Chapter One

If Tamriel had ever had any love or respect for his father, both would have vanished completely the day Galan decided to give him an ultimatum. His father cared little for any of his children beyond how they affected his own standing in the Seelie Court, and Tamriel had always suspected that one day he and his father would reach an impossible impasse.

Today, it seemed, was that day. Galan had been sent away from the Queen’s Court, his head bowed with shame under the threat of losing the title and lands he had held for centuries, and unfortunately it was Tamriel who was the source of his current ostracism. Tamriel did not care in the slightest whether his father lost everything; he did, however, care very much for how that would affect his two sisters, and it was for their sake only that he had been willing to hear his father out.

“You have offended our Queen, our people, our family.” Galan spat, eschewing any pretence of politeness and storming into Tamriel’s home without invitation. Tamriel looked up at him from where he had been reading in the bright morning light, and decided if his father could not be bothered with the common courtesy of asking to be invited in, he would not bother to stand.

“This is not news,” he told Galan, doing his best to sound bored. In truth, he felt as though his heart was slowly being squeezed in a vice: he had displeased the Queen for the first time years ago, and had continued to do so ever since. For his father to come to him now, in such a rage, was not a good sign.

“No, it is not. What is news is that due to your treasonous insubordination the Queen has seen fit to turn her ire on me.”

Tamriel closed his book, and carefully set it on the ground next to his cushion.

“You may be displeased to hear that this is not news to me either: a gnome told me of your dismissal earlier this morning.”

“And yet you sit here reading?” Galan’ face was steadily turning red, the veins across his forehead standing out as though trying to escape his anger.

“What else would I do?” Tamriel asked. He knew what he should do, what he should have done years ago, and yet he had always refused to set his principals aside. That would not change now, no matter what his father had to say.

“I will tell you what you should do. You have been given an ultimatum, Tamriel: you will either swear fealty to our Queen this afternoon and join her ranks of knights, or you will join the Wild Hunt come the evening and be gone from our lands.” Galan finished spitting his message then paused, drawing breath. A sly smirk spread across his face before he spoke again, the expression chilling Tamriel’s heart further. He could guess what was to come next.

“If you do not comply with either choice, as I am certain you are already considering, the Queen’s wrath will not just fall on me, but on your sisters. How will they survive, do you think, cut off from the Court and shunned by all who once knew them? Will it tear them apart, to know that you could have spared them a life of eternal solitude and yet you did not?”

It was precisely as Tamriel had feared. He and his sisters could fend for themselves well enough, he knew, but surviving was one thing and living was very much another. To be ignored by every soul in the kingdom, to be denied any friendship or love or laughter they would have found in the Court was to be sentenced to a life of misery. Tamriel would not- could not- take their futures from them.

“I have already made my position clear to the Queen,” Tamriel said, tilting his chin up defiantly and hoping his voice did not waver.

“The Hunt, then.”

The Hunt. The Wild Hunt meant a lifetime of servitude, of fighting and chasing without end, but it was better than the alternative: it was only Tamriel’s own life he was swearing away, leaving his sisters free. The Hunt were truly neutral, taking no part in any war or battle save for gathering the dead of both sides long after the fighting had stopped, and neutrality, Tamriel supposed, was the best he could hope for at this point. It would not be so bad, would it, to leave everything behind and start anew?

Yes, it would, a small voice in the back of his head said. What about your sisters? Your life? Your freedom?

“Is there no other option?” Tamriel asked.

“You are lucky you are even being offered a choice.” Galan snorted. He had calmed a little, his initial fury worn off, and his face was slowly turning back to its normal hue. “You could always exile yourself: take your chances in the Unseelie Court.”

The Unseelie Court were lands of eternal moonlight, bereft of sun and warmth. Tamriel would be free there, yes, but who was to say the Unseelie King would not take against him as his own Queen had? The Wild Hunt was a life’s penance, but at least the Hunt had purpose. At least the hunters could still feel the sun on their face.

“Then I suppose I shall join the Wild Hunt.” Tamriel picked his book back up and opened it, acting for all intents and purposes as though he had truly already dismissed his father even though his eyes struggled to even read the words let alone comprehend them. Above him Galan snorted in disgust, sparing no apology or farewell to Tamriel before leaving as abruptly as he had arrived.

It was only when Tamriel was fully certain that his father had left that he put his book back down, not caring that the pages were crumpled as he laid it on the ground. There would be no time for reading once he joined the Hunt. There would be little time for anything. He had but a handful of hours left that he could truly call his own, and he found himself at a complete loss as to what to do with them.

Part of him wanted to visit his sisters, but selfishly he decided that he could not bear it. They would be angry, and upset, and he did not want to spend so much time sitting in sorrow when there would be time enough for that in the Hunt. No, he would be productive instead, he decided. He would get his house and affairs in order, so that he could leave something solid to be remembered by. Then he would seek out his sisters to say goodbye.

Tamriel picked his book back up and smoothed out the pages, closing the cover and placing it neatly back into its resting place on the bookshelf. He tidied until the sun was at its peak, sweeping and dusting and sorting until his home was perfectly tidy. He would leave it to Yuli, he thought, the younger of his two sisters. She was still living with their father, and it would be good to provide her with a ready-made refuge for when she needed one.

He would not be able to take much with him when he joined the Wild Hunt, no more than could fit in a saddlebag, but besides a change of clothes Tamriel wasn’t certain what to bring. Books would get wet, and become ruined, dead weight. Herbs and spices would be shared amongst his new brothers and sisters in arms and would be gone in an instant. An ornament then, perhaps, some small memento he could keep with him, unseen by others.

He wandered back into his bedroom and stood in front of the large wooden shelves that stood opposite his bed: each shelf was full of over two decades’ worth of trinkets and ornaments, fragments of humanity that he had collected during his rare trips beyond the Fae lands. There were brightly coloured food wrappings, broken looking-lenses, pocket-sized electrical boxes that had soon lost all power and meaning as soon as he brought them back home with him. His favourite item was a ring of keys, adorned with a tiny fluffy creature that looked like a child had tried to draw a bear from memory, but his first and most important piece was a small plastic clip that had been bent into the shape of a ring.

Tamriel had been barely five when he had promised to love the boy called Idris forever, and though he had soon learnt that humans broke their promises as easily as breathing, for him, at least, that promise had still stood. Over the years his promise to love Idris had become something more, Idris turning into a symbol of humanity as a whole. How could Tamriel not love him, love them, with their easy words and fleeting lives and beautiful, soulful creations?

Tamriel sighed. It was that unyielding love that had forced his life down this new path, and his own damned curiosity to blame for kindling that love in the first place. He picked up the ring Idris had given him over two decades ago, pulling at its coils until it expanded just enough for him to slip it over the same middle finger Idris had originally placed it on. The rest he would have to leave behind, but this at least he could take with him. He could not bear the thought of starting his new life completely absent anything familiar.

A soft voice from outside pulled Tamriel from his thoughts. He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing over the curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of his modest home. With one last look at the collection of trinkets on his shelf, he pulled the curtain closed. The gentle swish of the fabric felt oddly final, as though he were closing the door on not just a room but an entire chapter of his life.

Outside, his sisters, Arlyn and Yuli, stood waiting. Arlyn’s tall, commanding presence was a stark contrast to Yuli’s small, hesitant figure. Yuli’s hand clutched tightly in her older sister’s, as if Arlyn alone could anchor her to this moment. The sight made Tamriel’s heart ache. He had hoped to avoid this parting, to spare them both the pain, but it seemed they had come to confront it head-on.

“We heard,” Arlyn said, her golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her voice trembled as she continued, “Why can’t you just stay?”

Tamriel sighed deeply, stepping forward. He had answered this question countless times, and yet each repetition hurt more than the last. “You know why,” he replied, his tone tinged with sadness. The argument between them was an old one, dating back to the day he had first rejected the Queen’s offer to join her knights. Arlyn had never fully understood his refusal. To her, the Queen’s service was a path of honor and stability—a way to protect their family and secure their place in the Court. But to Tamriel, it was a path paved with compromises he was unwilling to make. Over the years, Arlyn had come to grudgingly respect his decision, but now, with the family teetering on the brink of destruction, that respect seemed to have evaporated.

“You are a fool,” she sniffed, her voice breaking as she turned her face away from him.

Yuli looked up at her older siblings, confusion etched across her small face. She was too young to grasp the full weight of what was happening, and Tamriel doubted anyone had explained it to her in terms she could understand. Her wide eyes darted between Arlyn and Tamriel, searching for clarity.

“Yuli,” Tamriel said gently, crouching down to meet her at eye level. “I have to go away. Do you understand that?”

Yuli nodded hesitantly, her grip on Arlyn’s hand tightening. Her mousy brown hair shifted in the breeze, glowing faintly in the light. “Papa says you’re leaving to learn the ways of the Hunt,” she said softly. “How long will it take to learn?”

Tamriel’s chest tightened. He forced a steady tone as he answered, “I don’t know, little one. It could take years… or decades… or even centuries.” He left unsaid the cruel truth: that even after he had “learned,” he would never truly return.

“But you’ll come back to visit, won’t you?” Yuli’s voice was small and hopeful.

“Only once a year, on the winter solstice,” Tamriel admitted, his heart breaking as her face fell. “Or perhaps when the Hunt passes over Faerie. But not often.”

“Not even on my birthday?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not even then,” he said softly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

Yuli’s hair flashed pure white, her childish frustration manifesting as the faintest flicker of her fae magic. “That’s not fair!” she exclaimed.

“I know,” Tamriel murmured, his voice soothing. “I know it isn’t fair. But you’ll still have Arlyn, and all your friends. And I’ll write to you, every week. You’ll see.”

“But you won’t be here,” Yuli whispered, her lip trembling.

Tamriel smiled sadly. “No, little one. I won’t be here.” He glanced at Arlyn, whose face was etched with bitterness. She met his gaze and finished the thought for him, her voice sharp.

“Just not here,” she said, her words laced with an accusation he could not deny.

“Just not here,” Tamriel echoed, straightening up. He forced a lighter tone into his voice. “I’ll leave my house to you, Arlyn, for now. Do try not to ruin it entirely. Yuli will need a proper home when she’s old enough, and it would be a shame for her to inherit a pile of smoldering branches.”

Arlyn snorted softly, though her eyes still glistened with tears. “I can’t promise it will be unscathed,” she said.

“That’s good enough for me,” Tamriel replied, allowing himself a small laugh.

Before he could say more, Arlyn stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce embrace. The suddenness of it startled him, but he quickly wrapped his arms around her, holding on as though they could freeze this moment in time. Yuli joined in, wrapping her small arms around his legs, squeezing tightly. He felt crushed on all sides, and the weight of their affection was almost unbearable. His heart felt as though it might break from the pressure of leaving them behind.

“You should go,” Tamriel said at last, his voice strained. “There’s no need for you to see what comes next.”

“I’m not leaving,” Arlyn declared, her tone brooking no argument. “But Yuli should. Papa will be furious if he finds out she was here.”

Yuli hesitated, her grip loosening. “Will you write?” she asked again, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back tears.

“Every week,” Tamriel promised. He knelt and kissed her forehead gently. “And I’ll see you at the solstice. I swear it.”

Yuli nodded, wiping her eyes. She gave him one last hug before turning and trudging down the path. Tamriel watched her go, memorizing the way she moved, the way her hair swayed, knowing that by the next time he saw her, she might be someone entirely new. Only when the forest had swallowed her completely did he turn back to Arlyn.

They walked together in silence, the quiet of the woods broken only by the rustling leaves and the crunch of their footsteps. The peace of the forest was a balm he would miss dearly. The Hunt would be loud, chaotic, and relentless—a cacophony of shouts, cries, and hoofbeats. He wondered if he would ever find the stillness to write the letters he had promised Yuli.

“I could come with you,” Arlyn said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet. “You’re terrible at fighting on horseback. You’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Tamriel smiled faintly. “Yuli needs you more than I do,” he said gently.

“She can—”

“She is not joining the Hunt,” he interrupted firmly. He knew where her thoughts were headed and would not allow it.

“Afraid she’d show you up?” Arlyn forced a laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a sob. She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Fine,” she sniffed. “Fine. But if you don’t spend every minute of the solstice with us, I’ll make your life miserable.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tamriel said with a soft chuckle.

They wandered the winding paths of the woods, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm as they moved past the landmarks of their childhood. Here was the brook where they had waded on summer days, their laughter mingling with the babble of the water. There, the towering oak where they had carved their initials, its bark now thick and scarred but still holding their memories. Each turn of the path seemed to whisper with echoes of their younger selves—carefree, mischievous, and oblivious to the weight of destiny that would one day divide them.

When they reached their mother’s passing tree, they stopped in unspoken agreement. The gnarled branches stretched out protectively, adorned with a cascade of ribbons in every color imaginable. The knots were untidy in places, lovingly tied and retied by those who had come to pay respects. The ribbons tumbled in the breeze, brushing against their shoulders like a phantom touch. It felt, to Tamriel, like being embraced by something intangible yet deeply familiar.

“She would not want this,” Arlyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers drifted to a crimson ribbon, letting its soft fabric glide over her skin. “But I also think she would not wish for you to pledge your life to a Queen whose desires you hate.”

Tamriel nodded, silent but resolute. The truth of her words hung heavily in the air. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rustling ribbons and the gentle scent of the forest wash over him. If he concentrated hard enough, the soft brush of ribbons against his face almost felt like his mother’s hair—golden and warm as sunlight. He liked to believe he had inherited her heart, her compassion, and her unwavering sense of right and wrong. Though she was gone, he carried a piece of her within him, a spark that guided his choices even now.

When they finally moved to continue, Tamriel felt an unexpected lightness in his chest. It was as though the burden of his decision had been eased, if only slightly. Whether the sensation was born of the time spent in reflection or the lingering echo of his mother’s spirit, he did not know. What he did know was that he felt braver. The Wild Hunt was a life of uncertainty and chaos, but he resolved to face it on his terms, preserving the core of who he was, no matter how the world might try to change him.

The journey brought them to the Queen’s throne room, an ornate chamber that glittered with light and power. Yet the grandeur felt cold and detached, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the woods they had left behind. At the far end of the room, the Seelie Queen reclined on her gilded throne, a vision of beauty and command. Beside her stood Venali, the leader of the Wild Hunt, his presence a stark contrast to the Queen’s ethereal elegance.

Venali was as imposing as Tamriel had imagined—a towering figure clad in burnished leather and silver buckles. A great hide draped over his shoulders like a cloak, its edges singed as though from countless battles. The Queen, always conscious of appearances, had chosen her attire to complement his: a leather corset fastened over a flowing white gown. Her long hair gleamed like spun gold, every strand arranged to perfection. Tamriel noted with faint amusement the subtle tension in Venali’s posture. Court gossip claimed the Queen had been trying to seduce the Hunter for centuries, though her efforts had been in vain. It was a small comfort to Tamriel that his new leader seemed immune to the Queen’s manipulations.

“Arlyn, have you come to join the Wild Hunt along with your brother?” the Queen asked dryly, arching a finely shaped brow as her gaze fell upon Tamriel’s sister.

Arlyn dipped her head respectfully. “I have come to see him away, Your Majesty.”

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was clear she considered dismissing Arlyn outright, but after a brief moment of deliberation, she waved her hand in grudging approval. Arlyn stepped back, offering Tamriel one final, crushing hug before retreating to the edges of the room where courtiers stood in curious clusters. Now alone, Tamriel walked toward the dais, his chin lifting ever so slightly to show that he would not be cowed.

“All this sentimentality bores me,” the Queen announced with a dramatic sigh, leaning lazily against the arm of her throne. “Swear him in, Venali, and be done with it. I want him gone from my kingdom.”

Venali nodded curtly and stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor. “Are you ready?” he asked, his deep voice carrying an unexpected gentleness.

“I am,” Tamriel replied, his voice steady even as his heart pounded.

“Hold out your hand,” Venali instructed, drawing a dagger from his belt. The blade gleamed, its edge impossibly sharp. Tamriel knew the ritual well: blood must be spilt to join the Hunt, an offering to seal the bond. He extended his hand, palm up, bracing himself for the sting of the blade.

But the pain did not come. Instead, Venali traced the lines of Tamriel’s palm with the dagger’s tip, his touch feather-light. Confusion flickered across Tamriel’s face, but before he could speak, Venali stepped back and sheathed the blade.

“I cannot take him,” Venali said, his voice calm and unyielding.

“What?” Tamriel asked, his question overlapping with the Queen’s furious shriek.

Venali turned to face the Queen, his expression impassive. “He is already bound to another.”

The Queen rose from her throne in a single fluid motion, her fury palpable. “How?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “To whom?”

“I don’t know,” Venali said simply, meeting her gaze without flinching.

The Queen’s anger swelled, her form growing as her magic surged. She loomed over Tamriel, her golden eyes blazing. “You snake,” she hissed. “You swore an oath to the Unseelie King, did you not? Have you been spying on my court this entire time, betraying us to him?”

“No!” Tamriel protested, his voice rising. “I have never spoken to the King, let alone sworn any oath to him!”

The Queen faltered slightly, her magic retreating. The truth was a powerful shield for the Fae, and Tamriel’s words rang with the unmistakable clarity of honesty. Still, suspicion lingered in her narrowed eyes.

“To whom are you bound, then?” she demanded. “You have not wed—of that I am certain.”

Tamriel could only shake his head, his confusion mirroring her own. He had no answer, no explanation for the bond Venali claimed to see. But deep in his heart, he felt a faint, inexplicable tug—something ancient, something vast.

“I have no—” Tamriel began, but the words stuck in his throat, caught between disbelief and a sudden, dawning realization. No. Surely not. His thoughts spiraled as he struggled to articulate them, the pieces of an old memory fitting together in a pattern he had never expected.

“I did not think it would count,” he said at last, his voice distant and strained. “I was just a child, and he—he was human. They are not bound by the same laws we are. Surely… surely it cannot be that. I made a promise. He didn’t.”

The Queen’s expression shifted. Her lips curved into a slow, predatory smirk, her delight as sharp as a blade. She stepped closer, her figure shrinking back down to his height, though her presence remained oppressive. The cruel gleam in her eye made Tamriel feel as though he were being dissected under her gaze.

“A promise is a promise,” she said with malicious glee, her voice laced with triumph. “No matter if the person you make it to is mortal or not. And now, oh, how delicious this is. You’ll have to break this bond, of course. But tell me…” She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “This boy—he has no idea, does he? He has no inkling of what he’s tied himself to?”

Tamriel shook his head mutely. The weight of his own foolishness settled on him like a crushing stone. He had been so naive, so thoughtless. He should have known better, even as a child. But he had only been five, too young to understand the implications of his words. How could he have foreseen that the promise he’d made to Idris—a mortal boy, carefree and laughing—would bind them together in such a way?

The paper clip ring on his finger seemed suddenly heavier, a leaden reminder of his mistake. What had he done to Idris? He couldn’t picture him as anything but the joyful, gap-toothed child he had been. Tamriel’s chest tightened at the thought of the boy being dragged into this strange, dangerous world, utterly unprepared for what awaited him.

“We will summon him,” the Queen announced, her voice snapping Tamriel out of his thoughts. “And you must end this foolishness.”

With a sharp gesture, she summoned one of her attendants, who hurried forward with parchment and ink already in hand. Tamriel’s stomach twisted as he shot a desperate look toward Arlyn, who was standing to the side, her lips moving silently. He recognized the shape of her words: What have you done?

He didn’t know how to answer.

“What is the boy’s name?” the Queen demanded, her tone clipped.

“Idris,” Tamriel said reluctantly. He gave the name cautiously, knowing it held no real power on its own. It was not Idris’s full name—merely the one humans used in their simple, unguarded way.

“And the token of marriage he gave you,” the Queen pressed, a sly smile curling her lips. “I know you, Tamriel. You would never throw away such a trinket. You still have it, don’t you?”

Tamriel’s heart sank. She was right, of course. Slowly, reluctantly, he slipped the paper clip from his finger and held it out. It felt like a betrayal, an irreversible step. He told himself it was for the best—that freeing Idris from this bond was the right thing to do. Yet the thought of surrendering the fragile, silly little ring tore at something deep within him.

The attendant, a petite nixie with glittering scales along her arms, took the ring and passed it over the parchment she was preparing. The small token shimmered faintly as it imbued the paper with its magic, linking it to Idris. She wrote swiftly, her pen scratching against the parchment, then folded the letter with practiced ease.

“Will it reach him?” Tamriel asked hesitantly, watching as she prepared the final steps of the spell. He had no idea how humans typically sent messages to one another, but this method—steeped in fae magic—seemed a world away from their simple, mundane lives.

“It will,” the Queen replied dismissively. She reached out to seal the letter with a flick of her hand, then watched with satisfaction as it spiraled upward, carried by invisible currents. The paper ascended through the open roof of the throne room, vanishing into the sky.

“It is done,” the Queen declared, her tone sharp with finality. “You had better hope Idris replies to our correspondence. Otherwise, I may be forced to break your bond in… other ways.”

Tamriel clenched his jaw, biting back a response that might draw her ire. He would not risk the Queen’s wrath turning to Idris. The boy—no, the man—should not have been involved in any of this. He didn’t deserve to have his life meddled with by forces he could not possibly comprehend.

“You may go now,” the Queen said, waving a hand dismissively. “But be prepared to bring Idris before me as soon as he arrives. This farce of yours has gone on long enough.”

“Later, then,” Tamriel said lightly, though his words carried no conviction.

Venali, who had been watching in silence, cocked his head slightly, his dark, depthless eyes boring into Tamriel. “Perhaps,” he said softly, his tone unreadable. Then he turned and walked away, his retreating figure leaving Tamriel feeling more uneasy than before.

The moment the Queen’s court was behind them, Arlyn seized Tamriel’s arm and pulled him outside. Her grip was firm, her pace brisk. Tamriel followed numbly, his mind spinning as he tried to process the revelation.

When they were far enough from prying ears, Arlyn turned to face him directly, her expression torn between disbelief and anger. “Tamriel,” she said, her voice low and incredulous. “What have you done?”