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I whirl on her, and the sudden movement sends a small avalanche of pebbles cascading down the slope. “The realm is turning to crystal.”
Her retort dies on her lips, brow furrowing at my unexpected outburst.
“We’ve lost three harvest fields in the last cycle alone,” I continue, anger and fear held barely in check. “Trees petrify mid-bloom. Animals vanish. The Wild Wood creeps further across every border.”
The admission costs me. Each word strips away another layer of the facade I’ve maintained before my people who count on me. Kings do not confess weakness. Kings do not admit fear.
“It’s happening faster now,” I say, and watch as understanding takes hold.
She crosses her arms, and her small breasts plump in the revealing dress. “And what does that have to do with Elionn?”
“Elionn saw it before the rest of us were willing to admit it. He tracked the patterns and symptoms. He created maps showing the spread, charts predicting the acceleration.”
Thalindor shifts uncomfortably behind us, witnessing a confession never meant for him. These truths were kept from even those I trust most.
“And when no one listened,” I continue, “he started searching for answers elsewhere.”
“By elsewhere, you mean here?”
“Perhaps.” My fists clench until my knuckles ache with the pressure. “I knew he was investigating ancient texts, researching the original fracturing of the courts. But I never imagined he would find an active connection.”
“You let him search on his own?” Disbelief colors her words.
“He was supposed to take his riders with him. When I discovered he left them behind, I should have dragged him back,” I admit, the words scraping my throat raw. “But I thought I still had time.”
My gaze fixes on the distant spokes of the Dark Spire, their black glass surfaces glinting in the strange light. “I thought I had time to let him explore and grow. I indulged his questions and theories. I allowed him to travel between sithes, seeking answers from other courts.”
A beat of silence passes before Amalia finds the weakness in my answer. “You sound as if you regret giving him freedom.”
“I regret not taking his concerns seriously enough to join him in his search.” The admission burns like acid. “I was too focused on maintaining appearances and projecting strength to the other courts while our realm crumbled beneath us.”
A bitter breath leaves me as I tilt my face to the sky. “I thought that before, too, when Princess Lunaria told me she didn’t wish to marry the Gold King, and I worried more about causing a rift within our court than my sister’s happiness.”
The words hang in the air between us, a grief I rarely acknowledge even to myself.
Amalia’s anger eases for the first time since we discovered the rift. “It was not your fault Princess Lunaria died. The Gold Asshole would have targeted her if you’d canceled the wedding, too. Men like him destroy what they can’t have.”
I nod in acknowledgment, though the truth does nothing to ease the pain. “Elionn was different, though. Brighter. Wilder. But not reckless.”
“No, not reckless,” she agrees. “Yet he ended up here.”
“Or he stumbled onto it by accident.” I move closer to her. “We may never learn the truth of what happened.”
The realization settles over me like a shroud, and my shoulders bow beneath the guilt of it.
“I waited too long. Again.”
My confession hangs in the air, vulnerable in a way no fae king should ever allow himself to be.
Amalia studies me. “You loved them both.”
“I love them still,” I correct, the present tense a deliberate choice. A king’s words have power, and I will not consign Elionn to the past.
“Then why give up?” The question holds more curiosity than accusation now.
“I’m not giving up. I’m regrouping,” I say. “The Celestial Council must be informed. The other courts must be rallied. If the Opal Court is breaking through its seal, the consequences will reach far beyond my brother’s disappearance.”
Amalia’s focus sharpens. “How long will that take?”
