Chapter 3

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My baby.

Castor is exactly what I expected, and exactly not.

He's handsome, obviously, with amazing cheekbones that match his regal height and wicked grace. He's wearing all black, from his hanfu-style robes to the strip of cloth tied around his eyes. The night-dark attire contrasts his long white hair and thoroughly porcelain skin.

Head lolling against the obsidian throne on the dais in front of where I'm standing in this dimly-lit ballroom, he murmurs, "Xios, what is the matter with you?"

At my side in the empty, vast room made of ebony pearl, Alexios smiles. Viciously. "Nothing I can share at this exact moment."

"You're angry."

"Oh, yes. Quite pissed."

If Castor weren't rocking a fussing bundle in his arms, I might have the heart to be more smug, but, from here, all I can do is stare at navy swaddling clothes and listen to the little ent boy whimpering.

When I swallow, it tastes bitter.

Releasing a defeated sigh, Castor stands. "Zahra, come here. Sit."

My mind goes blank. I look to Alexios for guidance, but his blindingly bright smile gives me chills as he flourishes his arm toward the throne. "You heard him, snowflake. Go. Sit. "

Eyes narrow, I flick my tongue out at him like a lizard…then I head toward the evil prince who is just short of holding a child for ransom. Every muscle in me tightens with each foreboding step forward.

The baby's complaints grow louder, echoing in my ears.

I make it up the few steps to the evil prince…and…

My heart stills. My breaths soften until I barely feel them whispering through my lungs.

He's tiny .

The little ent's ash-gray face crumples as he bawls, underhues of rustier shades coming out with every gasping breath.

"Don't worry," Castor mutters. "He's not hungry, or soiled, or hurt . He just hates me."

Tears burn in my eyes, and I can no longer breathe. The baby doesn't look heavier than five pounds. He's so very, very small .

"Xios," Castor states. "She didn't laugh. That was a fantastic joke, was it not?"

Somewhere beyond my baby, I register that Alexios has followed me to the throne's plateau. Gloved hands linked behind his back, he says, "Perhaps Zahra doesn't have a sense of humor. Perhaps she likes to ruin everyone's fun."

Castor hums, skeptical. "Child, if you want to hold him, please sit down."

I do want to hold him. Sitting on the evil prince's throne, however, seems somewhat…strange. All things considered. Evil princes are meant to have egos large enough to fill their palace walls. They're supposed to be incredibly possessive where items of their status are concerned.

Castor doesn't seem to care.

When I sit, he bends toward me as though his eyes aren't covered at all. I open my arms to receive the tiny bundle, but he pauses. "Are your hands clean?"

My heart jerks. "No. They aren't. Sorry. I'm not thinking straight. Is there a bathroom or sanitizer around here?"

"He's making another joke." Alexios lets a sigh pour free as he perches himself on the broad, stone armrest beside me and adjusts the sleeves beneath his tailcoat. "The baby is an ent . His cradle is a dirt pile. Only human infants are so fragile in the face of silly things like germs ." Dragging his gaze up to Castor, he murmurs, "Two strikes. You're not doing very well today."

Castor smiles, baring two canines sharper than the rest. Not quite fangs, but not quite normal either. "Well, at least I'm amusing myself."

Alexios crosses his legs and peers down his nose at me. "You look like you're about to cry."

"Do I?" I snip.

"Indeed. Tears have gathered like starlight in your eyes."

I sniff, irritated when it sounds more like a sniffle . "Weird."

" Pretty ," he corrects.

"Are you done?" Castor asks. "It really is quite unbearable to listen to you both flirt."

"Apologies," Alexios murmurs, turning his attention away from me.

"He started it," I mutter.

"Grow up."

"You first."

Castor clears his throat. "Children. Please. I'm slowly losing my will to live."

I arch a brow in Castor's direction, but I don't get a moment to contemplate the familiarity of his demeanor before he's setting the ent baby in my arms. My heart hits my ribs when the slight weight settles.

I was right.

He really can't be more than five pounds.

Short, gasping breaths rock the baby's tiny frame before his wails go quiet. His squinting eyes open. Look up at me.

They're…green.

Like mine .

They are filled with the most beautiful shades of green I have ever seen in my life. Logically, I know the ashen shade of his skin is what's bringing out the vivid hues. After all, I am an artist, and I understand enough about color theory to put together eye-catching thumbnails for my videos.

But the part of me that is already irrevocably attached to this infant is convinced he simply has the most beautiful eyes in the world.

"What did I tell you?" Castor says, peeved. "The—" He swears. "—hates me. Ungrateful little brat." He lifts a finger toward my baby, and the ent's tiny face scrunches up, so Castor pulls away and links his arms together beneath his robes. "This is just what I get after months of nurture. I understand we're diametrically-opposed creatures, but I'm still hurt."

Hand shaking, I dare to touch the pad of my thumb to my baby's soft forehead. The wrinkles smooth, and he continues staring at me. A tiny life. Full of wonder and potential and beauty and love. "Diametrically-opposed creatures?" I ask, distantly entranced.

Alexios murmurs, "As I'm sure Meda's told you at school, Castor is a basilisk who turns anyone who meets his eyes into stone. He embodies that sensation of lifelessness. Ents may be deadly plants, but they are very much alive ."

"This—" Castor swears to reference my baby. "—is an Angel's Trumpet. Inhaling, eating, or touching an Angel's Trumpet can result in death. After such symptoms like hallucinations and fever."

Alexios interjects, " However , he won't have the ability to produce those toxins until he's several years old."

Castor mutters, "Now who is the destroyer of fun?"

"You'll pardon me if I don't find jokes about Zahra's painful death entirely charming."

Long moments stretch before Castor sighs and addresses me. "Child, is there any information you need before I hibernate for forty-eight hours?"

I force myself to look up at Castor's blindfolded face and gather my senses. "How old is he?"

"Ten days. He was born on the first."

Only ten days old. No wonder he's so small . "What do you need him for?"

"That is not information pertinent to the prolonging of his existence."

And, yet, if anyone tries to pry him out of my arms at a later point for any reason, I will murder them.

Castor's arms fold. "I can sense your distaste, child. At this point, we are not enemies. If, however, you insist on treating me as one, I am not beyond convincing."

"Do excuse her reservations," Alexios drawls. "She's a teaching assistant, which means she cares for a dozen children for hours on end nearly every weekday."

"Gracious," Castor murmurs.

" Willingly ," Alexios adds.

Castor's arms fall to his sides. "My apologies. Or, perhaps, my condolences. It sounds as though you've been quite thoroughly divested of your common sense."

"Excuse you," I snap. "Children are great . Sure, they're loud and often sticky, and they may not always listen, but my beans are good kids. And they're exploring life. And learning. And discovering who they are, and that is beautiful ."

"How do they wind up sticky ?" Castor asks.

I scoff, indignant. "Nobody knows."

His lips purse. "How disturbing."

I grit, "It's beautiful ."

"Your humanity is showing in alarmingly obvious ways, dear starbeam, and I'm too tired to deal with blatant falsehoods. If there's nothing else, my pets will see to it the babe's things are brought to your home. I shall meet with you again soon to monitor your progress."

My lip curls. "What does that mean?"

Distinctly disinterested, Castor says, "It means this is an open adoption, and you would do well not to forget who the babe truly belongs to."

Ah.

I see how it is.

Castor has chosen death.