“But Day—”
He stands swiftly. “Stop.”
It’s the second time he’s told me to stop today. And this time I do.
My training dress is tattered on the ground, and I stand naked, chest heaving. The storm has blown away the ash, the rain has washed the blood, and now only the rags of the goblins’ clothes and their weapons remain.
“Oddly nice weapons for goblins,” I say absently. As if my heart isn’t ashes itself.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Dayton leans down to inspect a piece, then another, and another.
“What is it?”
“These weapons are practically new,” Dayton says, brow furrowed. “And they’re made of Spring steel.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we have to warn Ezryn.”
My heart clenches at his name. “So, we’re going to the Spring Realm?”
“Yes, Rosalina, we’re going to Spring.”
12
Ezryn
Each step I take into the Hall of Vernalion—the throne room of my home, my ancestors—is slower and heavier than the last.
It’s been months since I’ve returned to the Spring Realm—a long time for the High Prince to be away, but also merely a blink in the eyes of the fae.
And yet everything has changed.
It looks the same, the lush greenery draping the stone walls. Delicate tendrils of vines and leaves trail down like emerald tears. Gleaming veins of Spring steel trace intricate patterns across stout pillars, entwining with golden filigree. The earthy scent of moss mixes with the wet stone. Keep Hammergarden is built into the base of the mountains, an eternal mixture of Spring’s bounty and the rich ores in the rock.
Servants bow their heads as I pass. They weren’t expecting me, but they never are. Usually, my presence is cause for bustle and gossip. Now, they shrink back, eyeing me warily as if I am a stranger.
The ornate, domed ceiling makes the throne room appear even more spacious than it is, though it does nothing to stop the oppressing weight that hangs throughout the hall. Though I have stood here many times as a boy and a young man, never have I felt such a heaviness in this space.
Someone has planted massive red flowers in every corner of the throne room. A few have bloomed but most are still buds. They appear too vivid for this sacred area.
But the biggest difference of all is my father. He’s not sitting on the throne as he rightfully should as steward.
Instead, sitting there, leaning back, hands grasping the armrests with curved gloved knuckles, is my brother.
The brother I banished decades ago.
“Well, well, well, the silver son has returned,” Kairyn calls from the throne, his voice a dark timbre.
“That seat does not belong to you,” I say. “Where is Father?”
Kairyn tilts his black helm. Two long protrusions jut out above the dark visor, reminiscent of a Great Horned Owl. Like all Spring royalty, he covers his face for all but his immediate family or fated mate. Though by creed, we could take off our helmets in the presence of the other, our parents raised us with the strictest of principles. I remember the last time I looked into his eyes as a boy before he put on his helm. There was innocence there. Fear.
Now, his visor reveals only darkness.
“Father,” Kairyn says slowly, “has fallen ill. He is under our watchful care.”
“I did not grant you leave from the monastery.”
“In these dire situations, I thought it necessary to take command in Father’s place.”
“You should have sent word,” I growl. “However exceptional the circumstances, you are still banished.”
“Spring needs me.”
My brother has always been rash, reckless, but for him to break a royal order … Have things truly become so grave that Kairyn would risk such a thing?
“There is more to being steward than sitting on a throne. If you have so valiantly been serving in Father’s stead, then why did you not respond when I sent a letter of the Autumn Realm’s plight or the invitation to attend the funeral of Princess Niamh?”
Kairyn’s helm rolls in a circle, a bored and agitated expression he’s done since boyhood. “Apologies, big brother. But with Father ill, I could not step away. Spring needs a strong and attentive ruler, after all.”
His voice … The haunting intensity, the brooding rasp. I want to claw at my skull to get it out. He’s been in my head for so long, and now to hear him in person …
He’s your little brother, I think.
But I notice he’s still made no move to get off my throne, as law demands of the steward when the High Ruler returns.