Chapter 1- Test of loyalty
Of all things in heaven and every realm, why did it have to rain?
It had been raining for days now—or at least it felt that way. Alarielle Vesper Thornbrier sat huddled near the low-burning hearth inside a cramped fae cottage, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of ash and lavender. The chill in her bones hadn’t gone away since they got here. The wooden walls creaked with every gust of wind, and the steady patter of rain against the thatched roof had become an endless, maddening rhythm.
The village was small, tucked between ancient trees and half-hidden by enchantments, the kind only the oldest fae could see through. Two days ago, they had stumbled into it after the ambush.
She still remembered the chaos clearly.
They had only split up to scout. But fae soldiers had lain in wait like shadows. Blades glinting, voices shouting. Then smoke bombs, enchanted nets, the flash of steel and spellfire. It all happened too fast.
Now, Kalipso, Nathan, and Raphael were somewhere out there—alive, she hoped—while she, Sylas, Kael, Lydia and Nimya were holed up in this place, surrounded by mistrustful villagers and barely tolerated thanks to Nimya’s ability to commune with the old roots.
Alarielle stared into the fire, her eyes unfocused, jaw tense. The longer they stayed here, the more uneasy she felt..
Behind her, the wooden floor creaked.
Sylas.
She didn’t need to look to know it was him. She could feel his presence now, almost instinctively—like a heartbeat beside her own. His shadows never fully left her side anymore, always curled subtly around her like protective smoke.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmured, crouching beside her. His cloak was soaked, dripping water onto the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. His crimson eyes flickered with worry despite the soft smile on his lips.
“They should’ve returned by now,” Alarielle said, her voice low.
“I know.” Sylas’s hand found hers beneath the blanket. “We’ll find them.”
Kael’s voice called from the next room, “Only if we don’t drown first! The roof’s leaking, by the way. Thought you’d want to know.”
Alarielle closed her eyes, letting out a slow, shaky breath.
“How far are we?” Alarielle asked, her voice barely rising above the crackle of the fire.
She’d only been to a handful of places in the Fae realm during her childhood here. Alina had never taken her to the capital. The Crystal City. The crown jewel of the realm. The city that sat at the heart of the Fae lands, brilliant and revered, cloaked in mystery and rumors.
Alina had always warned her. “It’s corrupt,” she’d whisper, her voice filled with disdain. “The Fae there are cold and cruel. They smile with daggers behind their teeth. Promise you gold and bury you in ice.”
But despite the warnings, or maybe because of them, Alarielle had always wondered.
She’d imagined it as a child—soaring towers gleaming like sunlight caught in glass, domes that shimmered like dew, streets paved in crystal veins that lit up under moonlight. She had imagined walking there freely, cloaked in wonder, not fear. A fantasy. That’s all it had been.
And now, they were heading straight into its heart.
Sylas turned his hand, palm up, revealing the faint silvery lines of the map Sylvia had etched into his skin. The magic pulsed gently beneath his flesh, forming pathways and markers only visible to those it was meant for. He studied it carefully before answering.
“If we fade at the right angle and time it with the wind currents,” he murmured, “we’ll be at the city’s outer border by nightfall tomorrow.”
“That close?” Kael asked from where he lay sprawled near the fire, one hand behind his head. “Good. I’d like to sleep somewhere that doesn’t smell like rotting cabbage and wet faery dust.”
Nimya, perched near the window, shot him a look. “The Fae here allowed us to stay when no one else would. Show some respect.”
“I’m just saying,” Kael drawled, “if this is what hospitality looks like in the countryside, I can’t wait to see what the ‘civilized’ City has to offer.”
Alarielle didn’t respond. Her mind was far away, already picturing the spires, the glow, the judging gazes she was sure would follow her every step.
She was here now not as the outcast girl the fae had once whispered about. Not as am apprentice or shadow. But as the daughter of Princess Illiana. The granddaughter of Drakon. The heir to something more than just suffering. Her scars no longer hidden under a cloak but worn like an armour.
“Can we do it in the rain? Although I could travel in the rain, I believe you might have difficulty?” Nimya asked, her voice light but her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she looked toward Sylas.
“I can,” Sylas replied without missing a beat. He leaned against the wooden beam of the cottage, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t know about the wimp in the next room though.”
There was a thump, followed by Kael’s voice, muffled but clearly offended. “I heard that, you blood-sucking trash king!”
Sylas smirked.
Alarielle sighed, brushing back a damp strand of her hair as the sound of rain intensified against the windows. “We should leave soon. The longer we wait, the harder it might be to get through the without alerting anyone.”
“Even in this storm?” Nimya asked, arching a brow.
“Storm or not, we don't have time to sit around.” Lydia who was sitting across Nimya responded.
Sylas pushed off the beam, and set next to Alarielle. “Then we go at first light. Rain or not. I’ll protect you from it.”
“You mean Kael,” Lydia added with a smirk.
“Sure,” Sylas drawled. “He can ride on my back like a baby bat.”
“Again, I heard that!” Kael shouted from the next room.
Alarielle couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as she went to lie on the makeshift bed of straw. Sylas followed her a moment later, wrapping his arm securely around her waist and pulling her against him until her back rested snugly against his chest.
“Is it okay to leave them and go?” she whispered into the dimness, her voice tinged with worry. “What if they come and we’re not here?”
“Raphael is one of the best hunters to exist,” Sylas murmured into her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. “Nathan is the best tracker. And kalypso can do… witchy stuff. I’m sure they’ll catch up to us.”
Alarielle snorted softly. “Witchy things. Very specific, Your Majesty.”
He grinned, the curve of it brushing against her skin. “I’m known for my poetic vocabulary.”
“You’re known for being full of yourself.”
“And yet, you still think I'm great.”
She let out another quiet laugh and turned slightly so she could see him over her shoulder. “You feel warm to me now.”
“That’s one of my best qualities,” Sylas said, his tone mock-serious. “Right up there with stabbing monsters, fading through realms, and loving you.”
Alarielle smiled as she felt like her heart did a full blackflip in her chest at that statement.
A hand clamped over Alarielle’s mouth, and she jolted awake, eyes wide with panic. But before she could scream or struggle, Sylas’s face came into view, tense and alert. He pressed a finger to his lips, silently urging her to stay quiet.
Her heart pounded as he quickly covered her with straw, whispering a barely audible incantation under his breath. The moment the words left his mouth, Alarielle’s limbs locked into place—her body frozen as if held by invisible chains.
She wanted to scream, to thrash against the magic, but all she could do was listen… and wait.
An explosion shattered the silence outside.
The walls of the cottage trembled from the force of it, bits of dust and wood raining down. The door groaned under pressure but held. Alarielle’s pulse thundered in her ears as booted feet thudded against the wet ground just beyond the threshold.
“The vampire pricks are in there. She must be there too,” a rough male voice growled.
It sounded close. Too close.
Alarielle’s breath hitched, her magic stirring deep within her.
She couldn’t see Sylas anymore, but she felt his presence nearby.
More crashes and sharp thuds echoed through the cottage. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled Alarielle’s ears like a chorus. She strained to hear, her body still locked beneath the straw.
Then she heard it.
A voice she should never have heard again.
Thalorine.
“Where is the bitch? Don’t try to play any tricks, vampire. You’re trapped here.”
That voice—its oily smugness, its cruel confidence—made her blood run cold. Her breath caught in her throat. She had killed him. She remembered killing him. She had mutilated him in that dungeon, left him in a pool of his own blood. Then how was he alive?
Panic clawed at her chest. Her heart raced as dark possibilities began to spiral in her mind. Had he been brought back? Was he ever really dead?
“You have a witch that’s helping you. Who is it?” Sylas’s voice cut through the rising tension like a blade. Calm. Cold. Collected. The voice of a king facing his enemies with unshaken resolve.
Thalorine laughed, a twisted sound. “Your court isn’t very loyal to you after all, Vampire.”
“You reek,” Kael’s voice snapped from the corner, his tone laced with his usual sarcasm. “What happened to you? Your ugliness is making the atmosphere dull.”
Alarielle almost smiled. Almost. But then Thalorine’s next words sent a chill straight to her bones.
“Where’s that bitch sister of yours? Last time, my fun with her was cut short.”
There was venom in his voice—sadistic and gleeful. Alarielle’s stomach churned.
Then Sylas spoke again, low and sharp as a blade. “Where is Kalypso?”
And then, impossibly, heartbreakingly—
“I’m here,” Kalypso’s voice replied from outside. Quiet. Guilt-ridden. Shattered. “I’m sorry, Sylas. It was either my life or hers. And they don’t care about us. Just her. Let her go.”
Silence.
“What did you say?” Sylas’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, heavy with fury. “Did you just tell me to let go of my mate? My mate?”
“Way to show your loyalty, Kally,” Kael added, his voice bitter and sharp. “Bite the hand that feeds you.”
“She... she is not right for you, Sylas! She is a monster just like them!” Kalipso shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. “You are being deceived! Just like last time. Magra—”
Thud.
Her voice cut off mid-sentence, silenced with bone-chilling finality.
A beat of silence.
Then came Thalorine’s mocking whistle, sharp and slow, cutting through the tension like a blade. “I guess you really do live up to your name, Ice King. Not a flinch before killing your own.”
Alarielle’s breath hitched beneath the straw.
Her heart pounded in her chest, her blood roaring in her ears. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to do something—but Sylas’s magic still held her in place, frozen like a statue.
She could feel his fury now—thick, suffocating, like frostbite on skin. Sylas had killed Kalipso. Whether out of rage or necessity, she didn’t know. But the silence that followed it was damning.
Then came Sylas’s voice—quiet. Dangerous. Like a storm waiting to break.
“She made her choice,” he said, cold and final.
“I warned them what would happen if anyone threatened my mate. I dont do well with misplaced loyalties.”
His power flared—a surge of shadows and crackling energy that shook the very air. Even hidden beneath the straw, Alarielle could feel it: the lethal promise of vengeance.
And somewhere inside that darkness, she felt it again.
Her magic.
It stirred like a beast waking from slumber, answering Sylas’s rage with a hunger of its own.
