Mathew POV
From the depths of sleep, Mathew stirred awake—and for the first time in a long while, he smiled as he opened his eyes.
But the smile vanished quickly.
The other side of the bed was empty. No trace of the woman who had been with him the night before—except for her scent, a lingering mix of cinnamon and sweet candy on the sheets. A wave of sadness rolled over him. Disappointment, too. But really, he should've expected it. No one ever stayed. They always left.
He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
Why did this keep happening? Why did they come into his life only to vanish like smoke?
He should've left it at a single drink last night. But no—he let it go further. He always did.
With a heavy sigh, he raked a hand through his thick, unruly morning hair. She was gone, and that was that.
And yet, even in her absence, one truth remained: he was king now. He had a kingdom to lead, a land full of people who looked to him for answers. He couldn't afford to lie in bed feeling sorry for himself. There was work waiting—documents, decisions, meetings. A mountain of duties that didn't care about his empty bed.
Mathew let out another breath and sat upright. The floor was bare, except for his clothes from the night before, scattered across the wooden boards. He stared at them for a second, then shook off the thoughts.
He had to let her go.
Rising to his feet, he made his way to the bathroom. A hot shower, then breakfast. Then the rest of the day. A long one, no doubt.
And maybe—just maybe—he'd stop letting ghosts weigh him down.
After a long shower, he headed to the dining room and found his family already seated, eating breakfast like it was any ordinary morning.
He got himself a plate, dished up, and sat down quietly—too quietly. Eventually, his father noticed.
"What happened to you last night? They say you left with a woman with red hair."
Mathew sighed inwardly. Of course someone had seen. He already knew who the source was. His sister had stayed out late—too late. She must've told their father.
"Her name is Gabrielle," Mathew said, taking a bite of his eggs. "But she's gone already."
His father studied him in silence for a moment, then returned to his food. Mathew could tell his mother was thinking something, too—and his sister, Arden, definitely was—but he didn't care. Not right now.
What he cared about was the fact that Gabrielle had left. He had hoped she'd be different from the others.
But in the end, she was the same.
He kept eating until his mother spoke.
"We need you at the children's hospital today—as king."
Children's hospital.
The words echoed in his mind. He was no good with children. That kind of visit wasn't exactly his strong suit.
"Do I really have to?" he asked, cutting into his steak.
His mother gave him a look. "Son, as the new king, it would be wise to show the people you care—especially the children who are sick. They need to see your heart."
Mathew chewed his steak slowly, glancing at Arden, who was grinning behind her spoon. She was clearly enjoying this.
She knew how awkward he was around kids—especially babies.
Sure, one day when he had his own children, things might be different. But with other people's children? That was another story.
"Okay," he said after a few moments. "I'll go to the children's hospital. But to be honest, I'm not good with kids."
Arden giggled between bites of her food at his admission.
"I just have some paperwork to take care of at the office first," Mathew added, turning to his mother. "I'll meet you there later."
She nodded. "We can go at ten. That's when visiting hours begin."
Mathew let out a deep breath, mentally bracing himself for the visit, then returned to his breakfast.
Brielle POV
As the morning rose, Brielle sat on the windowsill, staring out at the castle bathed in sunlight breaking over the mountaintops. Sleep had eluded her after she returned, so she had taken a shower and dressed quietly. Her mind was too restless to rest.
She hadn't wanted to leave him—but she'd had no choice. Not if she wanted to protect him.
Her heart felt heavy with the weight of decisions no one should have to make. How she wished her life had been different—free from shadows, free from danger.
From the high windows of the mountain castle, she could see the forest stretching out into the distant horizon, a sea of green wrapped in mist.
"Are you coming for breakfast?" came a voice behind her.
She turned to see Vale, the fox, standing in the doorway, his orange fur bright against the stone walls.
"I don't know," Brielle replied softly, her appetite gone with her mood.
"Rage and I went hunting this morning. We caught a young deer, and Lord Lorcand made us a feast," Vale said, trying to tempt her with a smile.
Brielle rose slowly from the windowsill, taking in a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "Thank you, Vale. But I'll skip this one. I'm really not hungry."
Vale's ears twitched in silent understanding. She gave her a small nod before leaving again.
She might feel hungry later, but for now, her heart was set on visiting her childhood home on Lavender Road to do a bit of work in the garden. It was the only thing she had left that reminded her of her old life—and of her mother.
Brielle slipped on her jacket, then pulled on her sneakers. Dressed in a pair of loose, baggy jeans and a bright yellow shirt, she chose her white knitted jersey to complete the outfit. Once she was ready, she used her magic to teleport herself to the house on Lavender Road.
As she arrived, she bent down to retrieve the key hidden beneath the welcome mat and unlocked the front door. The scent of aged wooden floors drifted out to greet her as she stepped inside. A soft smile crossed her lips. It already felt like home again—like her old self was waiting for her inside.
Willow POV
As soon as she returned to her guest room in the castle, Willow went straight to take a bath. After an intimate night with her future husband, she needed to wash away the sweetness and remnants of the night before. She wanted to feel clean and refreshed on her wedding day.
She drew a warm bubble bath and climbed into the large, porcelain tub, slowly sinking into the hot water. Sunlight filtered through the grand, crystal art window, casting soft reflections across the bathroom and making the space feel truly enchanted.
As the warmth wrapped around her, soothing every muscle in her body, Willow gently leaned back, letting her silky wings soak in the water. Resting her head against the cool, white metal of the tub, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, allowing herself a quiet moment of peace.
So much had changed in just a few short days. She had gone from a young girl to a woman, never imagining she could love someone like Everest—or care so deeply for another soul. But she was truly happy, and exactly where she wanted to be.
In just a few hours, she would be a wife. And perhaps, one day, a mother.
Her heart swelled with emotion as she thought of Everest and the life that awaited them.
But then—suddenly—a searing burn spread across her back, starting at her wings and shooting down her spine like fire. Willow jolted upright from her relaxed position, gasping in pain. She reached desperately toward her back, trying to understand what was happening, but the pain only worsened by the second.
Gritting her teeth, she clutched the edges of the tub, her fingers digging into the porcelain as waves of agony overtook her body. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The bathwater around her began to shift, its clear, bubbly warmth darkening before her eyes—transforming into a thick, black liquid, as dark as tar, almost like mud. The enchantment of the room vanished, swallowed by something darker, something unnatural.
The burning sensation in her wings intensified until it felt like they were rotting—decaying from the inside out. Her screams echoed through the chamber, raw and filled with terror.
And then—nothing.
The pain was too much.
Darkness surged in and swallowed her whole as she lost consciousness, her body slipping beneath the surface, and silence filled the room once more.
The water in the tub was still now—thick and black, with no trace of the once warm, fragrant bubbles. A chilling silence settled over the bathroom, broken only by the distant hum of wind brushing against the crystal window panes.
Willow's body lay lifeless in the bathtub. Her wings, once so full of grace, had rotted away, leaving only torn flesh and rivulets of blood dripping down her back. Her head rested against the cold porcelain, unmoving and pale. While her body remained submerged in silence, her spirit had drifted far—far from the castle, far from her wedding day, far from the world of the living.
She found herself in a dark, dreadful place—an underworld of sorts. No longer in the bath, she now wore a vivid, violent red gown, soaked and caked in thick, tar-like mud. She sat, half-submerged in it, her breath shallow, eyes frowning as she took in her surroundings.
The last thing she remembered was pain—agonizing pain—and then, only darkness.
She pressed her trembling hands into the mud, struggling to lift herself. Her body felt unbearably heavy, as if gravity itself had grown crueler here.
As she finally stood, her feet sank into the ground beneath her—a land made of black dust, cracked earth, and pulsing shadows. The air was dry, yet laced with an unnatural cold.
"Where... am I?" she whispered to herself, her voice brittle and thin in the silence.
She stepped forward, mud clinging to the hem of her gown. Her bare feet crunched over dry ash. The land stretched endlessly, with fractured hills and streams of molten lava glowing faintly in the distance. Steam hissed from every crack, shrouding everything in a haunting mist.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed from afar—inhuman, tormented. Willow flinched, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, shivering. The sound chilled her to her core.
"This place… it's not real," she tried to convince herself. "It's a dream. Just a dream."
But it didn't feel like a dream.
She wandered further, each step cautious and slow. The ground cracked beneath her, and shadows twisted unnaturally around the edges of her vision. Then—she saw it.
In the distance, rising from the top of a jagged hill, stood a stone altar. It was large and imposing, carved from black stone, ancient and scarred. A strange pull tugged at her heart as she stared at it, her brows furrowed.
"What is this…?" she whispered.
Something about the altar felt familiar—achingly so. She didn't know how or why, but her soul recognized it.
As she climbed the hill, her hands trembled. Her heart pounded in her chest. She reached out and laid her palm against the cold, dark stone.
The moment her skin touched it, her vision blurred.
A flash.
She saw herself—an infant, no more than a newborn—lying atop this very altar, crying.
And then—him.
Lord Lorcand.
He was there, beside her, lifting her carefully into his arms. His face was younger, softer. He held her against his chest, whispering words she couldn't remember until now.
"I will not leave you. You will not suffer this what is in you alone. My blood runs through you and we are the same …. When the time is right, I will come for you—and I will help you."
The vision vanished.
Willow staggered back, her hand slipping from the altar. She stared at it, breathless, her eyes wide and glistening with tears.
"How is this possible?" she whispered. "How could I have been here… as a baby? I've only just met Lorcand… haven't I?"
The altar remained silent, heavy with memory—ancient, unmoving, but pulsing with truths too large to speak aloud.
Willow stood frozen in place, her breath shallow and uneven, her hand still trembling from the vision. His blood runs through my veins... The words echoed in her mind like a broken tape recorder, looping and distorted, unraveling her sense of self. What had he meant? Why had Lord Lorcand said that?
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, hot against her cold skin.
Then came another scream.
It pierced the heavy air, a wretched cry that tore across the sky like lightning—raw and anguished, distant yet close enough to chill the marrow in her bones. She flinched, arms folding tightly across her chest as she tried to shield herself from the cold and the fear.
Her crimson gown, elegant once, clung to her like a second skin. The heart-shaped bodice left her arms and shoulders bare, offering no comfort against the frigid underworld air. The hem was soaked in thick mud, dragging behind her with each heavy step.
She glanced back at the altar—its presence still looming, dark and silent.
I need to move… she told herself. I need to find out what this place is… why I'm here…
She began to walk again, the cold black dust gritting beneath her bare feet like dry sand on a scorched shore. Her steps were slow, unsteady, but determined. Every nerve in her body screamed to turn back, to hide, to vanish—but something deeper pushed her forward. Something ancient. Something hers.
I've been here before… I was here as a baby. Then why don't I remember?
The path ahead was cracked and warped, with glowing lines of lava threading through the earth like veins of fire. Steam hissed from the ground, curling in smoky tendrils around her ankles as she walked.
The air grew heavier with every step, pressing down on her like an unseen weight. Distant shadows flickered just out of reach, moving without shape, without form—watching.
She swallowed hard.
"Hello?" Her voice barely left her lips, carried only a few feet before vanishing into the mist. No answer came—only another scream. This one sounded closer.
Her legs trembled beneath her, but she kept moving. She had to.
And then, there, in the distance, she saw something. A faint glow. Not lava, but something more subtle. Almost like a castle, and she thought maybe there was hope or someone in there who could help her. She tried to move her father as her breathing become heavier as she walked up to this big, tall grey stone ancient castle.