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At first, I prickle with concern, but Monroe shakes his head with a smile, leans down, and whispers in her ear.
Her eyes go wide as saucers before she looks at him and tilts her head. “You’re really old. What does that make you? Wait! Can I guess please?”
Monroe smirks wryly as Phantasos taps the child’s shoulder. “Ivy, don’t be rude.”
“Hey, I said please,” she reminds him, her blonde curls thwacking her cheeks.
The alter smiles, shoulders relaxed as he plays with a bit of floating cloud fluff. “It’s fine. Go ahead, take a guess.”
Ivy’s eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Hmm…are you an alien?”
Monroe chuckles. “As far as I know, my parents did not send me to Earth in an escape pod while the planet was being destroyed.”
Ivy taps her chin thoughtfully. “Orc?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have tusks.”
She squints, thinking hard. “An elf?”
“Warmer.”
“A Fae.” Phantasos chimes in with a grin.
Monroe says nothing, but he meets Phantasos’s gaze in a moment of clarity—a shared confirmation passing between them.
“Hey, no fair!” Ivy pouts, crossing her arms.
Monroe laughs softly, the sound warm and inviting. “Yes, a Fae. And a damn good-looking one, too.” He winks at Phantasos. “But I wouldn’t mind stealing a few fashion tips from you.”
Ivy does a twirl, her playful spirit undeterred. “Okay, but can you transform into anything else?”
“Hmm…maybe.”
“Oooh, like a dragon?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” he jokes.
Ivy giggles, the tension easing into a comfortable camaraderie. “Okay, okay. You’re full of surprises, Monroe.”
Monroe shrugs modestly. “Just happy to keep things interesting.”
More shadows grow and abound in the throne room. The gravity of the impending subject has more of Morpheus’s life force curling and twisting restlessly.
When I turn to him, I find his eyes vacant, unseeing. Blind again. Too long without bonding himself to Zenya.
When a chill drifts through the air, I incline my chin to find Nyxion entering the court, his expression grave and somber. Zenya stiffens, the mere presence of the God of Nightmares triggering Beastie to return. Darker eyes narrow in a piercing warning.
At least Nyxion does not approach her, which surprises me. No tilt of his skull head. No black eyes straying across her figure.
Suspicion creeps along my spine, but I observe how his wings are lower, heavier with severe eyes. Something happened to prompt this change.
For now, we must focus on giving Zenya whatever we can to complete the Trials.
Phantasos bids Ivy to follow him out of the Court. Zenya returns with a yawn but makes her way back to the table.
Soon, she will sleep, but it’s time to tell her of the Trials.
The aquamarine color returns, and she leans back in her seat, darting her eyes between the three of us. Ethereal light filters through the high-arched windows, casting shifting patterns on the marble floor. Prisms dance along her face and body as if following the contours of her form.
