal studied my face. “That changes things.”

  “It already has.”

  The hum surged again, sharper now, unmistakable.

  “They’re in the garden,” I said quietly.

  She glanced around. “You didn’t ask anyone.”

  “I don’t need to.”

  Something in my tone must have convinced her. She didn’t argue, just fell in beside me as I started walking again, her heels clicking softly behind me.

  When we reached the garden doors, I hesitated.

  The air beyond them vibrated, threads of magic, faint but real, layered and alive. I pushed the door open.

  And stopped.

  Elian stood in the sunlight with the girl.

  Freya.

  His hand rested against her cheek.

  The space between them was utterly still, charged in that dangerous, suspended way that meant something had just happened.

  Cal inhaled sharply behind me.

  “He’s touching her,” she whispered.

  Shock and fascination tangled in her voice. “Elian doesn’t… touch people.”

  I said nothing.

  The light around them shimmered faintly, gold brushing against green and violet before settling back into the air as if nothing had occurred at all.

  Whatever moment I’d interrupted, it had already sealed itself.

  Cal’s voice dropped. “This could be a blessing… or a disaster.”

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  I stepped forward.

  Freya startled slightly when she noticed me, though Elian didn’t move his hand until the very last second. When he finally did, he stepped back with that same infuriating, casual smirk, one that said he knew exactly what I’d seen.

  “Miss Freya,” I said evenly, “has Elian provided an acceptable tour of the palace?”

  She smiled, small, warm. Unguarded. “He showed me the maps, the halls, and the gardens. It’s… incredible here.”

  I turned to Elian. “Maps. Scenery. Gardens.”

  He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “What? I didn’t want to overwhelm her on her first day.”

  I dragged a hand down my face. “Calista will finish showing you around.”

  Cal lit up instantly. “Gladly.”

  “And,” I added, “please explain the few responsibilities Freya will have while she’s here. Nothing major. Just enough to keep her occupied.”

  Freya looked curious but didn’t object.

  Cal looped her arm through Freya’s without hesitation. “Come on. East wing first, the light’s perfect right now.”

  As they turned toward the hall, Cal glanced back just once, her grin aimed squarely at Elian, triumphant as a crown claimed.

  Elian scowled. “Show-off.”

  When they disappeared, I looked at him again. He was already leaning against the railing, arms crossed, pretending not to care.

  “What?” he said.

  I held his gaze. “Idiot.”

  He laughed, unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

  I turned away before he could add anything else.

  But as I left the garden, the hum beneath my ribs returned, soft and steady now.

  Like the echo of a thread that had already been pulled.

  Calista practically floated down the corridor like a silk ribbon on a breeze, humming to herself, somewhere between a lullaby and a war march.

  “So!” she chirped. “Let’s talk responsibilities.”

  “I—wait.” I glanced over my shoulder, the image of the garden still clinging to my mind like perfume.

  “So! Mornings, you’ll be in the gardens helping the groundskeepers. Mostly pruning, planting, or trying not to get strangled by sentient vines. If they like you, they’ll let you pick the figs. If they don’t… well, wear gloves.”

  My feet padded softly across the stone as I tried to keep up. The scent of citrus and damp moss drifted through arched windows, and somewhere nearby, a bell chimed. A soft, ringing note that seemed to echo inside my ribs.

  “Figs?” I echoed.

  “Just don’t eat anything without asking,” she said breezily. “There was an incident last spring. Long story. Involved moonflowers and a very confused noble who thought he could speak to bees.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was joking.

  “After lunch, you’ll help in the kitchen. You won’t be cooking, don’t worry,” she added, stepping neatly over a vine that had crept into the hallway like it had business here. “More like sorting herbs, organizing the pantry, and pretending not to overhear gossip.”

  She leaned in conspiratorially.

  “Most of the staff can’t whisper to save their lives, and some of them want you to overhear. Keeps things interesting.”

  I tried to imagine myself among them, sunburned, sweaty, holding a basket of herbs while people in silks whispered behind their hands.

  “And evenings?” I asked.

  Calista turned a corner so sharply her gown flared like a curtain in the wind.

  “Free time, unless you want to shadow me during moonrise meditation.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Moonrise… what?”

  She smirked, clearly waiting for the question. “It’s a palace tradition. I’ve been running them the last few months. It’s mostly candles, controlled breathing, and trying not to fall asleep while pretending you’re one with the stars.”

  “I’m guessing it’s optional?”

  “Deeply,” she said with a twirl. “But it’s a good way to learn who’s secretly dramatic.”

  We passed another hallway lined with portraits, eyes that followed, brushstrokes still vibrant with magic. Calista didn’t seem fazed. She just hummed louder.

  We had barely turned the corner when the question slipped out. Quiet. Hesitant. Too casual to be casual.

  “Is… Elian… popular with the other women?”

  Calista blinked, then giggled, her whole face lighting up like she’d just been handed a secret.

  “Oh, stars, yes,” she said with a wink. “He has an entire fan club. I’m fairly certain they meet weekly. Embroidered handkerchiefs and everything.”

  I stared. “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously. He’s very well known. Tall, tragic, golden. The whole smile-that-could-ruin-you thing. He practically writes his own ballads.”

  I nodded slowly. “So that means he probably has… a lot of experience. Is that why he’s so… confident in himself?”

  Calista stopped walking. Turned slowly to look at me. Then burst out laughing.

  I blinked, cheeks burning. “What?”

  “Freya,” she gasped between laughs, “Elian? Experience?”

  My face was officially on fire.

  She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and shook her head, grinning. “Goodness, no. That man hides from any woman who so much as flutters her lashes at him. If you even mention the word kiss, he starts glitching. I’m convinced his hands are still virgins.”

  I groaned, covering my face. “You’re awful.”

  “I think he’s destined to be single forever,” she went on, thoroughly enjoying herself. “His parents keep trying to set him up, but he turns down every match. Politely. Casually. With the grace of a practiced escape artist.”

  That made me pause, but before I could say anything, Calista’s tone shifted. Softer. Thoughtful.

  “But earlier…” She trailed off, glancing sideways. “In the garden. I saw him touch your cheek.”

  I froze.

  She continued, almost to herself. “Elian doesn’t touch anyone, Freya. Ever. So you must be something special.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My heart thudded too loud in my ears.

  Calista smiled, but there was curiosity behind it, sharp and bright. “Elian’s charm, it’s real, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also a mask. That teasing, smug attitude? That’s what he shows the world.”

  “A mask for what?”

  Her eyes gleamed. “That, my lovely mystery girl… is something you might have to investigate.”

  She turned the next corner and stopped in front of a tall, arched door wrapped in ivy shaped like flames. A carved golden sunburst marked the center, warm even in shadow.

  “And this,” she said with a little bow, “is Elian’s room.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  She tapped the edge of the door. “Just in case you ever get lost and need to knock. Or barge in dramatically. Or fall asleep against it for no particular reason.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Of course not,” she said brightly, already walking away. “But if you did…”

  I groaned. “What have I walked into?”

  Her laughter echoed down the hall, bright and unbothered, like the palace itself was in on the joke.

  After hours of Calista talking about garden etiquette, pantry politics, which nobles were secretly married, who might be cursed, which corners of the palace were haunted, and an aggressively detailed ranking of palace pastries, I could barely remember my own name.

  By the time I collapsed onto the bed, the sun had dipped low.

  Golden light spilled through the ivy-laced windows, soft and sleepy. Outside, cicadas sang in gentle waves, like the earth itself was humming me to sleep.

  My body ached. My thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.

  This place.

  They said the forest wanted me to stay.

  The garden had felt like it knew me.

  And the Heartquine.

  I closed my eyes and saw her again. Massive and quiet and impossibly real. A horse, yes, but more than that. As if the earth itself had decided to stand up and breathe. Moss and bark and living light, her weight settling into the world like she belonged to something older than stories.

  I’d never seen anything like her.

  She hadn’t felt like a creature.

  She’d felt like a presence.

  And the way she’d touched me, gentle, deliberate, as if she’d been… curious.

  A strange ache bloomed in my chest at the thought. I hoped—fiercely, irrationally—that I might see her again someday.

  Then there was the palace.

  The gardens.

  The way the land itself seemed to lean toward me.

  And Elian…

  I covered my face with a groan.

  The way he looked at me, like I was something remembered. Something lost. Something his soul had already known.

  It wasn’t hunger.

  Or pride.

  It was reverence.

  And maybe… confusion. Like he didn’t understand it any more than I did.

  That somehow made it worse.

  Or better.

  I wasn’t sure which.

  I slipped into the silk nightgown Calista had left folded on the chair, the fabric soft as fog against my skin. I pulled the pins from my hair until it fell loose across my shoulders, a dark spill brushing bare skin.

  I’d just climbed into bed when a soft knock at the door froze me.

  Of course.

  What was it with these people and perfect timing?

  With a groan, I shuffled to the door and cracked it open.

  Elian.

  Still in his travel clothes, shirt wrinkled, blond hair mussed like he’d been pacing. His lips were parted, like he’d been about to speak before I’d even appeared.

  I blinked. “Hi.”

  He blinked back. Then looked away—fast. His jaw tightened, his neck flushed, and it took me a mortifying half second to realize why.

  Oh. The nightgown.

  The thin, soft, completely unhelpful nightgown that clung to my legs and dipped too low at the collarbones.

  Heat slammed into my face. “Sorry—I didn’t think anyone would—”

  “No, no,” he said quickly, voice low, hoarse. “I should’ve… I mean, I didn’t think…”

  He coughed into his fist, clearly flustered. I swore his ears turned pink.

  A silence stretched. Charged. Awkward. Alive.

  Then he looked at me again. And smirked.

  “I’ve had worse welcomes.”

  I gaped. “Elian.”

  “What?” he said innocently, grin deepening. “You opened the door.”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing even close to civilized came out.

  He let the silence simmer, clearly enjoying himself, before sighing lightly.

  “Farren asked me to tell you—you start training in the morning.”

  “Training?” I echoed. “For what?”

  He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You’ll find out.”

  He turned to leave—

  But didn’t get two steps before another door creaked open down the hall.

  Calista.

  Hair perfect. Gown perfectly disheveled, like the universe itself posed her that way.

  She leaned in her doorway, arms crossed, lips curled in a too-sweet smile.

  “Elian,” she purred. “Didn’t realize late-night visits to ladies’ rooms were part of your post-travel routine.”

  Elian froze. Then slowly turned, voice silky. “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.”

  “Oh, I keep score,” she said, honey and mischief in equal measure. “Especially when girls start asking questions about your experience.”

  My soul left my body.

  “Calista,” I hissed.

  She ignored me, radiant. “Elian, did you know she thinks you’re so confident because you’ve had practice?”

  Elian blinked once. Then again. “…She what?”

  “I did not say it like that!” I spluttered.

  “She did,” Calista confirmed, far too pleased. “Asked if you were popular with women. Wondered if that’s why you’re so smooth. I told her the truth, of course.”

  Elian turned to me, gold eyes unreadable. “And what exactly is the truth?”

  Calista clasped her hands dramatically. “That you flee from eligible women like a solar vulp from water and have the romantic instincts of a sun-baked rock.”

  Elian’s mouth opened. Closed. “…Wow.”

  “Don’t pout,” she said cheerfully. “You’re charming in your own emotionally stunted way.”

  I groaned into my hands. “Please stop talking.”

  Calista winked. “Goodnight, lovers.”

  “We’re not—” I started, but she was already gone, laughter echoing down the corridor.

  Elian stood there, blinking. Then glanced at me, voice dry as dust.

  “Well. That was informative.”

  I shut the door in his face.

  Leaning against it, I let out a long, muffled sound that might’ve been a scream.

  I didn’t understand this place—or the people in it.

  Not Farren, with his storm-still silences.

  Not Calista, who could switch from kindness to chaos in one breath.

  Not Elian, who could fluster me, infuriate me, and make me want to laugh all at once.

  But somehow, it didn’t scare me.

  It called to me.

  And I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.

  I walked the corridor in a daze.

  Not from the visit.

  Not from seeing her in that cursed nightgown.

  Not even from the way she’d opened the door like she hadn’t just knocked the breath straight out of me.

  No.

  It was what Calista said.

  She asked if I had experience with women.

  The words wouldn’t stop ringing in my skull, loud, ridiculous, impossible.

  She’d asked. About me.

  Why?

  Did she think I was some hopeless flirt?

  Some practiced charmer who made a sport of it?

  I reached my room and shoved the door open too hard, letting it slam against the wall. The sound cracked through the quiet, sharp and stupidly satisfying.

  Then the silence rushed back in.

  I sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe normally.

  Stars.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard the question before. Usually it made me laugh.

  But this time—

  This time it came from her.

  Because it meant she’d thought about it.

  Thought about me.

  I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to shake it off. The heat in my face didn’t go anywhere.

  I’d spent years dodging the nobles my parents paraded before me, smiling through introductions, sidestepping fluttering hands, cutting off every hopeful look with a polite escape.

  Not one of them ever got close.

  Not one ever felt like her.

  Freya wasn’t a game.

  She wasn’t a passing intrigue or a puzzle to solve.

  She was the first spark in a life that had gone dim.

  The first thing that made my magic, my blood, feel alive again.

  And I didn’t want to ruin that by pretending it was just another flirtation.

  I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of her voice still curling through my head.

  She’d asked if I had experience.

  And now, the only thing I could think about—

  The only thing I wanted—

  Was for her to be the one I learned everything with.

  Not because I was inexperienced.

  But because with her… it would finally matter.