The morning air in Swynden was damp and gray, the city restless beneath the weight of unspoken tensions.

  Brandon and Annemarie wasted no time. As soon as the group gathered in Callista’s sitting room, they relayed everything Brandon had heard the night before— Evadne, the shadowed figure, the whispered conspiracies about the truth.

  Julia, predictably, looked grim but unsurprised. “So we were right,” she muttered. “Evadne isn’t just playing politics— she’s maneuvering people.”

  Brenna leaned back in her chair, frowning. “And this mystery man— he’s got to be someone important if she’s taking orders from him.”

  Callista exhaled sharply. “We need to confront this. Now.”

  Brandon stiffened. “Confront who?”

  “Onesta and Adela.”

  Melissa made a strangled sound. “Oh, fantastic. My favorite people.”

  But Callista was already standing, pacing the room as she thought. “They don’t trust me. They don’t like me. And they sure as hell don’t owe me anything.” Her fingers curled into fists. “But what they do care about is control.”

  Julia caught on quickly. “And the Mirrorwood is uncontrollable.”

  “Exactly.” Callista turned back to the group. “We don’t go in begging for their help. We remind them that the Curse is their problem, too. And that Evadne and her... associate aren’t just whispering behind their backs. They’re undermining them.”

  Brandon hesitated. “And what if they don’t believe us?”

  “They won’t,” Callista said flatly. “Not at first.”

  Brenna nodded. “But if we get them thinking...”

  “That’s all we need.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Melissa groaned, throwing her head back. “God, I hate politics.”

  Callista smirked. “Then let’s make this hurt.”

  The council chamber was colder than it had been the day before. Callista wasn’t sure if it was the overcast sky or the simple weight of the conversation to come, but the atmosphere was stifling.

  Adela and Onesta sat in their respective chairs, their usual expressions of disdain firmly in place.

  Callista stood in the center of the chamber, her companions behind her. She didn’t hesitate. “I know you don’t like me,” she said, her voice steady. “I know you don’t trust me. I know I’m a complication at best and a security problem at worst. And I know there is a very real chance that you—” her gaze flicked between them, “—ordered the deaths of my family.”

  Adela’s eyebrows lifted, but Onesta did not react.

  Callista didn’t blink. “I don’t care. Not now.”

  That got their attention.

  Julia shifted slightly behind her, and Brandon’s hand curled into a fist at his side.

  “This isn’t about the past,” Callista continued. “It’s about right now. You have a problem. Two, actually: The Mirrorwood Curse and Evadne Sharmure.”

  Onesta finally let out a sigh. “I hope you’re not suggesting that the two are connected.”

  “We’re not suggesting,” Julia said. “We know.”

  Brandon stepped forward, his jaw set. “I heard Evadne last night. She wasn’t alone. She was speaking with a man, someone she clearly answers to. And he said something very specific.”

  Adela leaned back in her chair. “Do tell.”

  Brandon’s voice didn’t waver. “He said, ‘Let them dig. When the truth is unbearable, we will be waiting.”

  That, finally, made Onesta pause.

  Adela, however, leaned back in her chair— unimpressed. “And you’re certain that’s what you heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “You expect us to believe that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time to hear our trusted advisor conspiring in the dark?”

  Brandon’s fists tightened. “I’m not lying.”

  Adela tilted her head. “I think you are.”

  A sharp silence fell over the room.

  Callista’s fingers twitched. “You don’t even care, do you?”

  Onesta tapped her fingers against the armrest, considering. “It’s not a matter of caring. It’s a matter of proof.”

  “The Mirrorwood is a threat to your rule,” Callista snapped. “You can’t control it, and you know it. And now you know that Evadne is keeping secrets. You should be asking why.”

  Onesta exhaled. “We are asking.”

  “But the answers aren’t coming from you,” Adela added. Her gaze flicked toward Brandon. “They’re coming from him.”

  Brandon’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t back down.

  “Your story,” Adela continued, “is convenient. Suspiciously so.” She looked to Onesta. “I don’t like it.”

  Onesta nodded slowly. “Neither do I.”

  Callista’s blood ran cold. It was never a good thing when the rulers of Swynden agreed on something.

  Onesta turned her gaze to Brandon. “I will not take action against you.”

  Brandon exhaled slightly—

  “Yet.”

  Callista stepped forward immediately. “He’s telling the truth.”

  Onesta’s eyes were unreadable. “If he’s lying, we will punish him accordingly.”

  “And since you insist on vouching for him,” Adela added, smiling coldly, “that punishment will extend to you as well.”

  Callista’s breath stilled.

  Behind her, she felt Annemarie tense, felt the shift in Brandon’s stance. She forced herself to keep her expression blank.

  They were daring her to back down.

  She smiled instead. “Then I guess we’d better make sure you see the truth before you get us killed.”

  Adela’s smirk widened. “We’ll see.”

  Onesta exhaled through her nose and stood. “You have had your audience. We will discuss this matter privately.”

  It was a dismissal.

  Callista turned on her heel and walked out without another word, the others following closely behind.

  The moment the doors shut behind them, she exhaled sharply.

  “Well,” Melissa muttered. “That went great.”

  Brandon clenched his fists. “They think I’m lying.”

  Callista’s eyes darkened. “Then we make sure they can’t ignore us.”

  Julia nodded. “We find proof. Real proof.”

  Brandon exhaled slowly, his hands still shaking with frustration. Annemarie laced her fingers with his, grounding him.

  Callista turned back to them, her jaw set. “We’re running out of time.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The Mirrorwood was growing. And if they didn’t act soon, there wouldn’t be a Milana left to save.

  If anything, the halls of the palace felt even more forbidding after their meeting with Adela and Onesta. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken threats, and the walls themselves seemed to press in, listening. Watching.

  Brandon didn’t realize how much tension he was carrying until they reached the suite and Annemarie pulled him aside. She didn’t say anything at first. Just reached for his hand, fingers lacing with his, grounding him.

  Brandon exhaled slowly. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”

  Annemarie arched a brow. “Like what?”

  “Like you’re about to tell me I did something stupid.”

  She sighed, squeezing his hand. “I’m not saying that.”

  He gave her a look.

  “...Okay, fine, I am saying that. In retrospect. Because I’d have done the same thing, probably.” She hesitated, her expression tightening. “Brandon, you need to be careful.”

  His brows furrowed. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I know you know,” she said quietly. “But I also know you. And I know how much you hate being called a liar. You’re going to want to prove yourself, to push back.”

  Brandon’s jaw tensed. “Because they are lying. They know something is wrong, but instead of actually dealing with it, they’re—”

  “—playing politics,” Annemarie finished. “Which is exactly what I’m worried about.”

  She stepped closer, lifting a hand to his face, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Brandon, this place is dangerous.”

  He almost laughed. “We’ve been running through cursed forests, dodging shadow monsters, and you think this is what’s dangerous?”

  “Yes,” she said, without hesitation. “Because the Mirrorwood was honest about what it is. Swynden isn’t.”

  Brandon fell silent at that.

  Annemarie searched his face, then sighed. “I don’t want you getting wrapped up in this. Not more than you already are.”

  His fingers curled around hers. “You know I can’t just walk away.”

  “I’m not asking you to walk away,” she murmured. “I’m asking you to live through this.”

  Brandon swallowed hard. He wasn’t used to Annemarie being scared.

  But this wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was knowing.

  She could feel the weight of the Milani court pressing down on them, the way it twisted around them like an unseen noose.

  Brandon sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be careful.”

  She huffed. “You say that—”

  “I mean that,” he murmured.

  Annemarie studied him for a long moment, then exhaled, resting her forehead against his. “Good.”

  She didn’t believe him. But for now, she let it be.

  Melissa lay sprawled across the bed, one arm lazily draped over Gorgoloth’s massive form as he twitched his mandibles in what she had long since decided was contentment. He had, somehow, managed to look even larger than he had the day before, his furry brown chitin sleek and well-fed.

  Julia sat in a chair by the window, legs curled beneath her, absentmindedly flipping through a book she wasn’t actually reading. The dim light from the lantern on the nightstand flickered softly against the tapestry-covered walls, wrapping the room in an illusion of warmth.

  Melissa hummed, rubbing small circles against one of Gorgoloth’s legs. “I think he’s gotten bigger.”

  Julia glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Melissa, he was already huge.”

  “Yeah, but look at him.” Melissa gestured dramatically at the spider, who was indeed lounging like a particularly smug cat. His bright blue ribbons were still tied neatly to his legs. “He’s thriving. He’s feasting on Swynden’s finest rats. We should all be so lucky.”

  Julia let out a small huff of amusement, shaking her head. “I don’t think we have his dietary requirements.”

  Melissa grinned, stretching out across the mattress and letting one leg dangle over the side. “True. But seriously, Gorgoloth’s living his best life. Maybe we should take notes.”

  Julia snorted, but her humor faded as she traced a finger absently along the spine of her book. “Are we?”

  Melissa blinked. “Are we what?”

  “Living our best lives.”

  Melissa was quiet for a moment, gaze flicking to the canopy above the bed. “Huh.”

  Julia’s grip on the book tightened. “Because I keep thinking about everything that brought us here. About Callista, about the Mirrorwood, Evadne, about everything— and I don’t even know how to feel anymore.”

  Melissa considered this, running her fingers along Gorgoloth’s carapace. “It’s... a lot,” she admitted. “But Jules? This— this whole thing?” She gestured vaguely at the room, the castle, the world around them. “This is the most alive I’ve ever felt.”

  Julia glanced up, brow furrowed.

  Melissa shrugged. “Yeah, it’s dangerous. Yeah, it’s terrifying. But back on Earth?” She let out a sharp breath. “I was just waiting for something to happen. Just existing, going through the motions, pretending that was enough. But this? This is real. We’re doing something that matters.”

  She turned her head toward Julia, smirking faintly. “So... thanks. For letting me come.”

  Julia exhaled softly, looking down at the book in her hands. “Even after everything?”

  Melissa chuckled. “Especially after everything.”

  Julia’s lips twitched, but her expression remained troubled. “I haven’t even had time to look for my father,” she admitted. “Not really. Everything’s been Annemarie, or the Mirrorwood, or—” She gestured vaguely. “Politics. I thought this would be simple. Step through the portal, find answers. But I haven’t even figured out where to start.”

  Melissa was quiet for a beat, then nudged Gorgoloth affectionately before sitting up. “Then we finish this. We deal with the Mirrorwood, we figure out what the hell Evadne is up to, and then?” She met Julia’s gaze. “We go back to Atriane. We talk to Kiernen. And we find your dad.”

  Julia’s throat tightened. “You mean that?”

  Melissa scoffed. “Obviously. I didn’t jump through a magic portal just to leave my best friend hanging.”

  Julia let out a small, tired laugh, shaking her head. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

  “Yeah,” Melissa agreed. “But you love me for it.”

  Julia sighed, closing her book and setting it aside. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.”

  Melissa beamed, then flopped dramatically back onto the bed. “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep before Callista decides we need to challenge Evadne to a duel at dawn or something.”

  Julia groaned. “Please don’t manifest that into reality.”

  Gorgoloth, clearly having absorbed enough of the conversation, let out a soft click, then settled further into the bed. His ribbons fluttered slightly as he curled his legs beneath him.

  And for a few quiet hours, in the heart of a city drowning in shadows, they rested.

  The tea had gone cold.

  Callista sat stiff-backed in her chair, legs crossed, hands wrapped around the delicate porcelain cup. Across from her, Brenna slouched comfortably in a chair far too fine for someone like her, fingers tapping idly against the wooden stem of her pipe.

  It was the first time the two of them had been alone together. And it was awkward as hell.

  A stoner hedge witch and a lost duchess walk into a bar and try to have a conversation.

  It was the beginning of a bad joke.

  Brenna exhaled slowly, glancing at the untouched tea. “Not a fan?”

  Callista blinked, as if just remembering it was there. “It is fine.”

  “Liar.”

  Callista huffed, setting the cup down with precise movements. “It is not fine. It is too sweet.”

  Brenna smirked, stretching lazily. “Should’ve told me. I could’ve asked for something more... I dunno, noble?”

  Callista rolled her eyes, but there was no bite to it.

  A moment of silence passed.

  Brenna chewed the inside of her cheek. “Y’know,” she said, voice light but deliberate. “I usually take something stronger than tea when I need to unwind.”

  Callista arched a brow. “Do you?”

  Brenna grinned, twirling her pipe between her fingers and proffering it. “Interested?”

  For a moment, Callista hesitated— then, to Brenna’s surprise, she reached out and plucked the pipe from her hand without a word.

  Brenna blinked. “Huh.”

  Callista turned the pipe over in her fingers, as if assessing it for hidden traps. “Is it going to kill me?”

  “Not today.”

  Callista exhaled sharply, then took a slow, measured inhale. The familiar, heady scent of burning herbs filled the air. It was lighter than she expected— earthy, warm, something that curled gently in the back of her throat instead of burning its way down.

  She let the smoke settle in her lungs before exhaling, watching the wisps curl toward the ceiling.

  Brenna raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

  Callista set the pipe down, tilting her head slightly. A pleasant fuzziness was beginning to make itself known. “I can see the appeal.”

  Brenna grinned, reclaiming it for herself. “Good girl.”

  “You are a bad influence, Brenna Siulin.”

  “I can be worse.”

  Callista shot her a look, but there was no venom in it.

  The silence that followed was... easier. Callista leaned back into her chair, eyes half-lidded, exhaling slowly. “It’s been two years.”

  Brenna glanced up. “Since?”

  Callista didn’t answer immediately. She reached for her tea out of habit, took a sip, and grimaced. Cold. And still too sweet.

  Then, softly— “Since my family was slaughtered.”

  The words hung in the air, heavier than the smoke. Brenna’s fingers tightened around the pipe.

  Callista hadn’t said it before. Not like that. Not in those words.

  Her expression didn’t change, but her voice— her voice was quieter than Brenna had ever heard it. “And I have not grieved,” Callista murmured, staring into the middle distance. “Not really.”

  Brenna shifted slightly, setting her pipe down on the table between them. “You were surviving.”

  Callista let out a dry, humorless laugh. “And if I stop surviving? If I stop moving?” She scoffed. “What then?”

  Brenna hesitated. She wasn’t good at this— wasn’t used to this. She knew how to crack jokes, how to lighten a mood, how to pretend things weren’t as bad as they were.

  But Callista wasn’t looking for a joke.

  She was staring at the table like it held the weight of everything she had lost, like if she let go for even a second, it would all come crashing down.

  So Brenna did the only thing she could do.

  She reached across the table and covered Callista’s hand with her own.

  The duchess stiffened slightly, her fingers twitching as if unsure whether to pull away. But she didn’t.

  Brenna squeezed gently. “Then we pick you back up.”

  Callista swallowed. Her throat felt tight, her eyes burning— not enough for tears, never enough to tears, but something close.

  “We’ll take it back,” Brenna murmured. “Byfox. All of it. And we’ll make them pay for what they did.”

  Callista inhaled, slow and shaking. Then she nodded, fingers tightening over Brenna’s.

  Smoke curled through the air, mingling with silence.

  And for the first time in two years, Callista let herself breathe.