21. Veyka

I am the Queen of the Elemental Fae. I am the High Queen of Annwyn. I am the prophesized queen of the Void Prophecy. I command the depths of the voids of darkness.

Why am I so fucking nervous to meet my mother-in-law?

Because Arran loved her, and I loved Arran, and he was not at my side.

Easy enough answer. The resolution was not so simple.

"We should take an extra day to tidy ourselves, to make plan," Cyara reasoned.

Our clothes were dirty. My hair certainly needed a good untangling. We'd been using buckets of glacial runoff to bathe, warmed by Lyrena or Cyara, but none of us had seen anything resembling a tub since the faerie caves.

I drove us hard through the mountains and hills until Diana had nearly collapsed.

"We should watch the gates, see who comes and goes, make sure we walk in with the advantage," Lyrena added to Cyara's arguments.

I shook my head.

"No."

They both opened their mouths to argue.

"I am either the High Queen of Annwyn, or I am not. They will greet us and treat us with the due respect, or I will start stabbing."

"In Arran's home?" Cyara asked quietly.

"If it is as he's described it, there should be no need for violence."

"And if it is not?"

"Annwyn does not have time for disloyalty. I do not have time to play political games. The succubus is coming—may already be here."

If we'd been seated at the Round Table, they surely would have kept arguing. But without the table to anchor us, without Arran at my side to negate or bolster my authority, the fact remained. I was either the High Queen of Annwyn, or I was not.

My Knights chose to obey me.

That was the first hurdle conquered.

I pushed myself up the hill, the final barrier between us and Eilean Gayl. Cyara had scouted ahead, her white wings blending into the overcast sky.

Overhead, a hawk screeched, swooping above us in a graceful curve.

"What are the odds that is not a fauna-gifted terrestrial?" Lyrena said, her usually melodious voice grim.

Cyara's eyes followed the hawk as it dipped down, disappearing over the top of the hill. "They will know we're coming. They will be ready."

"Good. So will we," I said over my shoulder. One more step, and I pulled myself up, cresting the hill.

The sight stole the breath from my body.

A familiar castle floated in the middle of a lake. Except this time, I could see that it was not floating. It occupied the entirety of a small island, the outer battlements reaching right out to the water's edge. The only approach was a narrow bridge, stretching from the base of the hill where I stood to the gates of the keep. Gates that were opening in welcome.

The memories flashed through my mind—the still, unbroken surface of the Split Sea, the misty shores of Avalon, and the castle. This castle.

And just as I had when I landed on the lakeside more than two months ago, in those intense moments of falling through the void after Arran and I's joining… one word rose in my senses, my chest, until it fell from my lips.

"Home."