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As grateful as I am for Viv and Ken, I can’t fully trust them either. We’ve known each other less than two months, but they’ve been with Rainer for who knows how long.
They’re fae.
They’re loyal to each other.
I’m simply a human in passing.
Over the week, I don’t see Rainer in person or in my dreams, much to both my pleasure and dismay. We have unfinished business, and I’ve been aching to speak with him—even if I have to seek him in my dreams. But he’s heeded my warnings and stayed away. Too little, too late.
I hope he’s sleeping. That he’s not having nightmares. Not that he deserves the peaceful rest, but I still hurt for him and whatever life he’s lived before me.
The castle bustles with more servants than ever. Everyone is working double-time to prepare for this Ostara festivity.
The Terra princess uses her magic to help the gardens blossom and bloom into an even more beautiful sight—something I hadn’t thought possible. It’s ethereal how lovely it looks. The entire castle is crawling with rose vines—inside and out. The Terra prince, Eoin, shapes the hedges with Ken and Viv, taming the overgrowth.
I’m pleasantly surprised the royals are comfortable getting their hands dirty.
Inside, the deep dark hues are swapped out for swaths of color. Everything shimmers and shines.
After seeing the weird shadow things in the trees twice now, and meeting Rainer’s brother, I’m almost grateful everyone is too busy to pay me mind. And with all the ominous warnings—especially the most recent ones from Eoin and Tynan—I need the valerian root tea to sleep again.
Sometimes I swear I hear my name whispered in the wind, the shadow-spirit beckoning for me, but I ignore it. And whenever I glimpse a shadow moving in the trees, I avert my eyes.
Tonight, I chug the valerian tea like I have nights past. As soon as I lay my head on the pillow, I fall fast asleep.
It smells like cinnamon and something woodsy—pine, perhaps? Laughter carries down the hallway. I pass a handful of doors until I approach an open doorway. Chatter trickles out. I poke my head in to see what appears to be a family sitting near a giant pine wreath, eating sweets.
The room is decorated elaborately, with sparkling ornaments and tinsel.
“Snickahdoodles are my favorite,” a little boy with black curls says as he fists a cookie into his mouth. He’s probably no more than eight, sitting on the worn-in sofa with what I presume to be his parents nearby.
“Snickerdoodles, Rainer,” the father says, casting him a disgusted glance. “You sound like a child.”
“He is a child, Seamus,” the mother says, her voice small and timid. “Let him be.”
They’re a beautiful couple, with pointed ears and layers of expensive clothing and gold jewelry. But they’re rigid. I recognize them from the portraits in Rainer’s mother’s wing.
Looking around, it’s clear this is Rainer’s current estate, but it’s filled with much more—just, more. There are portraits lining the walls, decorations and knick-knacks in crystal displays, furniture that’s clearly worn and used.
Yet it’s somehow colder than the castle I know in waking.
It’s missing something.
I pop back out into the hallway, a strange feeling in my stomach from witnessing such an intimate moment between Rainer’s family. From seeing a young Rainer. It feels less like a dream and more like a memory.
“Why the hell am I dreaming about Rainer’s childhood?” I groan aloud.
“You’re not.”
I gasp. Leaning lazily against the hallway’s wall, arms crossed across his chest, Rainer stares at me with a hollow expression.
“Stop sneaking up on me you dirty dreamstalker,” I hiss.
“Dreamwalker,” he mutters. “And you’re the dreamwalker. It’s my dream you’re in.” He sighs, peering over at a decorative grandfather clock, just as the bell tolls out in a midnight call. “Nightmare, actually.”
Even in the dream, his forehead is marred with lines. His lips tug down. He's tired. Worn out. Defeated.
“What do you mean?”
