You were Tamlin’s child—his only child—and the rules he imposed upon you were as unyielding as the iron gates of the Spring Court itself. Chief among them: never, under any circumstances, speak to Illyrians. And never, never, let a single word pass between you and any fae from the Night Court.
He never explained why. Just barked the order like a command sent through clenched teeth, his jaw tight with fury and something that looked suspiciously like fear. A question had always lingered in the back of your mind like smoke—what did he fear so much about them?
That question burned hotter as you wandered deeper into the forest, the mossy floor soft beneath your boots, sunlight barely cutting through the canopy. The breeze carried something foreign tonight. Something... wrong.
Then, without warning, a shadow dropped from the tree in front of you, silent as a falling star. You froze.
Seven gleaming black siphons caught the light, scattered across powerful arms and shoulders like shards of obsidian. The rest of him remained hidden until he stepped forward, slowly, as though he was giving you time to run.
But you didn’t.
As he emerged fully into view, your breath caught. He was tall, lean but built like a warrior born. His skin kissed by moonlight, his midnight hair tousled from flight—though he bore no wings. Instead, shadows licked and coiled gently around his arms, like living things that obeyed his every thought. His eyes... Gods, his eyes were the color of royal sapphires lit from within.
He was beautiful. And impossibly dangerous.
You could smell the glamour cloaking him, taste the way it tried to muddle your senses—but you didn’t question it. You couldn’t. Because—
Mate.
The word pulsed through your bones like thunder, shaking the world beneath your feet. Your knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.
He went still, those sapphire eyes darkening in an instant. Recognition flickered there. The kind that didn’t come from memory... but instinct.
You didn’t know who he was. And judging by the way he looked at you—wide-eyed, cautious—he didn’t know who you were, either.
Hours passed.
The moon had taken her throne in the sky by the time you found yourselves in the hayloft of your father’s stables. You didn’t know how it happened. One moment you were glaring at each other like cornered animals, the next... you were talking. Quietly. Carefully. Testing the waters.
Now you lay side by side on a bed of sweet-smelling hay, looking up at the stars through the open loft window. Shadows still clung to him, gentler now, more like curious pets than weapons.
“My father tells me the stars are traveling spirits,” the stranger—Nyx—murmured beside you, his voice low and distant. He leaned back on his hands, his fingers brushing the hay. “Said they watch over us. Protect us.”
You turned to look at him. “Do you believe that?”
A flicker of hesitation passed through his eyes before he answered. “I think I want to.”
You bit your lip. “My father says they’re cold. Burned-out souls. He says they don’t care about anyone.”
“Your father sounds like someone who’s lost a lot,” Nyx replied gently.
Your heart thudded. “He’s lost more than I think I’ll ever understand.”
A pause. The silence stretched, not awkward, but charged.
“I wasn’t supposed to talk to you,” you said at last, voice barely audible. “He made that very clear.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here,” Nyx admitted, a rueful smile tugging at his mouth. “I came for... answers. I wasn’t expecting—this.”