35. Danica

Danica

35

W e proceed on horseback for the entire day, our backs aching and butts numb. Around dusk, a seemingly miniature metropolis unfolds before us. Curious Fae emerge from their dwellings, keen to glimpse our entourage threading through their domain.

"What is this place?" I query aloud, the words hanging in the air.

Axilya seizes the opportunity. "This is Sun City, the sanctuary of all the Fae from the Sun Court."

It strikes me how many Fae call this place home. It's like stepping into a children's fantasy, with each house appearing as if lifted from a fairytale illustration.

As we pass, a young girl beams a smile in our direction. Her sunny blonde hair modestly conceals the tips of her pointed ears, and her violet eyes glitter with the deep purple luster of amethysts.

"How beautiful," I manage to utter, utterly awestruck by the enchanting scene and the little Fae girl.

Rhyland's arms encircle me from behind. "Not as beautiful as you," he whispers, and I can feel the heat of a blush color my cheeks in response to his flattering words.

We journey through the city in silence, the whispers of the wind barely audible over the gentle clip-clop of our steed's hooves. More and more Fae pop out to steal glances, their eyes wide with wonder as they observe our passage through their luminescent Sun City.

As the last vestiges of daylight slip away, we finally approach the Sun Court Palace. Every inch of me aches from the long ride.

Rhyland, my Norse companion, has been the epitome of love and care. He murmured sweet nothings and epic sagas into my ear all day, spinning yarns of his heydays back in the land of fjords and fearless warriors.

We approach the Sun Palace gates, a jaw-dropping moment. The gates look like they've been dipped in liquid sunbeams, casting a mystical light show on the stones beneath. The palace itself, with its towering spires, is illuminated and exudes pure-hearted opulence, making my pulse quicken.

As we pull up to those regal doors, I shift around, trying to find some relief from the saddle's unforgiving embrace. "If I don't get off this horse... I swear I'm gonna—"

The ancient hinges groan, introducing a scene so enchanting it silences my complaints. The expansive gardens resemble a vibrant explosion of colors, with blooms practically buzzing with inner light.

Wings and whimsical creatures flit past, like living dreamcatchers. Birds sing tunes so sweet and clear that I believe it's what happiness must sound like.

"Welcome to the Sun Court," announces a gentleman. "I am Balen, your escort," he strides forward with practiced decorum that could rival any diplomat.

He bows deeply to Axilya, who nods in return. "We thank you for your gracious welcome," she replies with equal formality.

"Our stables await your noble steeds," he says, extending a hand for our reins.

Rhyland is off our horse in a flash, scooping me up like I weigh nothing. With a groan, I slide off and melt into the ground, my legs feeling like jelly after hours in the saddle.

"Oh, thank god," I mutter, each wince a silent plea as I straighten out. The sensation returns to those nameless places that have gone numb from the relentless ride.

Lucian leaps off his horse with grace and agility, handing his reins to the guard with a rakish grin. "Well, isn't this just paradise wrapped in sunlight?" His voice drips with sarcasm, but his eyes dance with excitement.

Rhyland follows suit but remains vigilant. His posture is taut, and his eyes scan the surroundings for any hint of danger. "Pretty things often hide sharp thorns," he mutters, his voice low and rough with suspicion.

You can almost see the wariness rolling off him; Rhyland stands there, every inch the alpha male, ready to defend against any threat, real or imagined.

Then, Fae folk emerge from every corner, adorned in fabrics that defy reality. Their movements are so fluid and graceful that even the simplest gestures seem like performances worthy of an ovation. Their attire is extravagant, robes and threads shimmering and dancing as if cut from the night sky, all moonbeam sheen and cosmic glitter.

Servants glide towards us, offering assistance with our belongings. Their expressions are serene and inscrutable, and their demeanor is so far removed from normalcy that it sends my head spinning.

It feels like we've stumbled into a fantastical production where every extra vies for center stage, the air charged with a sense of otherworldly beauty and danger.

"Can you believe this place?" Lucian grins, his eyes wide with wonder, his excitement palpable even through his trademark snark and sass.

"Nuh-uh, this is... unbelievable! It's like nothing I could've dreamed up," I say, the words tumbling out as I soak in the staggering splendor around us. Even in my wildest imaginings, I never could have conjured a place like this—a realm so far removed from anything I've ever known that it feels like a dream come to life.

A servant approaches me, her eyes sparkling like twin sapphires set into her flawless face, pointy ears peeking through golden-spun hair. "May I assist you with your gear?" she asks, her voice a melodic lilt that makes me think of wind chimes on a breezy day.

I nod dumbly at first, still taken aback by everything, my mind struggling to process the sheer scope of the splendor surrounding us. Then, my wits snap back into place, and I manage a smile. "Yeah. Yes, thank you." The words come out stilted as I hand over my satchel.

Something about her serene demeanor soothes even my frazzled nerves, a sense of calm emanating from her like a tangible force.

Rhyland keeps close behind me as we walk through this garden of living wonders toward what promises to be an equally spectacular palace, his presence a solid and reassuring warmth at my back.

"Keep your eyes open," he murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, his breath tickling the shell of my ear—a reminder that not all is as it seems in this realm of beauty and illusion.

The guards gently lead our horses away while Balen guides us further into this world where every turn reveals another impossibility—a tapestry woven from pure sunlight here, a fountain spouting liquid diamonds there.

Rhyland's hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining in a comforting squeeze.

As we step through the grand entrance, a hush falls over me. It's like crossing an unseen threshold into a world where the impossible becomes possible, and the boundaries of reality blur and shift like smoke.

Rhyland tightens his grip on my hand, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear. "If you keep gaping like that, I might have to find something to fill it with."

I click my jaw shut, my cheeks flushing hot with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal at his R-rated comment. I nudge him with my elbow, shooting him a look that's half reproach, half invitation.

"Behave," I hiss under my breath, trying to keep my expression neutral, even as my heart races at the promise in his words.

Rhyland grins, his eyes glinting with mischief and something darker. "Where's the fun in that?" he murmurs.

I roll my eyes but can't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

"The Hall of Sunbeams," Baelen informs us.

The entrance is a cavernous space, the ceiling arching high above like a perfect dome. Crystals hang suspended like stars, casting soft light across polished marble floors that reflect our images back at us.

A chandelier of crystalline flowers hangs overhead, casting a soft glow. Its petals pulse with an inner light, bathing us in warmth.

Living vines creep along the walls and columns, blooming with flowers that release a subtle perfume.

Staircases curve up on either side, their railings crafted from gold and silver, twined into intricate patterns. The balustrades are entwined with flowering vines, nature, and artifice blending seamlessly.

"The King and Queen will meet with you tomorrow," Baelen informs us as we take in our surroundings. "You must be weary from your travels; tonight, you shall rest and restore."

I can feel Rhyland tense beside me at the mention of a royal audience. It's a tension mirrored in my own chest, a fluttering unease.

Axilya nods her acceptance of these arrangements. Faderyn smiles in agreement while Lucian leans against a pillar with feigned nonchalance, his curious gaze betraying his interest. Erik stands like a statue, his eyes scanning every detail with precise attention.

"Each of you will be assigned personal attendants," Baelen announces grandly.

My very own personal attendant? Slap my ass and call me a duchess. This is straight out of a Regency romance novel. The Bridgertons would absolutely shit a fancy porcelain brick over this lavish treatment.

Baelen claps his hands, and more attendants appear as if by magic. "We have prepared rooms for each of you," he continues, motioning for us to follow.

Lucian's voice slices through the hush, blanketing the room, a blend of mock astonishment and trademark snark. "Well, call me a lucky bastard!" he exclaims, eyes widening comically. "Did I seriously just score my own pimped-out bachelor pad in this swanky joint?"

I roll my eyes, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room as they turn to stare atLucianas if he's just floated in from the Netherworld or as if he's sporting an extra head, their expressions ranging from shock to disapproval.

I shoot him a look that could freeze hell and silently shape the word "STOP," hoping to caps-lock his manners into place before he gets us all thrown out on our asses.

Lucian grins, unrepentant, and I can't help but feel a surge of affection for him despite my frustration.

I'm led down a corridor lined with tapestries so lifelike I half expect them to come alive and walk off their looms, their threads shimmering with an otherworldly light.We stop before an elegant door carved from shimmering wood and inlaid with intricate designs that seem to move.

"Your quarters, my lady," says one of the attendants, who introduces herself as Alina, pushing open the door with a graceful flourish.

My room is like something out of a dream—a massive, moonlit bed dominates the space, the canopy dripping with gossamer curtains that flutter in an unseen breeze.

"You will have everything you need here," Alina assures me as she flits about the room, lighting candles that fill the air with a sweet, heady scent. "If you desire anything else, do not hesitate to ask."

I nod mutely, taking in the details—from the paintings on the ceiling that seem to move to the lacework on the curtains that look like it was spun from starlight.

Two other attendants stand at attention with fresh garments for me to change into and a tray laden with fruits and sweetmeats.

"You must be exhausted," Alina observes, her voice soft and sympathetic.

"I'm fine," I manage, though my body suggests otherwise, still throbbing from the ride.

Rhyland lingers at the threshold until another attendant offers directions to his room. He declines, his jaw tightening.

"No—I'm staying here." His voice leaves no room for argument.

The attendant hesitates before nodding, "Of course, sir," he replies before leaving.

Rhyland turns to me, concern etched into his features. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice low.

"I'm overwhelmed," I confess, flopping down on the bed. It's like sinking into a cloud.

He sits beside me, taking my hand. "This place... we can't trust it yet." His intense blue eyes hold mine. "Don't let it blind you to what's important."

"I won't," I promise, though part of me wonders if I can stay focused amidst such splendor.

How can something this beautiful be bad—be wrong? Maybe these people are good; they're not a threat like their counterparts—theShadow Court.

Alina and the other attendants clear their throats, nodding toward the bathing chamber. "My lady, a bath has been drawn at your convenience, and we have arranged fresh attire."

Rhyland's attendant has returned and waits by the door.

Rhyland acknowledges his attendant with a swift nod and then doubles back to me in just a few long strides, his movements fluid and graceful despite his size. Gently, he lifts my chin, bringing me eye to eye with the oceanic depths of his brilliant blue gaze, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

"I'm gonna be right down the hall, and I'll catch up with you soon,Angel." He kisses me quickly, his lips soft and warm against mine—a promise and a reassurance all in one—before turning to leave, his shoulders squared and his head held high.