2. Danica

Danica

2

I hesitate, weighing my options. On one hand, spilling my guts to a complete stranger—even a ridiculously attractive one—goes against every instinct I have. But on the other, I'm lost, alone, and in desperate need of answers. And right now, Faderyn is the only lifeline I've got.

I wrestle with my hair, which seems to have declared war on my crown and turned into a tangle of knots.

"I'm looking for someone," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Someone important to me."

Faderyn's expression softens a flicker of understanding in those ancient eyes. "I see. And you believe they may be here, in theShadow Court?"

I wiggle nervously, his intense gaze prompting discomfort. "It's complicated," I sidestep the full truth.

Faderyn's anticipation doesn't falter, and eventually, I relent, dishing out the Reader's Digest version of Azrael's assault, the unexpected portal, and my plummet into this mess.

His brows furrow, etching lines of worry. "Portals? That's ancient history, practically myths now. We thought those pathways extinct, forgotten by all."

I can sense the empathy radiating off Faderyn like a warm breeze, but I'm no wide-eyed ingénue ready to swoon at the first sign of kindness. I've been around the block a few times, and I know better than to let my guard down just because he's flashing me a sympathetic smile and a set of killer cheekbones.

It's obvious that Faderyn is flying blind when it comes to the true extent of my abilities and the role I play in this whole cosmic cluster-fuck. He may think he's dealing with just another damsel in distress, but little does he know, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that would make even the jaded Fae double-take.

But I'm not about to lay all my cards on the table—yet. I'll play along with his little sympathy parade, but I'm keeping one eye open and my bullshit detector set to maximum sensitivity. If he thinks he can lead me down the primrose path with a few well-placed platitudes and a dazzling smile, he's got another thing coming.

"That old portal? Just my ridiculous luck," I say with a shrug, masking the lie with breezy nonchalance.

I maintain a fa?ade of indifference, my fib game strong.

But it seems he's got a nose for authenticity. His emerald eyes are fixed on mine, disconcerting intent within their depths. "Portals don't just pop up uninvited, especially for humans. What potent forces could've torn through realities?"

Damn. He's sharp. I squirm, panic rising like the tide—if the word spreads about my power-up...

"I wish I knew," I say, playing the card of confusion. That's not even a stretch.

He watches me, an unreadable expression in place. "Mysteries seem to flock to you," he muses.

A thud of adrenaline hits. I need to tread carefully; this Fae's academic curiosity could swerve into dangerous territory faster than a rollercoaster off its rails.

Faintly nodding, he gives me space—well, sort of. His eagle eyes still pin me, clearly earmarking our chat for further scrutiny.

I'm mentally thumbing through my talks withAdrian—his Fae for Dummies didn't include a chapter on shadow kings or moonlit courts. "So, the whole Fae shindig's just a fab five?" I venture eyebrows arched to invite an explanation.

He exhales, the response coming after a deliberate pause. "There used to be a wide assortment of courts," he details, "but strife has a way of crafting history. Only the strongest courts, Sun and Shadow, claim dominion now."

That throws me.Adrian's guidebook gushed about the various fae sects but said nothing about dark fey kingdoms. "I was told," I admit with subtle ire, "about five courts, each more perfect than the last. There was no mention ofShadow Courtsor dark royalty."

His features darken. "Stories morph over time. The tale of five courts is just a distant echo of the truth, barely capturing their essence before their end."

I go statue-still. So we've been spoon-fed a sparkling version of the Fae, omitting a significant chunk of their reality.

"You look haunted," he notes, misinterpreting my indignation.

Internally, I'm boiling over.Adrianand his 'guidance' feel like an endless reel of betrayal—the buddy system turned traitor. Here I was, doling out trust like he was part of the fam. For what? His cloak-and-dagger games?

The knowledge gap between the textbook Fae narrative and my firsthand experience is growing wider by the heartbeat. It is time to sift truth from fiction. "Can you enlighten me about the Courts?" I venture.

He obliges, illuminating the Sun Court's glittering beauty while the Shadow Court remains shrouded in enigmatic secrecy. Each is distinct and polar opposites in every way.

"So, what you're saying is—one's Heaven, the other's Hades," I reason out loud.

He nods in agreement. "Exactly."

His revelation is a small lifeline tossed in a sea of confusion, like holding a single dim lantern in a dark cavern. If I'm to navigate this Fae maze, I've got to collect every crumb of knowledge along the way.

Suddenly, my mouth's on autopilot, and I'm spitting out questions like seeds from a watermelon. "Which court sways you?" flies out of my lips before my brain can tell it to keep quiet.

There was a quirk of surprise in his expression. "I swear fealty to neither. There are those of us who walk a solitary path, one not confined by courtly demands."

My eyes widen. "Fae without a court?"

"Indeed," he confirms. "Some of us eschew the courtly life, seeking solitude over subjugation."

His prior omission begets more questions than answers, and I latch on. "So, you're free agents?" I inquire, intrigued.

"Mostly," he nods. "Though we aren't immune to the entanglements of the courts."

His words unveil layers of a rich and textured history. The politics of these courts are a complex dance, and here he stands, an enigma.

Despite the rollercoaster of today's events, I muster sincerity. "Regardless, you saved my life. For that, I'm grateful."

Faderyn holds my gaze, a silent agreement passing between us. "I offer my assistance to the extent possible," he promises soberly. "Be cautious,Dani. The Fae world is shrouded in illusion."

The absence ofRhylandand the others gnaw at my resolve. I probe our bond, expecting comfort, but am met only with numbing silence.

Faderyn's concern is palpable as he observes the change in me.

"My friends," I say, urgency coloring my tone. "Any sign of them near the river?"

He shakes his head solemnly. "You were alone. I heard screams and found only you."

Worry crashes into me, thoughts spiraling—what has become of them?

"The domain of theShadow Courtis not forgiving," he intones, his intent to aid evident—but I'm wary.

Is that a pretense?

Despite my inner sirens wailing, 'trap,' a Fae's helping hand is my only shot at finding my comrades in this dark Fae playground. Suppressing doubts, I commit with a curt nod. "Thank you."

He gives me a mysterious look before rising gracefully to his feet. Taking my hand, he effortlessly pulls me upright. My legs nearly buckle as pain lances through my lower body. I must have wrenched my knee while being rag-dolled through the river.

"Can you manage a few steps?" His voice is laced with concern.

I gingerly test my leg and wince. "Barely."

A shriek hops out of my mouth before I can wrangle it back in, and my arms are suddenly coiled around his neck.

"Faster travel," he spits out like we're discussing the weather, not him going full superhero. I want to argue because of pride, but the guy's got a point.

Huffing out a sigh, I resign myself to the close encounter and sink into his abs of steel.

As we walk, the river water chills my bones, and it's like my clothes morphed into a wet suit without consulting me. The breeze? More like an icy brush-off, and I'm convulsing in a not-so-hot shiver marathon.

Faderyn catches on to my shivering act without missing a beat, pulling me closer with his arms, which feel chiseled from stone. Wrapped up in his heat, I've got to admit it's a solid move—not that I'm about to say it out loud.

Here I am, trying to stay focused on anything but the concrete wall of his chest and the steel of his abs pressing against me. Every molecule in the air around him is practically flexing in my direction. It smells like a forest after a storm, rugged and raw.

Keep your head in the game; I silently reprimand myself as I feel the heat rise in my cheeks — a ridiculous reaction under dire circumstances. I'm blaming the wind, not the close quarters with Mystery Fae Uber, Mr. Fantasy himself.

His hair whips around his fine-as-knife-point ears, and okay, yeah, he could cut glass with that jawline. His eyes? They're like peering straight into a fairytale—too epic to be real. Oh, and now he's caught me ogling like it's my day job: eyes forward, all business. Focus on the mission. That's the game plan.

Cheeks on fire, I launch a question in his direction like a life raft for my dignity. "How long have you been a local in these parts?" I ask because conversation is a great human tradition for 'please forget I was just gaping at you.'

I swear I see a smirk twitch on his face—stupid charming Fae.

"Centuries," he responds, his expression shadowed by a heavy contemplation. "Fae lifespan is different. However, winds are changing, carrying whispers of a threatening storm."

That feeling is like stepping into a freezer—his warning sends shivers down my toes. Could he be hinting at Moretemis's grand entrance? But now's not the time for twenty questions; I will stash them for later interrogation.

I crane my neck to soak in the fantasy extravaganza around us. The Fae terrain unfolds like a painter's wild dream splashed across an endless canvas. Trees that hit every imaginable green and then some, blues that might've been plucked from the midsummer sky, purples deep enough to get lost in—all of them reach for the sky, their leafy hands clasping each other in an arboreal high five. Rock spires sparkle like the world's most go-getting crystals, and islands hover in the air as if they've forgotten gravity's a thing, sending water tumbling down into the great unknown.

Between limping and Faderyn carrying me for hours—we finally zero in on this rugged balcony of rock tucked away like a secret in the middle of tree mageddon.

He guides me through trees that can't keep a secret, rustling about every which way. "You require rest," he insists, his tone gentle and commanding.

Before us, a secret panel reveals a tunnel carved straight into storybooks, lit by crystals that twinkle like they're up to something. I pause; the cave mouth gapes a big ol' 'Enter if you dare,' and I'm not exactly doing cartwheels to get in there. Fadeyrn catches the look, probably a mix of 'Help!' and 'Nope!' and pins me with a look, all earnest and vowing protection. "Your safety's on my honor," he declares, and something in the solemn way he says it has me believing him. I scope out his face, expecting to find some sly twist, but apparently, Fae Boy Scouts do exist.

My brain is all 'Red alert! Bad idea!'— Hit the 'Find My Viking' app, but what can you do when your energy bar blinks red? Apparently, you can nod and follow.

As if reading my mind, he says gently, "We will begin our search at first light. But you need to recover your strength."

So, dragging what's left of me, I tail him down into his earthy bachelor pad. And will you look at that? His place is less cave, a more cozy cavern with squishy rugs and wooden furniture that smells like a forest's day spa.

Collapsing into the comforting embrace of a cushioned seat by the hearth, I surrender to the penetrating warmth that begins to chase the stubborn chill from my bones.

A woman appears, providing sustenance and aid without a word, her presence a ballet of efficiency. Alone once more with Faderyn, I indulge in the unexpected feast, each flavor a revelation, awakening senses dulled by hardship.

His calm presence is a balm, and as he tends to my injuries with skilled hands, the pain yields to his healing touch. His actions—a mix of duty and something unspoken—blur as my eyelids grow weighty with the pull of sleep.

Guided to a chamber, the soft bedding calls to the fatigue that wraps my body like a shroud. "Sleep well," Faderyn whispers, his silhouette receding into the shadows of the closing door.

Alone in the chamber, I desperately reach for Rhyland through our bond. The empty silence in my mind drives icy fear into my heart.

Then, faintly, I feel him—fractured pain, confusion, primal urgency. It guts me. The thread slips away before I can grasp hold, leaving a cold void again.

The raw cocktail of emotions is a rough brew to swallow. It's like trying to hear a favorite song over static; the connection with Rhyland is frayed and fuzzy, offering no hints or whispers of where he might be or how he's faring. The urgency pokes at my insides, a constant reminder that time might be running out.

And here lies the cruel joke—my body's screaming for the shutdown while my brain's all lit up like a marquee on opening night.

My muscles are mutinying, throwing in the towel, no matter how I mentally prod them. The human vessel waves a white flag while the will within me kicks and screams, itching to break free and sprint into action.

The dark waves of sleep start pulling me under, and there, riding those waves, Rhyland's image burns bright. It's a silent prayer, a vow just shy of a shout—Hang in there.

I'm coming, I promise. ...wait for me.

As the edges of consciousness fray, one thought clings stubbornly—it's a race against time, and the clock is ruthless. They need me, my blood, with its life-or-death deadline.

Two days, that's the countdown etched into the sands of my fog-laden thoughts. I've got to quicken the pace and beat the ticking clock because failure... isn't an option.