A hush had fallen over the Midnight Court, though the echoes of laughter still clung to its marbled ribs like dried blood.
Aeren moved through it like a shadow denied its shape, Keira's limp form cradled in his arms. Her blood stained the hem of his robe bright red against deep brown.
It soaked into the gold embroidery of his cuffs. Her breath was shallow, fluttering like a bird that no longer wished to fly.
From above, Fae courtiers leaned forward in their seats, eyes sharp and glinting. Not with concern. But curiosity. With mocking.
And at the highest perch of them all, lounging with sinuous grace upon the curved bone throne, Cael smirked.
"Oh, how poetic," he drawled, voice smooth as oiled steel. "The great Lord Aeren… savior of stray mortals."
Aeren did not look at him.
Cael's grin widened. "You think she's her, don't you? The one who deceived you? The one whose love you so desperately fought to attain?"
Aeren's golden eyes remained forward. The only movement was in the stiff line of his jaw.
Cael clicked his tongue. "Still so silent. Still so proud. What will your kin say, hmm? A Highborn, carrying a mortal through the sacred halls. They will call it madness. They'll call it weakness. They'll call it foolishness."
That last word curdled in the air.
The ancient carvings along the walls shimmered as if disturbed, the Old Magic stirring with brittle whispers.
Do not tether again, golden one. You bleed too easily.
This path ends as the last did, in ash.
You are not forgiven.
Aeren kept walking.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
When he reached the Moonweaver's chamber, the doors opened without a touch. The priestesses bowed low, their silver-veiled faces unreadable.
He laid Keira upon a bed of whispermoss, its glow soft and steady beneath her bruised limbs.
He lingered for a moment longer than he should have.
Her face was pale, mouth parted slightly. Not like Elya. Not exactly.
But enough.
Enough to fracture him. Enough to make him remember the past. Enough to gut him.
Then he turned and left, the doors closing silently behind him.
~
Keira awoke to heat.
It blazed along her ribs, curled through her legs, pulsed at her temple. Her body felt too heavy for bone. Her skin, stretched too tight. The breath that slipped from her lips came jagged.
And beside her, quiet, still, unreadable, sat Yvaine.
The Fae girl leaned back in her chair, arms folded, hair braided like a crown. Her expression was carved from patience, but something behind her eyes flickered, something almost like… concern.
Keira opened her mouth, croaked. "What... happened?"
Yvaine glanced at her. "What else could have happened? You lived."
Keira swallowed. Her throat was raw. "Raden?"
A pause.
"He's dead," Yvaine said, flatly. "Trampled. The white one crushed his skull before the second horn. You would have been dead too if not for Aeren."
Keira shut her eyes. So that was his name.
Aeren.
Her heart gave a spasm, like it wanted to leap free.
Yvaine's tone softened a sliver. "Four more died. They were also trampled upon. It was a truly sad sight."
Keira turned her head away, barely able to stomach the scent of herbs. The walls shimmered with soft moonlight, but the memory of hooves and screams still clawed at her mind.
She had wanted to die.
She remembered it, just before Shadowmare reared, the sense of surrender, the flicker of her mother's voice, her brother's hand, and then he had appeared.
The golden-eyed Fae.
Aeren.
He had stood between her and death like a shield of ancient stone. And the beast had yielded.
"Why did he save me?" she whispered.
Yvaine didn't answer.
Keira sat up, the pain like fire down her spine. She curled her knees to her chest, burying her face in them. Her shoulders shook.
"Your people are very cruel," Keira murmured.
The words escaped her lips before she could stop them, soft, trembling things that carried far more weight than their size.
Yvaine's head turned sharply. Her eyes, once distant and quiet, snapped into focus, twin blades of amber fire.
"Do not say such things." Her voice was low, but it struck like a whip. "It's foolishness."
Keira blinked, stunned by the sudden sharpness. "But—"
"I said hush." Yvaine stepped forward. "You speak too freely, girl. The walls here have ears sharper than yours. Tongues more dangerous. Even the stones remember."
Keira bit her tongue, her chest tight. But the tears burned hotter now, swelling behind her lashes. Her voice, when it returned, was a cracked whisper. "What they did… in that pit… what they made us do…"
She couldn't finish. Her throat closed. Her fists curled into the sheets beneath her.
"They are cruel," she repeated, this time with anger rising like a tide. "And you pretend that's normal."
Yvaine kept quiet.
Then, slowly, she moved closer, until her figure towered above Keira.
"I do not pretend," she said. "I endure. As you must."
Keira looked up at her, eyes shining. "Endure what? Their games? Their laughter? Watching people die while they drink wine and call it sport?"
Yvaine didn't blink. "Yes."
A shiver crept down Keira's spine. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, though no warmth could reach her now.
"You're still alive," Yvaine said. "You should be grateful for that."
"You owe Lord Aeren your life," she continued without turning. "And that debt is not symbolic."
Keira stared. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Yvaine said slowly, "you are his. And he will decide what use to make of you."
Something in Keira cracked then. A bone deep fracture. "So I'm a tool? A trophy?"
"No." Yvaine's voice hardened. "You are a mark. A debt. A whisper that the court will not forget. And you should be careful how you move with such a thing upon your skin."
Keira's gaze dropped to her arms, bandaged still in silverwrap, the kind only Fae warriors wore. The magic embedded in them pulsed faintly, faint as a breath.
"The Court will not forget that he saved you," Yvaine added. "Nor will the others. They will watch. They will whisper. They will wonder what you are."
She reached the doorway, then hesitated. The flames on the torches guttered slightly.
"And you would be wise," she said, without looking back, "to stop wondering why they are cruel."
Keira's voice was small. "Why?"
"Because cruelty is not a flaw of this place," Yvaine said. "It is its law."
And then she was gone.