Kaelen knew he shouldn’t be here. Not in fairy territory.

Not when the wars had hardened into something permanent, a silence laced with hatred. Fae-folk and Elves had been circling each other like wolves for decades now. The stories at court said fairies were beneath them, created to serve. He’d learned young not to argue.

He’d been born into House Elonthar, a name worth respect, though not much when you were the second cousin, a branch-line child. That was Kaelen’s place. He’d never been meant for leadership, for command. He’d been given a sword, a vow, and the king’s orders to follow. Loyal service in exchange for worth.

So he took the tasks no one else wanted. Escort duties, covert runs, the assignments where failure wasn’t supposed to ripple outward. Reliable. Silent. Expendable. That was what he was to the crown.

He wasn’t like Katyr, the king’s heir and firstborn. Wasn’t like Roan, the middle son who often disappointed the king yet still had his place.

The Thornbeasts had nearly proved it. He’d cut down two before the third had raked claws across his side. He’d stumbled, bleeding, armor heavy, collapsing by a riverbank that would’ve been his grave if anyone found him—elf or fairy, it hardly mattered. He’d accepted it. Maybe this was how it should end. Another mission carried out in the name of peace that wasn’t peace at all. A relic “stolen” long ago, now demanded back. Not as unity, but leverage. Kaelen knew what it meant, even if he’d never say it aloud. The king didn’t want harmony. He wanted to remind the fairies of their place.

Kaelen had agreed anyway. He always did.

When he woke, it was to the strange sensation in his side. Not pain, but a low hum, a thrumming beneath his skin as if the wound had stitched itself closed. His eyes dragged open. The first thing he saw were wings.

A fairy.

His thoughts reeled. Why? Why save him? He was the enemy, wasn’t he? They were supposed to want him dead. His mouth went dry. He should’ve pushed himself up, left before the kindness turned into something else.

Then his vision cleared, and he caught your face.

Fairies were beautiful—everyone said so—but it was the look in your eyes that cut him. No malice. No hunger. Only focus. Only pity.

Kaelen coughed, pulling his gaze down to the wound that was gone, the armor stripped from him, his chest bare. He should’ve felt exposed. He did. Yet more than that, he felt the fracture deep inside: a knight meant to hate, staring into gentleness.

His voice came out rough, hoarse, uncertain. “Who are you? Why would you help?” He swallowed hard, forcing the words. “You should want me dead.”

The old warnings whispered in the back of his mind. Fairy hands are snares. Fairy gifts are chains. He should recoil.

But he didn’t. He only watched you, uneasy at the calm in your expression, unsettled by the quiet proof that not everything he’d been taught was true.