Chapter 54: _ The Uninvited Guest

He was crouching behind an ivy-draped archway in what appeared to be the inner courtyard of a human dynasty. The sun was warm against the back of his neck, filtering through green leaves.

His chest felt light. So impossibly, miraculously light.

There was no screaming in his head. No ghosts wailing in his ears, no dark entities whispering of rot beneath the soil, no heavy burden of a mother’s ambition crushing his shoulders. There was only a thrumming anticipation that made his heart race with a strange, sweet nervousness.

He was waiting for someone.

He knew he shouldn’t be there. He knew that if the royal guards caught a servant lingering near the private gardens of the upper estate, he would be flogged or thrown into the pillory. But he didn’t care. The risk meant nothing compared to the overwhelming urgency pulling at his chest.

A faint sound echoed from the far end of the stone walkway. He heard the hurried patter of light slippers against the flagstones.

His heart gave a violent thud.

She came, he thought as a breathless, foolish smile spread across his face before he even turned his head. She actually came.

The scent of wild lilies grew stronger, floating on the warm afternoon breeze. She was sneaking past the guards, ducking beneath the trailing ivy just as they had planned, risking everything just to share a forbidden moment in the shade of the archway.

He leaned forward, his soul aching to catch a glimpse of her face, to see the sunlight catching the soft curve of her lips...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He jolted upright on his stone bench, his heart beating violently as the dream vanished into ash.

He panted heavily, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

The dream was already evaporating, slipping through his fingers like dry sand, leaving behind only a lingering ache in his chest and the faint scent of lilies.

What type of dream was that? Why in the seven courts did it feel so real? Who... who was that woman he was waiting for? The woman who brought inexplicable joy into his heart.

He hadn’t dreamt in a long while. He’d only had nightmares... Of ghosts, spirits, demons, and whatever cursed entities that came with the burden of necromancy.

So... why now? And why as a human? Why at that moment when he was stuck in a forbidden moment, waiting for a woman who made all the butterflies in his stomach flutter to life?

Was it Antanasia? Was he missing her so much that his mind conjured a safe haven where they could meet, stripped of all the familial expectations of them?

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Heavy knocks resounded on his front door.

He slammed his boots onto the cold floor, grunting as his bruised ribs fought back.

"I swear to the First Courts," he growled under his breath, dragging a hand across his face, "if my mother has sent another patrol of wardens to inspect my quarters for ’forbidden necromantic artifacts,’ I am going to set their cloaks on fire."

In the corner of the room, Maeve and Cedric were hovering near the ceiling, engaged in an intensely heated, whispering argument.

"I’m telling you, he’s going to court her!" Maeve hissed, floating upside down while making dramatic heart shapes with her translucent hands. "Did you see his face last night? He dropped to his knees! He looked like a tragic poet in a third-rate street play! He’s going to buy her flowers and then punch Prince Ivar in the jaw!"

"Nonsense! The boy is a Fae prince with the social grace of a wounded bear! He wouldn’t know how to court a lady if she handed him an instructional scroll! He will simply stalk her through the corridors, glare at her from behind pillars, and claim it’s a high-level military investigation!" Cedric scoffed, waving his ghostly hand dismissively.

Wight, sitting in his usual corner over the iron stand, didn’t even lift his horned head from his book. "He will do neither. He will collapse from internal bleeding because he refuses to stitch his ribs."

"Will the three of you SHUT UP?!" he barked, grabbing a dark tunic from his wardrobe and shoving his arms through the sleeves, wincing as the rough fabric scraped against his bruised chest.

He hated knocks on his door. Nothing good ever came from a knock on his door. A knock meant his mother had found a new way to parade his exile, or a warden was bringing news of another beast breach, or some lost spirit wanted his help.

He stomped across the floorboards, eyes burning with fury. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

He grabbed the iron latch, unbolted the three deadbolts with loud clacks, and yanked the door open, fully prepared to unleash a torrent of Fae curses on whatever poor warden was standing outside.

"I told you lot yesterday, the perimeter boundary is clear, and if my mother wants another report, she can–"

The words died in his throat.

He froze, his hand clutching the edge of the door, his entire body locking up as if he had been struck by a bolt of elemental lightning.

Standing on his doorstep, framed by the stone hallway of the Fae spires, was not a warden.

Standing in the archway was one of the scoundrel princes Raice really can not stand.

His mind instantly detonated into pure shock.First, a scalding wave of murderous rage surged through his chest as he remembered Maeve telling him Ivar had kissed Elira two days ago. Seconds later, a spike of panic hit his spine because the bastard had caught him pinning her against the wall last night.

He knew the faction princes don’t respect the rule of never crossing quadrant lines without warden passes, but none were stupid enough to show up at a rival’s doorstep. They were sworn enemies, bound by pride and bloody history.

Yet here an arrogant Prince stood, uninvited, on his threshold.

"What the hell are you doing here?"