“Let’s get Nemesia moved to new rooms, and then she can begin translating,” Thorne says excitedly to me, threading his fingers through mine. “You can speak with her about what she may have learned, and we’ll figure out together what we believe.” I squeeze his hand in appreciation of his support, so unused to having someone to rely on.

As we’re walking out the door, Admon calls out to us. “I’m happy that the two of you have both accepted the mating bond.” My brows furrow.

“How did you know?” We hadn’t yet told anyone other than Fionn and Silene.

“I can just tell from seeing the two of you together. You’re glowing,” he responds with a smile.

The next day, Nemesia is set up in rooms just above the palace cells, the iron from below still making any fae on that level uncomfortable and dampening their power. Thorne and I agreed he’d come with me to speak with her, but that he’d stand back and allow me to do the talking. It’s a small but important moment as we learn to navigate our life together. I consider donning the Witch Queen persona, but the effect would be moot on Nemesia, who has so often seen that mask. Instead, I opt for soft leggings and a navy tunic, braiding my hair back in its classic style. At Thorne’s insistence, I wear daggers on both thighs. We both know I won’t need them, but the mating bond requires these small compromises to settle the persistent desire to protect.

Thorne brushes a piece of hair off my face, then squeezes my hand in my bedroom before we aerstep to Nemesia’s door. Four guards stand at alert, barely reacting when we arrive. They all bow quickly before one of them pulls a key from his belt and unlocks the door. Thorne and I enter, hand in hand.

Nemesia doesn’t look good. White-blonde hair hangs in matted clumps around her face. Her eyes are hollow, very little emotion reflected in them as she sits in a leather chair by the fire. Her clothes are still dirty and soiled from the weeks she spent in the cells. A twinge of guilt stabs my gut.

“Have you not been provided with clean clothes and water for washing?” I ask, sternly. Nemesia doesn’t even look up at me, just continues staring into the fire that warms the room.

“I have. Don’t feel like cleaning up.”