Lord Lorcand POV
He stood there, still deep within the underworld, in the place where Everest had been with him only minutes ago—before he sent him back to wake up.
But Lorcand's eyes remained fixed on the vivid memory that played before him: the younger version of himself standing at the black stone altar, holding baby Willow gently against his chest.
He remembered that day clearly—how he stood there with her, cradling her small body, whispering softly in an effort to calm her cries. It was only when she finally quieted that he had taken her back. He had made a promise to her then: that one day, when she came of age and became a young woman, he would find her again.
But things had not unfolded as he hoped.
When Willow's magic spiraled out of control, he had tried to help her. He tried—but the forest ignited around them, consumed by her unchecked power. And with the flames came ruin. Countless lives were lost that day.
Lord Lorcand let out a heavy sigh and slowly stepped toward the altar—now empty, cold, and worn by time. The memory of that moment—of him and baby Willow—dissolved like dust into the still air. All that remained was the chill, and the distant, echoing screams of the souls that wandered the underworld.
Lorcand placed his hand on the altar's surface. The cold stone pulsed faintly beneath his palm, as if it, too, remembered. As if it, too, mourned. The underworld was not a place for sentiment—but echoes lingered here, especially from moments steeped in magic and sorrow.
"She was only a child…" he whispered, voice barely audible over the hollow wind that wound through the caverns. "You were never meant to bear such power. Not alone."
His gaze swept the shadowed chamber, once sacred, now stripped bare by time and grief. He could almost hear her laughter as a toddler, running through the meadows above before fate claimed her path. He clenched his jaw.
Lorcand had failed her.
Not once, but twice.
He had promised to find her when she was ready, when she could stand on her own feet and wield her gift with control. But he almost had her that day , she was in his arms and he was ready to left until Everest and his father show up in the forest .
She was the right age now and he knew only with time now her magic will being awake and she would chance and going to need him more than she realize.
A sharp cry echoed through the underworld's corridors, shrill and distant. Lorcand didn't flinch—he was used to the cries of lost souls. But this one… this one was familiar. It carried something more.
Urgency.
Hope.
He turned, eyes narrowing. The air shimmered faintly, as though something—someone—was calling out to him.
"Willow…" he breathed.
Could she be here?
No—alive. She had to be alive. He would have known if she crossed the veil.
But if her soul had touched the barrier between worlds…
Lorcand drew his cloak tighter around him and stepped away from the altar. The time for memories was over. The past would always ache, but perhaps… just perhaps… it was not too late to shape the future. And this time, he would not let her go.
Brielle POV
As the early morning sun broke through the window, a soft beam of light fell across Brielle's face, stirring her awake.
She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering as the warm sun reflected against her eyelids. Turning her head, she saw Mathew still fast asleep beside her, lying on his stomach. She was almost certain there was a small trail of drool at the corner of his mouth.
Her heart swelled at the sight of him—peaceful, vulnerable, and so endearingly human. For a moment, she allowed herself to smile. But then reality washed over her like a cold wave.
She was in his room.
Brielle slowly sat up, adjusting the bedcovers to shield her bare chest. The memories returned in fragments—after their shared, intimate moment in the other room, they'd come back here and, lost in each other again, she had ended up with nothing but the warmth of his arms and the soft sheets to cover her.
She looked down at him again. Mathew. He made her feel like a woman again—not a weapon, not a shadow of dark magic. Just a woman. Human.
Something she had long forgotten how to be.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, slipping silently down her cheeks. In another life, she would stay. She would curl against him, trace the lines of his back, and wake with him like this every morning. But this wasn't that life. This life was tangled in blood, power, and secrets that could destroy them both.
If Lord Lorcand ever found out about this… if Rage discovered her attachment to Mathew… the consequences wouldn't just fall on her. Mathew's soul would be in danger.
She couldn't let that happen.
With careful precision, Brielle slid out from beneath the covers, wincing slightly as the cold air touched her skin. She gathered her clothes from the floor and dressed in silence, each movement stiff with heartbreak. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled on her black gown, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floor as she stood.
She walked quietly to Mathew's side of the bed. He had shifted in his sleep, now lying on his side, lost in dreams. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his warm cheek.
"Goodbye, Mathew," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she fought to hold them back. She stared at him for one final moment, memorizing the way he looked in sleep—peaceful, unaware, and safe.
"I won't forget you," she choked out, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow.
And with that, she summoned her magic. Shadows curled around her like a cloak, and in a blink, she vanished—leaving behind the quiet room and the man who had unknowingly touched her soul.
She reappeared in her chamber in the dark, cold halls of Lord Lorcand's castle, the weight of her choices pressing down on her like chains.
Everest POV
After making love, the two lay curled up in each other's arms. Willow rested her head on Everest's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as both of them tried to calm their breathing. Everest gently ran his fingertips through her soft brown hair, grounding himself in the moment, though his mind was anything but calm.
He couldn't stop thinking about the dream—what he had seen in it.
The fire. The truth Lord Lorcand claimed to know. If what he said was real, and Willow had caused it... she would have to know. But she had been so young back then. Too young to remember something like that. Her mother, though—she would know.
"You're quiet," Willow said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He looked down and met her eyes as she lifted her head from his chest. Hazel green, flecked with gold. Her beauty caught him off guard every time. Cherry-blossom cheeks, a freckled nose, thick lashes framing those striking eyes. If they had a child someday, he was certain the child would inherit her beauty.
Everest let the thought linger, then pushed it aside.
Before asking Willow about the fire—or her mother—he needed to know if the room Lord Lorcand mentioned truly existed. The one with the coffin. He remembered the door clearly: massive, ancient, carved with old runes.
But for now, he had to lie. Pretend everything was fine. He hated it, but it was the only way to learn more about the dark magic that might live inside her.
He reached out and touched her cheek, tracing it lightly with his fingertips. "I was thinking about our wedding," he said softly.
The truth was he hadn't been thinking about the wedding at all—but the lie came easy. The wedding was already a lot for her to handle.
Willow smiled. "And what about the wedding?"
A warm smile tugged at his lips. "That by tonight, you'll be my wife. And I can't wait to see you in that beautiful white dress."
His heart skipped at the thought—Willow as his bride, dressed in white. Her eyes softened, and she rested her head on his chest again, listening. He wished they could stay like this forever, but reality was catching up.
He glanced at the tall clock on the wall—8 a.m.
"My love," he said firmly.
Willow looked up, frowning.
"I have to go. If they find us like this, we could be in serious trouble. The Elven Council takes this sort of thing very seriously," he said.
Willow sat upright, pulling the blanket over her chest. She followed his gaze to the clock.
"You're right," she said. "My mother will be looking for me."
Thankfully, she understood. If they were caught together before the wedding, the ceremony could be called off. Among the Elves, a groom sleeping with the bride beforehand was considered a serious offense.
Everest sat up as well. Willow stood and gathered her clothes, taking the blanket with her and leaving him bare on the couch. Of course. He scrambled to his feet, gathered his clothes from the floor, and quickly dressed.
When they were both ready, Everest moved toward her. "I'll see you in a few hours, my love," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He leaned in and kissed her goodbye.
"I love you," Willow whispered against his lips.
"I love you more," he replied warmly, then pulled away and walked toward the door.
Willow disappeared into the corridor that led to the guest room where she was staying in the castle. Everest paused, then made up his mind: he'd return to his quarters, clean up, change his clothes, and ride out to Vila Castle.
He had to know the truth. Was his dream real? Had the woman he was about to marry… truly died at birth?