Chapter 46 Chapter Forty-Six
The words echoed like a curse in her mind.
Unseelie Court.
That’s what Garrick had called it. That’s what he’d said her mother was—a dark fae of the Unseelie Court.
Kaelani’s heart pounded, but the rhythm was hollow, stunned, as her legs moved of their own accord, flanked by six spear-wielding warriors. The world around her was strange, yet undeniably beautiful.
A realm of shadow and reverie stretched wide before her.
The streets they walked shimmered under the glow of the twin moons, stone paths inlaid with silver striations that pulsed like magic. Music throbbed from every direction—haunting, melodic, wild—and bodies danced in its grip. Fae in masks and velvet and glittering armor spun in circles, laughed too loudly, touched too freely.
It was intoxicating.
Kaelani’s breath caught as they passed a cluster of revelers playing some kind of table game—cards perhaps, but every movement was laced with something more. A flick of fingers made dice roll a second longer than they should. A subtle tilt of a brow made another’s hand falter. Power, used not for domination, but for delight. There was no cruelty here—at least not yet. Only beauty and danger walking hand in hand.
They noticed her.
One by one, heads turned. The laughter quieted. Words shifted into whispers—fluid, melodic, and foreign. The Fae tongue.
She understood a few words—at least, she thought she did. Or perhaps it was just the weight of their attention pressing down on her skin.
Her mouth was dry. Her instincts screamed to run. But her power was dormant, and her wolf… still bristling beneath her skin. At least, she didn’t feel alone.
Then the warriors halted.
Ahead, a crowd had gathered—cheering, watching someone at the center. The mood was electric. Whoever it was held their complete attention.
One of the guards stepped forward, voice deep and formal.
“My Lord Draevyn.”
The crowd fell instantly silent.
A beat of stillness—then the warriors bowed, their weapons lowered in respect. Kaelani stood frozen.
Until a rough hand pressed down on the back of her neck.
She gritted her teeth, resisting.
The pressure increased.
Her knees didn’t hit the ground, but her head was forced low enough to make her feel every inch of submission. The fury that burned in her blood was silent—but present. Her breath shook, her fists clenched at her sides. Her wolf snarled—pacing, teeth bared—not in fear, but in protest.
Kaelani’s gaze lifted, peering through strands of her hair.
The crowd slowly parted, revealing a table crowded with players, though one figure stood out—seated at the center, holding a handful of iridescent cards.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t need to.
Power radiated from him—not loud or showy, but inarguable. Like gravity itself had chosen him as its focal point.
His hair was ink-black, slicked back except for a few strands that fell carelessly across his brow. His skin was pale and flawless, cut by high cheekbones and a jaw outlined by some kind of divine architect. His shirt, black and fitted, was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest. His sleeves were rolled to the forearms, exposing powerful, veined arms that rested lazily on the table. And those eyes—
Liquid silver. Just like hers.
Just like all of theirs.
Except when his locked on hers, it felt different.
The moment dragged, heavy and raw. She had been staring. Too long. Too hard.
She blinked and quickly dropped her gaze.
But it was too late.
He had seen, a flicker of amusement curling at the corner of his mouth.
“And what do we have here?”
The voice was velvet and smoke—curious, cool, edged with something that made Kaelani’s spine tighten. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
The guards immediately straightened.
The hand pressing down on the back of her neck vanished.
Kaelani rose just as quickly, her chin lifting in defiance as she turned to glare at the warrior who had dared to touch her. Her eyes, a stormy silver, locked on him with quiet fury.
Another guard stepped forward, eyes low, posture rigid.
“We found this trespasser outside the border—just past the edge of the dark forest. She breached our realm, my lord.”
The guard cast a quick glance toward Kaelani, his gaze dragging pointedly over her gray jumpsuit, the unmistakable mortal fabric clinging to her curves. His expression shifted—subtle, but not subtle enough to escape her.
“Clearly not from here.” He added.
Draevyn didn’t react.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she stood before him.
His stare wasn’t lecherous or hostile. It was assessing. Quietly intense. Like he was trying to place her—like she was a song he’d heard before but couldn’t quite recall.
His wine remained untouched. The cards long forgotten.
“Where are you from?” he asked, voice soft but weighted.
Kaelani hesitated, her voice calm but firm when it came.
“Just a small town far away from here.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. But it wasn’t a truth, either.
Draevyn’s silver gaze narrowed slightly. He tilted his head—not disbelieving, but intrigued.
“And how did you get here?”
Her breath faltered.
The question stirred a storm against her ribs.
Images flashed behind her eyes—the roaring semi barreling toward her, the council guards in wolf form chasing her down like prey.
And then—nothing.
No crash. No pain.
Just a violet light and—
Here.
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
The words were low, honest, threaded with tension she didn’t bother hiding.
And for the first time, Draevyn’s eyes flickered—not with suspicion or scorn.
But interest.
Real interest.
Draevyn turned slightly in his seat, murmuring something low and fluid to the two men flanking him.
It was the same melodic tongue the others had spoken in earlier—sharp in some places, sweeping in others. But this time, Kaelani heard more than just rhythm.
Her head tilted, eyes narrowing.
Most of the words blurred past her, impossible to decipher. But others… others came through with strange clarity.
Trespasser.
Outsider.
Realm walker.
Spy.
Her brows snapped together.
“Excuse me,” she cut in sharply. “I am not a spy—and I don’t even know what a realm walker is.”
Silence fell like a blade.
All movement ceased. Even the background music seemed to hush, caught in the weight of her interruption.
The two men at Draevyn’s side went still, their faces hardening. Several guards behind her bristled. The crowd parted further, backing away like a collective breath had been sucked from the courtyard.
But Draevyn…
His silver gaze flickered—surprise, sharp and undeniable.
“You speak Vaelorin?” he asked, his voice smoother than before. Quieter. Curious.
Kaelani blinked. “What?”
“The fae tongue,” he clarified, tilting his head. “Vaelorin.”
She stared at him, baffled. “No.”
“Then how,” he asked slowly, “did you know what we were discussing?”
“I…” she hesitated, her throat tightening. “I didn’t. Not at first. But then… I started to understand a few words. I don’t know how.”
Draevyn studied her with growing intensity—his eyes roaming not just over her face now, but deeper, as if trying to see beneath her skin.
Something shifted in the air.
Intrigue. Recognition. Or perhaps the beginning of belief.
Kaelani stilled, aware of every eye on her, her pulse a drumbeat beneath her skin.
Should she say something?
Tell them what she knows—or at least, what she thinks she knows?
That she might be one of them?
But would they believe her?
Would she even believe it, if the roles were reversed?
Her mind spun. Was her mother here? Did they know her?
Did she want to know her?
The weight of Draevyn’s stare drew her back. For the first time, it wasn’t just intense—it was invasive, as though he could peel back her layers with nothing but a look.
She lifted her chin, but a lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat.
Draevyn leaned toward one of the men seated beside him, speaking low but not so low that she couldn’t hear.
“Is it me,” he murmured, “or does she bear a striking resemblance to someone we know?”
The man followed his gaze and studied her more intently, his expression shifting.
“She looks like… Nymera.”
A smirk curled Draevyn’s lips, slow and knowing.
“My thoughts exactly.”
Draevyn sat back casually in his seat, “Go and fetch her.”
The moment Draevyn gave the order, the man seated beside him stood at once.
“Yes, my lord,” he said, bowing his head before swiftly exiting the pavilion with purpose.
Without missing a beat, Draevyn’s attention landed on the woman sitting across from him.
“Up,” he said, calm but unquestionable.
She rose immediately, head lowered in deference as she stepped aside.
Then Draevyn shifted his gaze to Kaelani.
He didn’t speak at first—just motioned toward the now-empty seat with a flick of his fingers. An invitation. A challenge. Maybe both.
She didn’t move. Not at first.
A hard hand shoved her forward from behind.
“Lord Draevyn has given you a command,” the warrior behind her barked, voice sharp with warning.
But before she could react, Draevyn’s voice cut through like silk.
“There is no need for hostility.”
The warrior stiffened.
“My apologies, my lord,” he said, bowing his head and stepping back into place with disciplined silence.
Draevyn’s attention returned to Kaelani, his expression softening.
“Please,” he said, gentler now. “Have a seat.”
Kaelani moved slowly, her muscles still coiled with tension as she lowered herself into the chair. The velvet cushion offered little comfort.
Draevyn smiled at her then. It was charming. Disarming. Alluring in a way that was dangerous. Too dangerous. Dangerously beautiful.
Her eyes drifted back to his shirt that hung open at the collar, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest. Lean strength rippled beneath dark fabric, and the firelight caught in his hair, casting subtle silver glints in the black. Every inch of him looked like it was designed by the gods and kissed by the night.
She looked away too quickly.
Her wolf snarled deep within her, the low, guttural sound like a warning: Don’t even dare.
Draevyn leaned in, arms resting lightly on the table, silver eyes fixed on hers.
“What is your name?”
Her voice emerged slower than she intended. “Kaelani.”
He repeated it back to her like a secret, almost reverently.
“Kaelani.”
The name slid from his tongue like heat. It hit her bloodstream like liquid fire—slow, smoldering, and impossible to ignore.
He smiled again, lips curving with a hint of mischief.
“What a beautiful name,” he remarked, “for such a beautiful flower… like yourself.”
Her heart thudded once, hard.
Her wolf huffed in clear disgust.
Draevyn turned his attention to the woman who had vacated her seat. “Pour our guest some wine,” he said with a casual wave of his hand.
The woman gave a brief, almost imperceptible look of irritation before moving to obey. She reached for a silver carafe on the table, selected an ornate goblet, and filled it with the deep purple liquid. Without a word, she set it down in front of Kaelani.
Kaelani stared at it. Her first instinct was to refuse—gods knew she shouldn’t be accepting food or drink in an unfamiliar realm—but something inside her shifted. Her shoulders ached from tension. Her nerves buzzed from the ever-present scrutiny. Maybe just one sip…
Before she could decide, Draevyn raised his own goblet high. “To our lovely guest, Kaelani,” he declared, voice smooth and resounding.
The rest of the table echoed him in unison. “Vael’anor.”
Kaelani hesitated for half a heartbeat, then lifted her goblet and drank.
The taste was unlike anything she’d ever known—fruity, floral, spiced, and smoky all at once. It burst across her tongue, impossibly vibrant and decadent. She barely swallowed before a warm, dreamy calm slipped down her spine, soothing every taut muscle and jagged edge inside her.
She blinked, stunned.
Draevyn watched her over the rim of his goblet, that devilish smile curving his mouth. “How’s the wine?” he asked, knowingly.
Kaelani exhaled slowly, eyes still wide. “It’s… the best wine I’ve ever had in my life.”
For an ordinary Lycan, it would’ve taken liquor laced with Wolfbane to feel the effects of a single sip. But this? This wine was enchanted.
Suddenly, a commotion drew Kaelani’s attention.
The same man who had stepped away from Draevyn’s side moments earlier now reappeared, dragging a woman behind him. She stumbled in tow, her thin frame swaying beneath the weight of a tattered, dirt-caked dress. Her skin was smeared with grime, and her bare feet left faint smudges on the polished floor. She looked like she’d been kept in a cage.
Her head hung low, dark hair matted and tangled, veiling her face completely.
Kaelani watched with quiet intrigue, unable to look away.
The man halted and gave a sharp tug of the chain.
“Rise before Lord Draevyn,” he barked. “Show him the respect he is owed.”
Slowly, the woman straightened.
She dipped into a bow—submissive, practiced—and as she lifted her chin, the curtain of hair fell away.
Kaelani’s breath hitched.
It was like staring into a distorted reflection.
The woman’s face—gaunt but hauntingly familiar—shared the same bone structure, the same storm-gray eyes, the same mouth that looked like it had once known how to smile.
They could’ve been sisters.
Or—
Is this… my mother?
The thought struck like lightning, unspoken and jarring.
A chill rooted her in place as the resemblance echoed louder than the crowd’s whispers, louder than her own heartbeat.