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Ifling my arm out. The other side of the bed is cold.

If you can even call this a bed. Every single spring digs into my back. The mattress sends up a wild creak if I so much as twitch, and the pillows are flat as a saucer.

Yet somehow the sofa bed—as it’s apparently called—in Rosalina’s cottage is more comfortable than any feather bed I’ve ever slept in. Especially in the middle of the night, when I can lay my head on Kel’s chest.

He’s always gone before the sun rises. He started doing it two days after we arrived in Orca Cove, and in the months since, he’s left every morning before dawn. It wouldn’t be hard to follow him, but we’re all dealing with this grief in our own way. Maybe his requires space.

I stretch and blink my eyes open. Rosalina’s cottage is small, even more so with eight people living here, all of us cramped inside the log walls. The fire has dimmed to smoldering embers, and Dayton stirs in his blankets. He’s taken to sleeping in front of the hearth like a golden retriever.

The patchwork armchair Farron claimed is empty. The kettle whistles. I stand, shivering as my feet touch the wooden floor. No matter how hot the fire burns, it never quite chases the chill from this place. Even in spring, the cold mist creeps into every corner.

It must have rained last night. The pots and pans we’ve scattered throughout the cottage are full. If the roof springs another leak, we might as well be living in Aerantheis.

I pad to the kitchen and see Farron pouring hot water over a tea bag in a clay mug and swirling a spoon in a second cup that reads kiss the archaeologist. It smells of coffee.

I lean against the doorframe. “Did you get any sleep?”

Farron looks up. His auburn hair is wayward, and there are purple bags beneath his eyes. “Maybe a few hours,” he says. “Not bad tonight. Only one nightmare. Do you want some tea?”

I nod and Farron grabs another cup from the cupboard, this one in the shape of a little orange fox.

The rhythmic sound of breaking wood sounds from outside, and I pull back the kitchen curtains to see Ezryn in the yard, chopping wood for the fire. The Prince of Spring has taken to sleeping in the rocking chair on the porch. He claims the fresh air helps him sleep, but I also think he likes to keep an eye on Wrenley, who has perched herself in Rosalina’s old tree house.

Already, sweat drips down Ezryn's neck, and he’s rolled his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying the straining muscles. Ezryn hasn’t worn his helm here, using the creed instead of following his parents’ strict example. To him, his mate’s family is his family. He can show his face to us.

“Here, Cas.” Farron hands me a warm cup of peppermint tea.

I follow him back into the living room where he kneels before the fire and weaves his hands through Dayton’s hair. Dayton blinks up at him.

“Good morning, my love,” Farron says and passes Dayton the coffee. The Summer Prince gives a faint smile and sits up.

Farron goes to his armchair and collapses into it, where if the past month is any indication, he’ll spend the day staring at the wall.

I place my tea on the end table, not bothering with a coaster. The old wood is already full of water rings. I grab Kel’s shirt and throw it over my bare chest and sit cross-legged on the bed, glancing behind the couch at the two closed doors.

Rosalina’s room and Anya’s room.

I don’t expect them to open until at least noon, if at all.

Our first week in Orca Cove, I delivered all Rosalina’s and Anya’s meals directly, returning to clean up the picked-at trays.

It’s been like this since we arrived several months ago: everyone wandering around as ghosts. Exchanging the odd word about practical things. We don’t talk about what happened. We’re no better than humans, speaking as if the fae realm doesn’t exist at all.

“What a sad lot we are,” Farron murmurs, following my gaze.

Dayton sips at his coffee, then falls back to the ground with a thump. “It’s like when we were first cursed. This fog of nothing.”

I remember that time, right after Anya cursed them. They were rabid, half-feral, staying in their wolf forms even during the day. I watched them from the shadows. How could I not? Those first few months, they were more likely to tear each other’s heads off than anything else.

Now their beasts are gone. Their magic is gone. Mine too is a whisper, barely recovered after Anya almost turned me human. I don’t know if my power will ever be the same.

And I’ve lost my ability to create briars.

Prince of Thorns. Prince of Nothing.

But I’d rather be Prince of Nothing than the monster my mother wanted me to become.

“I think you’re wrong, Dayton,” I say.