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I shrugged, sheepish. “Some rules are meant to be bent. He never said stay put. If that was the rule, those two, ”I glanced to the guards, then back, “would’ve tossed me in a dungeon the second I opened the door.”

My mother’s head cocked to the side as a smile pulled at her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t think so.” She took my hand, pressing something cool and small into my palm with a tiny nod. “They’re kinder than you think. One of them called me ‘mother,’ even after that big blue one said I wasn’t.” A wink. “But I need sleep. And so do you.”

Closing my fist around the object, I tilted my own head. The item was small and sharp around its edges. It was fastened by a braided cord and felt heavy in my hand. What was this? I wanted to ask her, but her coyness told me otherwise. So I settled for a simple, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She gave me one last smile and shut the door.

Once back in my room, I opened my hand. A green gemstone lay in a twist of gold wire, a leather cord looped through the setting, small enough to wear at the wrist. In the candle glow, the stone flickered yellow-green. It reminded me of the truth stone from earlier in the day. It was just missing the color in the seams.

Fastening it on, I wondered how she’d gotten it. I’d ask her tomorrow. Finally, after what felt like a long night, a yawn escaped my lips. I stripped to my boxers and slid beneath the covers. The chamber was warmer than I expected. The earth kept its heat, even when the world above freezes. The bed took my weight easily; tension unwound, and my breath slowed.

Then I saw it.

A mist unfurled in the far corner like fog lifting off a lake, thin, gray, edges flickering. It drifted closer, and the room cooled. The change didn’t scare me. It soothed. Pulse steady. Mind quiet. Sleep took me like a tide, or was this sleep?

My eyes opened a few moments after they fluttered shut. But it was not the ones in my head. My body lay peacefully on the bed. The mist stood before me, no longer shapeless. It was my height, my frame, still gray and humming with quiet power.

“We meet again,” I said, glancing at the sleeping me. “Do you talk?”

The figure didn’t answer the question, but his hand rose, ushering me forward. It wasn’t a clear no, but it also wasn’t a yes either. The mist turned, lifted a hand, and clawed the air. A jagged seam ripped open, lightning crackling along the tear. Catching my arm, it pulled us both through.

TAINTED| CHAPTER 22

Breaking Dawn

My body felt like it was being dragged through time and space. The portal was bright with energy, splitting and crackling in my ear. Light itself flared white, pricking my eyes with tears. My heart felt like it was going to explode with the amount of force that we pushed through. It lasted only a second before the world reshaped.

When the physical world manifested, the room was quiet, almost peaceful, even. We stood in a nursery, one that stirred something strange and familiar in my chest. It was like a memory that had been painted over.

The walls shimmered in soft rose and glinting gold. A crib was set in the center of the room beneath two tall windows that stretched the length of the wall. Cream curtains framed the glass, embroidered with a crest: a single crowned flower, stitched in that signature yellow, encircled by a wreath. A downward-pointing triangle split into a V-shaped tail of smaller blossoms and trailing vines. Beneath it, one word:

Eari.

Each time I saw that crest, it stirred unwanted feelings in me. Should I hate it? Or should I want it? The people in the kingdom had done nothing to me. If anything, they lost so much for me. Yet the people within the palace that had been another question. One had fought so hard she frightened the people whom she was supposed to adore. Then the other that was so blinded by hurt, he’d destroy the innocent. There was just too much to think about.

I let my gaze wander to the fresh blooms that filled the room. They were arranged on the dresser and beside the crib. They were not the usual choice for a nursery. The camellias fit. The snowdrops did not. Their pale bells hung low, draping the room in white tears. Even in this memory, I could smell the green bite of their stems and the faint, sweet trail they left behind.

That’s when it clicked, I was back in the King and Queen’s castle. If this wasn’t the same room I’d seen before, it was close. My heart skipped a beat as her screams echoed in my memory. That dreadful siren of a scorned mother. Every night since that first memory, it was the first thing I had heard before falling asleep. That scream. I forced it down before panic could take over.

The mist stood motionless by the door, waiting. Its shadowed head tilted to the side as if studying the panic on my features. It didn’t move to calm me, but it also didn’t judge. Shaking the terror away, I stepped toward him, but he raised a hand, commanding me to stay. I wanted to close the distance, to step into whatever comfort he was, because he felt like an extension of myself. But I obeyed.

Rewarded for my patience, Eliza burst into the room, a baby in her arms. Victor was close behind with servants trailing. Eliza, my mother, wore a quiet resolve. Fragile. It could crack at any second. He, on the other hand, radiated joy, the kind that lit his features and reached his eyes. It was such an imbalanced sight. I wasn’t even truly there, and I felt it in the room.

Pushing back her chestnut-colored curls with one hand, Eliza was the first to speak. “Leave us with our child. I’ll call for you when I’m ready to retire.” There was an iciness in the way she stared at the two women. The look she gave them made it clear disobedience wasn't an option. The servants didn’t even think to speak. They slipped out, and she shut the door, sealing us in.

Eliza crossed to a rocking chair and sank into it, cradling the infant. Once they were away from prying eyes, it felt like some of her nervousness had left her. That fragrance she shared with Victor ebbed through the room, easing the baby in her arms. “She’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

Following her, Victor stood behind the chair. He rested both of his hands on her shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “She is,” he murmured. Before he spoke again, he leaned over her to kiss the little girl's forehead. “Maybe Rosalie will help heal some of what you lost with Starvos.”

For a moment, they looked like a happy family. Like a real one. I didn’t know how I should feel about it. I wanted my mother to have love. I didn’t want her to be that screaming woman I saw in that first memory. Yet, a part of me didn’t want this either. Victor shouldn’t look that happy, but was that selfish of me to think? He didn’t deserve his heartbreak either.

With the mention of my name, Eliza’s eye snapped to him, burning, not with desire, but with fury. There was no doubt that I was still a sore spot. Was it wrong that I wanted that? Not her hurt but her passion. Her voice grew low as she spoke this time. “I will never forget the injustices done to us. To me. You keep asking me to forget, but I won’t. I can’t.” She shook off his hand, clearly no longer wanting his touch.

The baby stirred at the sudden movement, a soft whimper escaping her. I hadn’t fully focused on her until then, but the moment she cried, something in me, older than this form, reached for her. I wanted to soothe her. She deserved to be shielded from the storm she’d been born into. But here I knew I was useless.

“Rosalie holds part of my heart, and I love her with everything I have, but one child cannot mend what’s been shattered,” Eliza said, fingers threaded through the baby’s soft hair. It wasn’t malicious, but it was meticulous, like she spent time counting the hairs from the root. “She eases the ache, yes. But my heart will never be whole until our son is returned.” Even as an infant, Rosalie’s hair was thick and healthy. She mirrored Eliza almost perfectly, except for the color: a soft ashen brown like Victor’s, not the deep chestnut she and I shared.

Frustration leaked from his pores as he looked down at her with disbelief. This conversation seemed to drag at his guilt and his morals, but also his love for her. “You cannot keep chasing every kingdom. You need rest,” Victor snapped. “I’ll send my guards to open a portal to Bailiwick tonight, but you will stay here. You gave birth four weeks ago.” The command rang harsh, but even I could hear the fear beneath it; he was frayed to threads.