He laughs, playing along with my silent plea to leave our feelings behind us, then stands to retrieve the cake from behind the counter. He sets it in front of me, then hands me a fork. “It’s all yours.” I dive in.

When we finish our dinner, we take the long walk back up to the palace. Thorne continues to pepper me with questions about small and big things, though nothing quite as harrowing as the question about happiness. When I can get one in, I ask him questions too. The walk passes too quickly, and suddenly we’re at his apartment door. I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do from here.

“Normally I’d walk you to your door, but as you’re the one with aerstepping powers, I can’t really do that,” he says with a sheepish quirk of his lips, and I laugh.

Holding my hands, he brings me to his chest, wrapping me up in his strong body. I tuck my head under his chin, and he murmurs contentedly as he strokes my back. I could stay here forever, and despite how uncomfortable I feel with the emotions Thorne brings out in me, when I’m wrapped in his arms, inhaling his scent, my mind quiets.

With a squeeze, he releases me, then kisses the top of my head. “Goodnight, witchling,” he says, then enters his apartment and closes the door, leaving me aching for his presence.

Hawthorne

Many stories of the early fae refer to a source of magic that each fae has deep inside themselves. There are various terms for this source, but the most common is the aether-heart. Early fae believed that in addition to their physical heart, they possessed a magical heart, made of the same aether that courses through the leylines of the world. Fae of today do not possess such a source, and it is impossible to know whether the aether-heart is fable alone or whether it has disappeared from the fae people over time.

The Legends of the Fae, Volume II

“The rebellion’s primary headquarters are an abandoned manor in Oakton,” Silene tells the Council of Advisors four days after my first outing with Laurel. We’ve spent every evening together since, talking, laughing, and stealing glances at one another when we think the other isn’t looking. My body burns deliciously when she’s near, leaving me frigid in her absence. But if I don’t move slowly, she may bolt, both metaphorically and literally, with her ability to aerstep great distances at any moment.

“What do you propose, Miss Kalmeera?” Admon asks Silene.

“We attack there, scatter them. From what I’ve observed, many members of the Sons and Daughters are just normal villagers. Some from Oakton, some from surrounding villages. They’ll run back to their families at the first sign of trouble.”