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“I wouldn’t,” Kelaros warns.

Too late, my fingertips brush the stone.

Fire races up my arm, every nerve sparking to life at once. My tattoo blazes hot, so intense I half-expect smoke to rise from my palm. Images slam into my mind of a king with skin that shifts through a thousand colors, standing at the center of this dais, arms outstretched, magic pouring from his body into the bones of the court itself.

I jerk my hand back, but the connection lingers, threads of awareness stretching between me and the stone.

Words spill from my lips before I can stop them, distant to my own ears. “This court lost its king. Its anchor.”

My certainty startles even me, solid and undeniable, though I can’t say where it comes from.

Kelaros stares at me with interest. “Yes. But why do you sound surprised?”

I shake my head, keeping my face blank despite the unsettling awareness spreading through me. “I’ve just never seen what happens when a court loses its king. It’s shocking.”

Kelaros approaches the dais but stops short of touching it. “You must be very young, to be shocked by such things.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Forget it.”

“No.” He leans on a broken column as he studies me.

The silence stretches until he finally speaks. “Once, there were many Royal fae who lived here.”

His tone changes, taking on the cadence of a storyteller reciting an old tale while he watches me for any flicker of reaction.

“These royals, siblings by station but not by blood, coexisted in harmony until ambition crept in to poison their bonds.” His fingers trace patterns in the dust on the column. “One by one, they abandoned their brother-king, stealing pieces of its power to form courts of their own.”

A frown tugs at my lips. “Aren’t your realms concentrated by a convergence of similar powers?”

I’m pretty sure that’s what Theron told me.

“Sithes, yes, but not the courts. The Celestial, Tidal, Earthen, and Wild.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “Each one was a splinter of what once was whole.”

“Wasn’t it already a splinter of Underhill?” I counter.

He dips his head in acknowledgment. “Do you wish to hear the story or not?”

I make an impatient rolling motion with my hand.

“So, one by one, the royal siblings abandoned the Opal Court until only the king remained. Hollowed out by grief and betrayal, he slipped into a deep slumber.” His gaze drifts to the empty dais. “Without him awake to anchor it, the court began to devour itself from the inside out, feeding on memory until even that fractured.”

The veins in the floor pulse brighter as he speaks, as if the story itself stirs the magic.

“How did you learn all of this?” I ask.

“It’s ancient history. Every fae child learns about the Opal’s fall.” He gives me a shrewd once over, and my bare legs hold his attention. “The better question is, why didn’t you learn these stories? What is the Ruler of the Wild Wood teaching his children these days?”

Has he been searching me for signs of the beast I’m supposed to be mixed with? Has my ignorance revealed that I’m not of this world? I resist the urge to reach for my ears to ensure my glamour cuffs remain in place.

Instead, I show him my teeth. “He teaches how to hunt for meat in the Wild Wood. You should visit once we’re out of here. The killing stump needs to be wet often for the Oberyn’s children.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Perhaps I will.”

I study the dais again, noting how the black stone remains untouched despite the ruin around it.

“Where do you think the Opal King sleeps?” I ask.

“Nowhere I’ve ventured yet.” His eyes drop to the sithean stone that dangles from my wrist. “But I think you might help me find it.”