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Amalia crosses to me then, her movement fluid and sudden. Before I can react, her hand catches the back of my neck, pulling my mouth down to hers. Her lips claim mine again, not as passionately as before, but fierce and demanding. The kiss speaks of goodbye, of regret, of things unfinished between us.
When she pulls away, her breath comes fast. “Once we find him, I’m leaving. Bond or not, this isn’t where I belong.”
I want to explain the truth. What connects her to Elionn is more than simple desire, a bond that will only deepen the longer she carries his stone. If she wants to leave, she should not wear it so near her heart.
But I do not wish for her to leave again, and the words die in my throat as she turns and walks to the door.
She pauses at the threshold without turning back. “Take care of your sithe, Prince Caelan. I’ll find your brother.”
Then she’s gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click that echoes in the emptiness she leaves behind.
7
THE KING’S ROAD
AMALIA
When I enter the mirror room, I find Theron standing at the center of the circular room, silver robes reflecting the portals lining the walls, his presence commanding the magic itself to bend toward him.
“Your Majesty,” I say, and the words echo off the mirrors, bouncing from a dozen reflective surfaces, each one warping the sound until it becomes unfamiliar.
Theron doesn’t turn to acknowledge me as his fingers trace patterns over the mirror he stands in front of. “You’re late, Amalia Wolf.”
“Your brother kept me distracted,” I say. “As I’m sure you intended.”
I catch the twitch of his lips in a reflective surface before he schools himself, while the guard at his side frowns at me.
Thalindor’s gray hair gleams in the chamber’s ambient light, the two braids behind his ears swinging with small polished stones that mark him as a royal guard. His almost-white eyes track my movements, missing nothing.
Unlike Theron’s elaborate robes, the guard wears practical armor. It shimmers with starlight-steel, the metal catching impossible colors when he shifts.
The mirror before the king shimmers, and my stomach twists as a realm of shadows takes shape beyond its gilded frame.
As I walk closer, I pass a handful of other mirrors, each one showing an unfamiliar landscape. None of them are labeled, with no markings to indicate where each one leads.
A crowded market in one catches my attention, filled with pointy-eared fae haggling over items that pulse with magic. The surface ripples when my breath touches it, and for a moment, my reflection flashes back, except it isn’t quite me. My face appears thinner, my eyes wilder, and a slash of purple blood marks my cheek.
I blink, and the market scene returns.
“Step away from the mirror,” Thalindor warns, his voice musical despite the command. “We do not have time to waste finding you again if you fall through.”
I do as he says, retreating to the circular dais where I can keep both fae in view. “Does each mirror only lead to one place?”
Theron’s fingers trail across the mirror of the Harbor. “I keep some locked on locations of interest. But I can twist them to go anywhere.”
I remember how he vanished into the depths of his mirrored throne only to come out the back of my chair and shudder. “Of course you can.”
Theron’s lips twitch, almost a smile before it vanishes beneath royal composure. “And a blanket over a mirror will not stop me.”
I fold my arms across my chest, the leather of my vest creaking. “Don’t be creepy, Your Majesty.”
The remark earns a judgmental glare from Thalindor.
“I thought you would appreciate the knowledge for future reference. It would be better to remove the mirror completely.” His lips twitch again. “Though, I can use any reflective surface, so…”
Creepy, I mouth, and I catch his amusement before he turns back to the mirror before him.
This one shows a forest floor choked with thorns and twisted roots. The glass melts beneath his touch, rippling like water struck by a stone.
