What none of these Fae in this room understand is that if Tyr isn’t meant to rule, then that dubious honor belongs to someone else. And I’d stake my life on the fact that someone is right for the role.

Someone who the Mirror already chose years ago, dooming us all to this fate.

Someone who not a single person in this room would approve of.

The door to the study pops open, and Hylene slides through the gap. Every eye in the room draws her way, a few sentences cutting off mid-complaint. It’s easy to understand why. There’s something about her that garners attention wherever she goes. She might be the only person within spitting distance with more than two brain cells to rub together.

After the events of Tyr’s reveal and Lor and Nadir’s capture, Hylene remained in the palace. She explained that she’d been helping them by getting herself invited to the bonding and keeping an eye out while they snuck into the throne room. Thankfully, the Aurora King’s soldiers only knocked her out and didn’t inflict any permanent damage when they overpowered her.

“Don’t mind me,” she says as she saunters down the side of the room. She’s wearing Aphelion gold, and the contrast with her fiery hair makes it look like the sun itself is walking through our midst. The bodice is cut scandalously low, showing off her rounded breasts, fitting snugly to her curvy hips. I shouldn’t be thinking about my desires at a time like this, but they have a mind of their own. “Just came to see what all the screaming is about. I’m sure it’s positively riveting.”

Several eyes in the room narrow as they try to work out if they’ve all just been insulted.

She gives me a small wave before bending down to peck Tyr on the cheek. Inexplicably, the two have bonded. She has a quiet way of sitting beside him in a manner he seems to need and appreciate. I even heard him laugh the other day, a sound that made my heart almost crack in my chest. I can’t remember the last time I heard Tyr laugh.

“Someone needs to be in charge,” says a male High Fae who rules over one of the middling districts. I truly can’t keep them all straight. This was something Atlas was a master at. He knew them all by name, who their bonded partners were, who their children were. I tuned it all out, thinking that none of this would ever be my problem. Joke’s on me, I suppose.

“Well, it’s not going to be you,” a female across the table says.

“I didn’t say that it was,” he replies through gritted teeth, and then the conversation erupts again, voices clashing and flying as they vie for the upper hand.