#let the fae take me

[hobohobgoblim]

Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Dire deeds awake: dark is it eastward.

Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded!

Forth Eorlingas!

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!

Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,

a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

DEATH!

[egophiliac]

Hi it's just to let you know that the official romanization of Revaan's name is Raverne ! Also they have romanized Baul's name to Baur !

Twst coming back at us again with the least expected romanization! thank you everybody (oh god my inbox) (no it's great, I literally asked for this and the reactions have been INCREDIBLE, thank you all!)

I do like Raverne though, I think it's got a nice fancy sound to it! (I had kinda suspected it was going to be an R instead of an L, so the fact that it's SO close to Laverne except for that is hilarious to me personally.) and Dragoneye Duke is honestly probably the best translation for his title, I wasn't envying the localizers that one. :') Baur instead of Baul I was NOT expecting, but in retrospect I think his name's supposed to be a reference to the Bauru crocodile, so that actually makes way more sense!

someone else also said Meleanor has become Maleanor, which is the REALLY weird one to me, because I was so surprised it was written as Mel instead of Mal in the first place?! oh god no I can't decide which one I like better. 😭 (I wonder if they might change it to Mal...they have made romanization changes before) (like I remember House of Distraction being corrected to House of Destruction in Playful Land) (I did check and she's still Mel for now, but I dunno, they might Mal her up and some point and save me from having to make a decision about which one to use) (HECK I CAN'T DECIDE)

uhhhh thank you for letting me ramble about anime names, let's just say MONOGRAMMED SWEATERS FOR EVERYONE

[moeblob]

Shavuli !

She's just. Into rocks. It's fine. She likes to collect shiny rocks. (this is dice related and I am not apologizing for giving her this trait)

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

thinking about how if i got transported to Atlantis i would fool them into thinking im some sort of trickster fae bc I'd know all their names even their Secret Names and i wouldn't give them mine but they "could call me mushroom" and I'd tell them about my best friend stick and how she didn't like her name, but seeing as i am a fae creature she gave it to me and i gave her the name stick (true story, just ask her) and if i had the ata gene well that'd just be the icing on the cake wouldn't it

[gingergari]

you know how the song goes

notes under the cut bc ik my handwriting is atrocious

- All [Peaches] can use magic!

- Range in height (6’1”-4’8”)

- 100% and Super Crown are 6’1”, hmm is 5’10”, 👀 is 5’8”, toad is 4’8”

- fae!Peach can grow healing mushrooms in her hair

- normal, super, ultra on good days (1ups last resort)

- fae Peach was not always a fae ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- toad!Peach uses Super Crown maybe in diplomacy?

[corazondefae]

9-14-2024: Time to Myself

I essentially created this blog because: 1. My ADHD meds kicked in 2. IRL journaling is a difficult task for me (OCD has been kicking my ass for the past four years) 3. My fiancé (Who will now just be referred to as my husband because fiancé doesn't have the same ring to it) is out hanging out with his friends and I just finished studying for the day, so I have nothing to do except procrastinate relax! We got back home this afternoon after going to a concert in a city three hours away. I'm upset because I didn't enjoy the concert as much as I wanted to. Was dealing with nausea, an empty stomach, and anxiety which was all just amplified from all the strobing lights and screaming :( It was fun and my husband had A LOT of fun (I had Waffle House for the first time too!), just upset I couldn't really enjoy it as much as I had anticipated.

The drive was torturous as someone who has motion sickness, emetophobia, and is most likely experiencing PMDD symptoms today. Speaking of PMDD—my husband and I are currently TTC! Its been a hard journey, to be quite honest. We've only been trying for half a year at this point but its been disheartening for me every cycle. I'm trying my best not to get too upset since we're still young and it gives us time to figure shit out before having to deal with another tiny human's shit (literally and figuratively). Yet, every time I can feel my PMDD rear it's ugly head its almost like a knife twisting in my heart.

I think I'm going to play some DTI, eat some food, and browse on social media! Or maybe I should read instead of browsing even more on socials...Going to be nice to myself tonight. I deserve to have some fun and indulge in my own hobbies before I have to work tomorrow!!!

[duunswitch]

look i'm not saying kidnapped by the fae (or adjacent) but i am saying kidnapped by the fae (or adjacent)

[lunar-fey]

TRANS GENDER CAT

[kiwikipedia]

I really hope Iindel isn’t a villain in this next arc and he’s just trying to dissolve the link between mages and humanity

[silverislander]

prof said congrats for writing up a proposal so early i am going to get a good grade in. well this is literally going to be graded. but yk the meme

[lavenoon]

Awww take your time and recharge! I am sure everyone wants you to be happy and healthy the most!! Also its nice just having you around!

Have a serene pic!!

Ahh thank you!! I got stuck in a couple bad thought spirals of "having" to create or I'd "let people down", but fortunately I know that the dca community is very very kind and understanding, so it's just a matter of convincing the brain of what it already knows to be true!

Also that pic looks so so pretty but if you walk into that mist I don't think you'll return. The fae have you now fgdhsjk

[welcome-home-official]

Me having one (1) brain cell and my grandparents being too vague creates problems.

[fairymint]

Sinking into his couch, he made it. A house of his own. A home. It took a little time, since it had to be built, but custom was....nice. Somewhat built 'into' a very large tree, but not supported by it, Branches and hollows twisting around the outside. A mutually beneficial structure, in all honesty, with the tree and beams able to lean into each other during heavy weather.

Deep into White Forest. It seemed like a happy medium between all of the unovan locations he'd want to be. It's a little secluded, but he'd promise his future kids access to the cities, whenever they wanted within reason. Not as secluded as Nuvema's distance, subway disregarded. And, reminiscent of Viridian's wild space, off into the mountains where Mintale was nested. Enough space to keep pokemon as well, if he wished! Daycare style, only for raising and protecting the property, nothing official...which was fine by him.

It was a place very hard to locate on one's own alone, without knowing the forest floor, what with the twisted trees around it.

Now to just rest for a while. He'd show close friends where it was, by his own discretion. It's the coziest 'tree' house, with modern amenities.

[badolmen]

“I’m sorry.”

“No problem.”

“I just - I’m sorry.”

“Dude, you’re my sister. You should have told me you needed help working the washing machine before you got the entire laundry room covered in suds.” I laughed, still wiping down the soap sticky floor. “Next time just ask.”

“That’s the problem!” The tears in her voice made me pause. “I - we all ask you things. All the time. We know we’re annoying sometimes and - and I - I wanted to do something for you. Without asking you.”

“Oh…��� I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Oh, that’s sweet of you. How…how about you help me clean this up, and next week you can do the laundry by yourself.”

“Alright.” She sniffled, kneeling on the floor to help me mop up the soapy water. “But I’m sorry still.”

At first I had been jealous. Maybe I still was - seeing the way my mother could set sunsets on fire with the flick of a wrist, how my brothers could turn water to mercury, how my sisters could pull the threads of fate with their bare hands.

But seeing them now, I only felt pity.

I used to ask what I did wrong. Why I couldn’t go through the door, why they could learn the secrets of a far away and magical world. My mother told me the secrets of this world were just as worthy of being known. I knew she was just trying to comfort me, but looking back, how right she was.

There’s secrets to do much in everyday life - how to close a door with just the right amount of force, how to know to wait for an oven to preheat before adding your food, how to read an ingredients list on a soup can in the grocery store. Little, mundane secrets. Different than the cosmic, arcane secrets my siblings knew, but powerful all the same.

I didn’t ask what happened. Why I came home from work to family I hadn’t seen outside of an enchanted looking glass in years. I laughed and ordered pizza - still more mundane magic, showing my siblings how to cut the triangles from a circle of bread sauce and cheese.

I know whatever it was, it was bad. My oldest brother woke screaming with nightmares, magic fizzling from the ends of blackened, soot stained fingers. My youngest sister hadn’t spoken a word since she returned, but she’s learning sign and smiling at the cat. They’re getting better. Or at least, they’re distracted by the new magic here.

“I feel so stupid.” My own mother laughed at herself, sheepishly holding out an iPhone. “I - I remember them having buttons.”

“Don’t worry about it, here - it’s a bit like a rune pool, I think. Do you know who you’re trying to call?”

“I - a doctor. I think.” Her hands were scarred from centuries of casting; she fidgeted with the hem of her robe - still shimmering with remnant enchantments from my father. “For your siblings. And - and me.”

“Right, none of you have had vaccines in years. Geez, right, okay my GP might be able to take you guys - ”

“I, I mean a different kind.” There was a shame in my mother’s voice that broke me in a way I didn’t know a child could break. “For the dreams.”

“Oh.” I held my phone in my hands, screen still glowing. “You mean like a therapist?”

“Maybe? I don’t know that word.” Said my mother, who could name the nameless gods with a silver tongue.

“I can get you guys a good therapist. Don’t worry. I’ll let you know what I can get set up.” I needed to do some research and reach out to some folk from the veil who might be better attuned to my magically inclined family. But my mother just held me in her arms, whispering in my ear.

“I’m sorry. I’m your mother, I should know - I should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“It’s alright.” I hugged her back, though there was a distance - her robe made her semi-intangible. “I got this.”

They got better. My oldest brother was fascinated by the tv remote, magic at his fingertips that didn’t burn holes through the bedsheets. My youngest sister started school here, her signs were getting smoother and the bus was as magical to her as a gryphon. My other sister still burned herself on the stove, but at least she wasn’t grabbing things from the oven without mits. My siblings still didn’t sleep through the night. Neither did I - someone had to put out the fires set by panicked spells or sweep up the broken glass.

“Why?” My brother asked one night, the house deathly silent even though we both knew the others were also awake.

“Well, I’d rather not see the house burn down - ”

“Why do you put up with us? After - ” his breathing stuttered, tears of molten gold glowing softly in the dark room. “We abandoned you here. We - the school wouldn’t take you but still we shouldn’t have just - ”

I bundled the burned bedsheets in my hands, running my fingers over the singed quilt. I made it two years ago, and now it was unsalvageable. Hours and days of my life left in ashes by a brother I barely knew.

“I was scared, when you left. I didn’t know what to do, how to do anything. I was just a kid.” I swallowed back bitterness I left in a therapist’s office years ago. “But I found people. My people. People who took care of me, who taught me to take care of myself.”

“Why? Why did they do that? Didn’t they - I know we’re annoying and - and frustrating at times. How did you know where that line was? How - aren’t you getting sick of us?”

“No, I’d never get sick of you - even if you do sometimes set my favorite quilt on fire.” I tried to laugh, smiling sadly at the remorse etched deep in my brother’s face. “It’s what family does here. We take care of each other.”

“But you’re - we’re - we’re not like them. We’re different.” It went unsaid how different we were from the humans. How I was left behind by our nature - intended to deceive humans into seeing me as one of their own. It had worked, maybe too well.

“Humans can’t tell. Most can’t, anyway. And those that can are usually good, and consider it rude to acknowledge. Most people are good here.”

“Don’t they know? Did they ever suspect?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, tossing the laundry in the bin and cracking a window to let the magic smoke into the night air. “It doesn’t matter to them. Once they decide that you’re one of them, well, there’s not much that can change their minds.”

“But what if they do? Aren’t you scared they’ll find out and consider it?”

He was really telling me he was scared, frightened I would find out he would never stop have nightmares. He was scared our littlest sister would never talk again. He was scared our older sister would never have the same grace and poise she had at home. He was scared our mother would never be able to help and guide me the way she had done for my siblings.

He was scared I would stop loving them if I knew they would never be as I remembered them.

“No. I told you - if a human decides you’re one of them, you’re one of them.” I smiled at him in the dark, a shine to my changeling eyes the only evidence I wasn’t as human as I felt. “And you guys are as much mine as I am theirs.”

I closed the window, the chill in the room dissipating at the heating kicked on and the radiator hummed. My brother looked at me from his fresh bedsheets, fire stained hands smoldering low.

“I love you. I love all of you.” It felt good to say, for the first time in so long. “Goodnight. Wake me if you need something.”

Edit: Donate to Palestinians in Gaza

All of your siblings, papart from you, have attended a prestigious wizarding school. Now, after all these years, they’re back in your “regular” world… and don’t even know how an oven works.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 54

Chapter; Highlights

Before battle tomorrow-before they might stand a chance of actually saving Anielle.

He was still working through all that had transpired these months he'd been gone. The battles and losses. Where Dorian had gone with Manon and the Thirteen. Chaol could only pray his friend was successful-and that he didn't take it upon himself to forge the Lock.

Needing to unravel all he'd learned, he'd left Aelin and the others near the Great Hall to find whatever food they could, immediately.

Part of him half wondered if the mare knew that his back ached, that he needed his cane, but that he chose to be here.

He ran a hand down her ebony mane, then patted her strong neck. "Ready to trample some Valg grunts tomorrow, my friend?"

Farasha huffed, angling a dark eye at him as if to say, Are you?

Chaol smiled, and Yrene laughed softly. "I should head back to the hall," his wife said.

"See who needs help." But she lingered. Their eyes met over Farasha's powerful back.

He came around the horse, still mindful of her biting. "I know," he said quietly. Yrene angled her head. "Know what?"

Chaol interlaced their fingers. And then laid their hands atop her still-flat abdomen.

"Oh," was all Yrene said, her mouth popping open. "I- How?"

Chaol's heart thundered. "It's true, then." Her golden eyes scanned his. "Do you want it to be?"

Chaol slid a hand against her cheek. "More than I ever realized."

Yrene's smile was wide and lovely enough to fracture his heart. "It's true," she breathed.

"How far along?"

"Almost two months."

He studied her stomach, the place that would soon swell with the child growing inside her. Their child. "You didn't tell me, I'm assuming, because you didn't want me to worry."

Yrene bit her lip. "Something like that."

He snorted. "And when you were waddling around, belly near bursting?"

Yrene whacked his arm. "I'm not going to waddle."

Chaol laughed, and tugged her into his arms. "You'll waddle beautifully, was what I meant to say." Yrene's laughter reverberated into him, and Chaol kissed the top of her head, her temple. "We're having a child," he murmured onto her hair.

Her arms came around him. "We are," she whispered. "But how did you know?"

"My father," Chaol grumbled, "apparently possesses better observational skills than I do." He felt, more than saw, her cringe. "You're not angry I didn't tell you?"

"No. I would have appreciated hearing it from your lips first, but I understand why you didn't want to say anything yet. Stupid as it might be," he added, nipping at her ear. Yrene jabbed him in the ribs, and he laughed again.

Laughed, even though every day they'd fought in this battle, every opponent he'd faced, he'd dreaded making a fatal mistake. Had been unable to forget that should he fall, he'd be taking them both with him.

Her arms tightened around him, and Yrene nestled her head against his chest. "You'll be a brilliant father," she said softly. "The most brilliant one to ever exist."

"High praise indeed, coming from a woman who wanted to toss me from the highest window of the Torre a few months ago."

"A healer would never be SO unprofessional."

Chaol grinned, and breathed in her scent before he pulled back and brushed his mouth against hers. "I am happier than I can ever express, Yrene, to share this with you. Anything you need, I am yours to command."

Her lips twitched upward. "Dangerous words."

But Chaol ran his thumb over her wedding band. "I'll have to win this war quickly, then, so I can have our house built by the summer."

She rolled her eyes. "A noble reason to defeat Erawan."

Chaol stole another kiss from her. "As much as I would like to show you just how much I am at your command," he said against her mouth,

"I have another matter to deal with before bed." Yrene's brows rose.

He grimaced. "I need to introduce Aelin to my father. Before they run into each other." The man hadn't been near the hall when they'd arrived, and Chaol had been too worried for Farasha's well-being to bother hunting him down.

Yrene cringed, though amusement sparked in her eyes. "Is it bad if I want to join you? And bring snacks?"

Chaol slung an arm around her shoulders, giving Farasha a farewell stroke before they left. Despite the cane, each step was limping, and the pain in his back lanced down his legs, but it was secondary. All of it, even the damned war, was secondary to the woman at his side.

To the future they'd build together.

As well as Yrene's conversation with Chaol had gone, that's how badly things went between Aelin Galathynius and his father.

Yrene didn't bring snacks, but that was only because by the time they reached the Great Hall, they had intercepted his father. Storming toward the room where Aelin and her companions had gone for a reprieve.

"Father," Chaol said, falling into step beside him. Yrene said nothing, monitoring Chaol's movements. The pain in his back had to be great, if he was limping this deeply, even while her magic refilled. She had no idea where he'd left his chair—if it had been crushed under falling debris. She prayed it had not.

His father snapped, "You fail to wake me when the Queen of Terrasen arrives at my castle?"

"It wasn't a priority." Chaol halted before the door that opened into the small chamber that had been vacated for the queen and knocked.

A grunt was the only confirmation before Yrene’s husband shouldered open the door enough to poke his head inside. "My father," Chaol said to whoever was inside, presumably the queen, "would like to see you."

Silence, then the rustling of clothes and steps.

Yrene kept back as Aelin Galathynius appeared, her face and hands clean, but clothes still dirty. At her side stood that towering, silver-haired Fae warrior-Rowan Whitethorn.

Whom the royals had spoken of with such fear and respect months ago. In the room, Lady Elide sat against the far wall, a tray of food beside her, and the giant white wolf lay sprawled on the ground, monitoring with half-lidded eyes.

A shock to see the shift, to realize these Fae might be powerful and ancient, but they still had one foot in the forest. The queen, it seemed, preferred the form as well, her delicately pointed ears half-hidden by her unbound hair.

Behind her, there was no sign of the golden-haired, melancholy warrior, Gavriel, or the utterly terrifying Lorcan. Thank Silba for that, at least.

Aelin left the door open, though their two court members remained seated. Bored, almost. "Well, now," was all the queen said as she stepped into the hall.

Chaol's father looked over the warrior-prince at her side. Then he turned his head toward Chaol and said, "I assume they met in Wendlyn. After you sent her there."

Yrene tensed at the taunting in the man's voice. Bastard. Horrible bastard.

Aelin clicked her tongue. "Yes, yes, let's get all that out of the way. Though I don't think your son really regrets it, does he?" Aelin's eyes shifted to Yrene, and Yrene tried not to flinch under that turquoise-and-gold stare. Different from the fire she'd beheld that night in Innish, but still full of that razor-sharp awareness.

Different-they were both different from the girls they'd been. A smile curved the queen's mouth. "I think he made out rather well for himself." She frowned up at her consort. "Yrene, at least, doesn't seem like the sort to hog the blankets and snore in one's ear all night."

Yrene coughed as Prince Rowan only smiled at the queen. "I don't mind your snoring," he said mildly.

Aelin's mouth twitched when she turned to Chaol's father. Yrene's own laughter died at the lack of light on the man's face. Chaol was tense as a drawn bowstring as the queen said to his father, "Don't waste your breath on taunts. I'm tired, and hungry, and it won't end well for you."

"This is my keep."

Aelin made a good show of gaping at the ceiling, the walls, the floors. "Is it really?"

Yrene had to duck her head to hide her grin. So did Chaol.

But Aelin said to the Lord of Anielle, "I trust you're not going to get in our way."

A line in the sand. Yrene's breath caught in her throat.

Chaol's father said simply, "Last I looked you were not Queen of Adarlan."

"No, but your son is Hand to the King, which means he outranks you." Aelin smiled with horrific sweetness at Chaol. "Haven't you told him that?"

Yrene and Aelin were no longer the girls they'd been in Innish, yes, but that wildfire still remained in the queen's spirit. Wildfire touched with insanity.

Chaol shrugged. "I figured I'd tell him when the time arose." His father glowered.

Prince Rowan, however, said to the man, "You've defended and prepared your people admirably. We have no plans to take that from you."

"I don't need the approval of Fae brutes," the lord sneered Aelin clapped Rowan on the shoulder.

"Brute. I like that. Better than 'buzzard,' right?"

Yrene had no idea what the queen was talking about, but she held in her laugh anyway.

Aelin sketched a mocking bow to the Lord of Anielle. "On that lovely parting note, we're going to finish up our dinners. Enjoy your evening, we'll see you on the battlements tomorrow, and please do rot in hell." Then Aelin was turning away, a hand guiding her husband inside. But not before the queen threw a grin over her shoulder to Yrene and Chaol and said, eyes bright—with joy and warmth this time, "Congratulations."

How she knew, Yrene had no idea. But the Fae possessed a preternatural sense of smell. Yrene smiled all the same as she bowed her head-just before Aelin slammed the door in the Lord of Anielle's face.

Chaol turned to his father, any hint of amusement expertly hidden. "Well, you saw her."

Chaol's father shook with what Yrene supposed was a combination of rage and humiliation, and stalked away. It was one of the finest sights Yrene had ever seen.

From Chaol's smile, she knew her husband felt the same.

"What a horrible man." Elide finished off her chicken leg before handing the other to Fenrys, who had shifted back into his Fae form. He tore into it with a growl of appreciation. "Poor Lord Chaol."

Aelin, her aching legs stretched out before her as she leaned against the wall, finished off her own portion of chicken, then dug into a hunk of dark bread. "Poor Chaol, poor his mother, poor his brother. Poor everyone who has to deal with him."

At the lone, narrow window of the room, monitoring the dark army hundreds of feet below, Rowan snorted. "You were in rare form tonight."

Aelin saluted him with her hunk of hearty oaten bread. "Anyone who interrupts my dinner risks paying the price."

Rowan rolled his eyes, but smiled. Just as Aelin had seen him smile when they'd both scented what was on Yrene. The child in her.

She was happy for Yrene-for them both.

Chaol deserved that joy, perhaps more than anyone. As much as her own mate.

Aelin didn't let the thoughts travel further.

Not as she finished her bread and came to the window, leaning against Rowan's side. He slid an arm around her shoulders, casual and easy.

None of them mentioned Maeve.

Elide and Fenrys continued eating in silence, giving them what privacy they could in the small, bare room they'd be sharing, sleeping on bedrolls. The Lord of Anielle, it seemed, did not share her appreciation for luxury. Or basic comforts for his guests. Like hot baths. Or beds.

"The men are terrified," Rowan said, gazing out at the levels of the keep below. "You can smell it."

"They've held this keep for days now. They know what's waiting for them at dawn."

"Their fear," Rowan said, his jaw tightening, "is proof they do not trust our allies.

Proof they don't trust the khagan's army to actually save them. It will make for sloppy fighters. Could create a weakness where there shouldn't be one."

"Perhaps you should have told Chaol," Aelin said.

"He could give them some motivational speech."

"I have a feeling Chaol has given them plenty. This sort of fear rots the soul."

"What's to be done for it, then?" Rowan shook his head. "I don't know." But she sensed he did know. Sensed that he wanted to say something else, and either their current company or some sort of hesitation barred him.

So Aelin didn't push, and surveyed the battlements with their patrolling soldiers, the sprawling, dark army beyond. Baying cries and howls rent the night, the sounds unearthly enough that they dragged a shudder down her spine.

"Is a land battle easier or worse than one at sea?" Aelin asked her husband, her mate, peering at his tattooed face.

She'd only faced the ships in Skull's Bay, and even that had been over relatively quickly.

And against the ilken who'd swarmed them in the Stone Marshes, it had been more an extermination than anything. Not what awaited them tomorrow. Not what her friends had fought on the Narrow Sea while she and Manon had been in the mirror, then with Maeve on the beach.

Rowan considered. "They're just as messy, but in different ways."

"I'd rather fight on land," Fenrys grumbled.

"Because no one likes the smell of wet dog?" Aelin asked over her shoulder.

Fenrys laughed. "Exactly because of that."

At least he was smiling again.

Rowan's mouth twitched, but his eyes were hard as he surveyed the enemy army.

"Tomorrow's battle will be just as brutal," he said. "But the plan is sound."

They'd be on the battlements with Chaol, readying for any desperate maneuvers Morath might attempt when they found themselves being herded and crushed by the khagan's army.

Elide would be with Yrene and the other healers in the Great Hall, helping the injured.

Where Lorcan and Gavriel would be, Aelin could only assume. Both had peeled off upon arriving, the latter taking watch somewhere, and the former likely brooding. But they'd probably be fighting right alongside them.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Gavriel slipped into the room. "The army looks quiet enough," he said by way of greeting, then unceremoniously dropped to the floor beside Fenrys and hauled the platter of chicken toward him. "The men are rife with fear, though. Days of defending these walls have worn on them." Rowan nodded, not bothering to tell the Lion they'd just discussed this as Gavriel ripped into the food. "We'll have to make sure they don't balk tomorrow, then."

Indeed.

"I was wondering," Elide said to none of them in particular after a moment. "Since Maeve is an imposter, who would rule Doranelle if she was banished with all the other Valg?"

"Or burned to a crisp," Fenrys muttered.

Aelin might have smiled grimly, but Elide's question settled into her. Gavriel slowly set down the chicken. Rowan's arm dropped from Aelin's shoulders. His pine-green eyes were wide. "You."

Aelin blinked. "There are others from Mab's line. Galan, or Aedion—"

"The throne passes through the maternal line-to a female only. Or it should have, Rowan said. "You're the sole female with a direct, undiluted claim to Mab's bloodline."

"And your household, Rowan," Gavriel said. "Someone in your household would have a claim on Mora's half of the throne."

"Sellene. It would go to her." Even as a prince, Rowan's own heritage connecting him to Mora's bloodline had thinned to the point of being in name only. Aelin was more closely related to Elide, probably to Chaol, too, than she was to Rowan, despite their distant ancestry.

"Well, Sellene can have it," Aelin said, wiping her hands of dust that was not there. "Doranelle's hers." She wouldn't set foot in that city again, Maeve or no. She wasn't sure if that made her a coward. She didn't dare reach for her magic's comforting rumble.

"The Little Folk truly knew," Fenrys mused, rubbing his jaw. "What you were."

They had always known her, the Little Folk. Had saved her life ten years ago, and saved their lives these past few weeks. They had known her, and left gifts for her. Tribute, she'd thought, to Brannon's Heir. Not to... Gavriel murmured, "The Faerie Queen of the West."

Silence.

Aelin blurted, "Is that an actual title?"

"It is now," Fenrys muttered. Aelin shot him a look.

"With Sellene as the Fae Queen of the East," Rowan mused.

No one spoke for a good minute.

Aelin sighed up at the ceiling. "What's another fancy title, I suppose?"

They didn't answer, and Aelin tried not to let the weight of that title settle too heavily. All it implied. That she might not only look after the Little Folk on this continent, but with the cadre, begin a new homeland for any Fae who might wish to join them. For any of the Fae who had survived the slaughter in Terrasen ten years ago and might wish to return.

A fool's dream. One that she would likely not come to see. To create.

"The Faerie Queen of the West," Aelin said, tasting the words on her tongue.

Wondering how long she'd get to call herself such.

From the heavy quiet, she knew her companions were contemplating the same. And from the pain in Rowan's eyes, the rage and determination, she knew he was already calculating if it might somehow spare her from the sacrificial altar.

But that would come later. After tomorrow. If they survived.

There was a gate, and eternity lay beyond its black archway.

But not for her. No, there would be no Afterworld for her.

The gods had built another coffin, this time crafting it of that dark, glimmering stone.

Stone her fire could never melt. Never pierce. The only way to escape was to become it—dissolve into it like sea-foam on a beach.

Every breath was thinner than the previous one. They had not put any holes in this coffin.

Beyond her confines, she knew a second coffin sat beside hers. Knew, because the muffled screams within still reached her here.

Two princesses, one golden and one silver.

One young and one ancient. Both the cost of sealing that gate to eternity.

The air would run out soon. She'd already lost too much of it in her frantic clawing at the stone. Her fingertips pulsed where she'd broken nails and skin.

Those female screams became quieter.

She should accept it, embrace it. Only when she did would the lid open.

The air was so hot, so precious. She could not get out, could not get out—

Aelin hauled herself into waking. The room remained dark, her companions' deep breathing holding steady.

Open, fresh air. The stars just visible through the narrow window.

No Wyrdstone coffin. No gate poised to devour her whole. But she knew they were watching, somehow. Those wretched gods. Even here, they were watching. Waiting.

A sacrifice. That's all she was to them.

Nausea churned in her gut, but Aelin ignored it, ignored the tremors rippling through her. The heat under her skin.

Aelin turned onto her side, nestling closer into Rowan's solid warmth, Elena's muffled screams still ringing in her ears.

No, she would not be helpless again.