Except, when I drew closer, there was a noise, a shuffle of claws across the dirt. My arms tightened around my bundle, hackles rising as a green-scaled wyvern pup bolted in front of me from seemingly nowhere. It snarled and bared its puny fangs, as terrifying as a kitten.

I still barely resisted the urge to snarl back.

“Leaf, stand down,” a bellowing voice called out just as its owner appeared from behind the stables. He looked to be a farmhand, from the simplicity of his attire and the tool in his hand, a creature shorter than I was, but with the bulk of a bear. Half ogre, half Fae if I had to guess, based on the tusks peeking through his bottom lip and the stunted black horns curling at the sides of his head. His strides faltered as his gaze landed on me—specifically my hair, then finally my wings.

I saw it the second he figured out who I was.

His demeanor turned hostile.

Eyes narrowed, the stranger looked down at the unconscious form in my arms for a moment before focusing on me again. The pitchfork in his hands tilted subtly in my direction. “What do you want?”

“Zadok Velarde,” I said. “Is he here?”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you that, princeling?”

I stepped forward, but the wyvern coughed a glob of purple fire at my feet in warning, rooting me in place. “I mean you no harm, I just⁠—”

“You royals aren’t welcome here,” he cut in, voice tinged with a growl of disdain. I understood his distrust, but didn’t have the patience to sympathize.

“This is my mate,” I carried on, hoping to appeal to even a sliver of his agreeable nature. “He’s dying, and I know Zadok can save him. Please.”

There was a glimmer of uncertainty in his expression, as if he wanted to send us—me—away, but his conscience wouldn’t let him. However, I couldn’t afford the luxury of hesitation. My rationality had vanished alongside my pride, it seemed. I was prepared to risk everything, to truly earn this creature’s ire by tearing up every brick until I found the mage who could help my mate. The wyvern was hardly a defense, but just as my wings ruffled and I shifted on my feet, priming myself to lunge, the beast trilled, facing away.

The front door of the farmhouse crept open.

Another male stepped outside.

“Flick?” he called out as he tentatively advanced, voice soft and almost musical. He stood a head taller than the other, slimmer, and his face a little more gaunt than I remembered. His shoulder-length curls were in disarray, and I caught the nervous twitch of his fingers. My heart skipped in gratitude to fate.

There was no denying that this was Luca’s father.

“Cair?” he said in shock, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes went to my mate, widening. “How did you⁠—”