But now they were dead.
She stepped forward, unable to avoid the blood, and felt its wetness seep into her worn boots. “I’ve come to ask for help. Goblins are coming to my village.”
The shadows rippled, and one detached itself from the rest: a full set of beautifully crafted armor, pitch black like the cape he wore, the helmet eerily avian.
Isidora was a child of the Enchanted Vale. She knew of magic. But magic to her was Elder Miguel healing the scrape on her knee, or Mother singing to the harvest to encourage growth. Magic was a flower she righted after her little brother accidentally snapped the stem.
Isidora had never felt magic like this. It flooded the room, pricking her skin and ringing in her ears. She gasped for air she couldn’t take in.
The figure marched forward, gloved hands tight on a massive hammer. Then he knelt before her, and it felt like night descending as she was shrouded by his shadow.
“You need not worry any longer, child.” His voice was deep, reverberating beneath his helm. “The age of stasis is at an end. No longer will those with the power to protect squander and hide away while the citizens of Spring cower in terror.”
His helmet was crafted in the shape of an owl, and she said: “You’re a prince.” This time, it wasn’t a question. She recognized the helm. He was the second-born Prince of Spring. Suddenly, Isidora was no longer afraid.
“First, we will liberate the mountain villages from the wayward creatures.” Prince Kairyn stood and quirked his helm toward the shattered window, in a move oddly reminiscent of the animal his mask resembled. The sharp, quick motions of an owl. “Then it’s long past time I visited my father, the steward, and his princeguard.”
“You’re really going to save us?” Isidora asked.
“I will save all of Spring. But to do that, I’m going to need a little help.” He kept his gaze fixed on the shattered window, on the capital. “Tell me, child, have you ever heard a nightingale sing?
1
Rosalina
“Marigold! The teapot!” I cry, my hands full of falling cups, plates, and saucers.
Marigold gives a flying leap across the kitchen, floral apron flapping. She snags the teapot right before it shatters on the stone floor.
I have only a second to sigh and gently place the saved tableware in a drawer before the castle starts to shake again.
This isn’t the first time, but it’s certainly the worst.
“I need a bucket!” Astrid cries, running into Castletree’s kitchen. “A piece of the roof’s given out in the entrance hall, and the rain’s pouring in!”
A vein throbs in my head. “Where are the princes? They were supposed to be back today.”
It’s been six weeks since we left the Autumn Realm, and I almost think fighting ice zombies, nearly getting eaten by my mate, and discovering I’m actually a magical faerie was a lot easier than trying to manage Castletree.
Farron has been back and forth between Castletree and Autumn. He’s been helping his father assume the role of steward after the tragic death of his mother, Princess Niamh. With Perth Quellos’s betrayal—and the foreboding news that he escaped from prison—Kel was forced to return to Winter. I know he’s been avoiding any true leadership of his home realm since the curse over twenty-five years ago, but it didn’t seem like he was going back only out of necessity. No … There’s been a change in him, a determination instead of his usual apathy.
Though, the Sword of the Protector is still lying discarded under his bed. But returning to his realm is a good start.
Astrid snatches the bucket, and Marigold follows her into the entrance. I sigh, then take off after them.
Gray light filters in through the windows—and rain pours through the broken ones. If it’s not pieces of the wall crumbling, it’s windows cracking, doors falling from their hinges, book stacks falling over in the library, or rocks shattering to dust in the hot springs.
It’s only been me and the staff here in Castletree. Perhaps influenced by Farron and Kel, Dayton took the opportunity to return to his realm and check in with his little sister, the steward.
And despite Ezryn’s worry about the lack of communication from Spring, he didn’t go back. Instead, he claimed we’d been away from Castletree for too long and the Briar would be out of control with goblins.
He was supposed to be checking on Castletree—on me—in the other princes’ absence, but I haven’t seen him once.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s avoiding going back to his home.
Or maybe he’s avoiding me. Maybe Dayton is, too.
After all, Farron and Kel have found their mates.
Found me.
Briars fill the entrance hall—a familiar torment from the Prince of Thorns. It’s his magic that’s sapping Castletree of its strength. But even Caspian’s briars seem brittle, frail. I choose to create more from my bracelets instead to help patch the holes. The thorns lace from floor to ceiling, trapping the crumbling pieces of bark and stone back into the wall frame.
Angry briars fly from my wrists. “The princes were supposed to be back today!”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, something sparks inside my chest. A warmth like fire, a feeling that glows and shimmers all at once. The door to Castletree opens, and a crisp breeze blows through, bringing with it the scent of maple leaves and an apple orchard.
And standing there is Farron, High Prince of Autumn. My mate.
His name leaves my mouth in a reverent breath, and I rush forward, only for a crack to sound. A fissure splits the stone beneath my feet and I stumble.
But Farron is there, catching me in his arms, spinning us both until I’m upright and wrapped in his arms. I take one moment to lose myself in the soft amber of his eyes, the way his face lights up as he looks at me, before grabbing him into a kiss.
Our kiss is hungry, urgent. My fingernails scrape down the back of his neck as I try to get closer. The taste of him both comforts and electrifies me. For a second, I think I’d be okay if the entire castle crumbled around us, as long as I can stay in his arms.
But then he jerks up and shoots out a hand, a gale holding back a chunk of ceiling that tumbles toward us. He pulls me out of the way. “And here I was, thinking you’d be bored with us gone.”
“Oh, you know, just been doing a little redecorating.” I trace his jaw with my fingers, hoping my touch can convey the need for him my words will never be able to. “I really thought the castle would look nice with huge chunks torn out of it.”
With that, rain pours through the latest hole. “Astrid, we need more buckets,” I call.