Page 129 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Like choosing between salvation and damnation when you can no longer tell the difference.
I stepped forward into the rippling darkness.
thirty-four
False Faces
Zydar
Thecouncilchamberfeltsmaller with just Narietta and I. Evening light carved harsh angles across the war maps, turning strategic positions into shadows. I'd dismissed the others an hour ago, needing this moment to breathe without the weight of a dozen stares measuring my every decision.
"The eastern patrols reported nothing unusual," Narietta said, but her voice carried an edge I recognized. "No movement from the Sun Court forces we have an eye on. No messages from our spies."
I looked up from the supply reports. "But?"
"Something's wrong in the air today." She moved to the window, wings rustling with agitation. "I can feel it pressing against my thoughts like storm clouds before lightning strikes."
"Did you see a new vision?"
"No. Nothing new." She turned back to face me, blue eyes troubled. "That's what worries me. The future has gone quiet, Zy. Like it's holding its breath."
Unease crawled up my spine. Narietta's gift had never been wrong, even when her visions came in fragments and riddles. If she sensed danger without seeing it, that meant something was actively working to blind her sight.
"Keep trying," I said. "Push deeper if you have to."
"I will." She hesitated at the door. "Be careful tonight. Trust your instincts."
After she left, I stood alone among the scattered documents that mapped our war against Ylvena. Supply lines, troop movements, alliance negotiations with the other courts. All of it meaningless if we couldn't keep Miralyte safe long enough to end this.
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Gryven.
Three days since I'd exiled him. Three days since I'd watched my oldest friend stripped of rank and honor, condemned to live out his remaining years as a common soldier in the Fog District.
The decision still burned in my chest like swallowed lightning. Gryven had raised me after my father died. Taught me to fight, to lead, to carry the weight of a crown without letting it crush my soul. He'd been more father than advisor, more family than friend.
But when it came to choosing between duty and love, between the realm and Miralyte, he'd chosen wrong.
I understood his reasoning. The rot was killing us, one fae at a time. Miralyte's heart could cure it all, save thousands of lives.
But I would rather watch the world burn than sacrifice her for it. And it crushed me that he hadn’t considered my heart.
That truth should have terrified me. A ruler who put personal desires above his people's survival was a tyrant in the making. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Some things were worth more than duty. Some people were worth more than crowns.
The war room held no more answers tonight than it had this morning. I gathered the most sensitive documents, locked them in the secured chest, and made my way back to my chambers. It was time to tell Miralyte about our next move against Ylvena.
The eastern courts had finally agreed to meet. Not a formal alliance yet, but a chance to present evidence of Ylvena's crimes, to show them what Miralyte had become. If we could convince them to stand with us, we'd have the numbers to challenge the Sun Court directly.
I pushed open the chamber doors, already forming the words to explain the delicate dance of fae politics.
Miralyte sat at the writing desk, bent over what looked like correspondence. Golden hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and her wings were folded neatly against her back. The picture of peaceful concentration.
"Working late?" I asked, crossing the room toward her.
She looked up with a smile that was perfectly crafted. "Reading, actually. Trying to understand more about court protocols. If I'm going to be a queen, I should probably know how to act like one."
The words were right. The tone was right. Even the slight self-deprecating humor was exactly what I'd expect from her.
But something felt wrong.
