Chapter 1
MORRIGAN
Candlelight catches the blue in Jason’s eyes, making him look more handsome than usual. His short brown hair is neatly styled, his smile wide enough to show the dimples I love, and his black T-shirt stretches across shoulders broad enough to make the pale skin beneath seem almost luminous. In five years in the mortal realm, he’s the only person I’ve met whose skin is as pale as mine.
Jason raises the champagne flute in the air, tipping the glass slightly towards me as he dips his head. “To you, baby girl. Who would have thought the lack of rental options in this town would lead to this?”
A smile blooms across my face. Such simple words, but they hold the weight of five years: five years since we met, five years in the mortal realm, five years of pretending my old life could not reach me. Growing up, every part of my future had been mapped out—my role, my clothes, the people I was allowed to speak to. Now, I can’t predict the next hour. Maybe Jason and I will go home and tear each other’s clothes off in celebration. Maybe we’ll wander the streets, breathing in crisp fall air before winter closes its icy hands around the city.
I pick up my glass and clink our flutes together before taking a small sip.
“Here you go,” the server says, stopping beside our table with a large round tray balanced over one shoulder. His all-black uniform reminds me, uncomfortably, of home. “Fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp.” He sets a plate of steaming noodles in front of me. Thick sauce coats the nest of noodles, with pockets of cream sitting between the yellowed strands. The aroma of garlic hits me as the fragrant steam floats up.
I look up at the server. “Thank you.”
He smiles back briefly before turning his attention to Jason. “And the steak with baked potatoes for the gentleman,” he says, placing the plate down in front of Jason.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
Jason smiles up at the man. “No, this is wonderful. Thank you.”
The server leaves us to our meals, but neither of us reaches for our forks. We only stare at each other, caught in the fragile glow of the moment. It feels impossible that five years have passed since we sat in the rental office of our apartment complex, arguing over the last available unit until Jason suggested we share it. I’d been hesitant at first—who wouldn’t be with the prospect of moving in with someone they didn’t know? But options are limited for a runaway eighteen-year-old with no job or knowledge of how to even find one.
“Whatever comes next, these last five years have been a whirlwind, and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
I pick up my fork, breaking the moment between us. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate him. I do. I love him, and I love the life we built here, but would I change anything if given the chance?
Probably.
We eat in comfortable silence, savouring every bite. We usually avoid restaurants like this, but Jason wanted tonight to feel special. According to him, ordering takeout and watching cable reruns doesn’t count.
When the server clears our plates, he replaces them with a thick slice of chocolate cake and two small spoons. Before he disappears, I’ve already scooped up a bite. My eyes close as rich chocolate melts across my tongue. Is there anything better than chocolate?
The answer is no.
My eyes meet Jason’s across the table. Jason is smiling at me, but he still hasn’t touched the dessert. I tilt my head, swallowing down the moist cake. “Are you okay?”
Jason’s smile brightens, but his eyes dart around the room as if he’s looking for an escape. “I’m a little nervous.”
I set my spoon down on the napkin. “Why are you nervous?”
He exhales and rises from the table. A fine tremor moves through his hands as he wipes them along the black fabric encasing his thighs.
What is happening right now?
Still scanning the room as if he expects someone to leap from the shadows, Jason pulls something from his pocket and drops to one knee. A small black box rests between his hands. Only then does he look at me.
A soft chime slices through the restaurant. The silver pendant around my neck warms as the sound grows louder. I stare at Jason, frozen. His eyes flick to the silver circle resting between my breasts, then back to my face.
“Your necklace is ringing.” His mouth moves, forming the words, but it’s like he’s speaking down a tunnel. The sound of my blood rushing through my ears drowns out everything.
My hand closes around the scathan, the normally cool metal hot with ether. I shoot to my feet. The chair crashes to the floor behind me, but I’m already weaving between tables toward the washrooms. People turn to stare—or maybe they don’t. I don’t have time to care.
Dread tightens my stomach. Not once since arriving in the mortal realm has my mother called, so why now?
I push through the bathroom door, lock it with one shaking hand, and yank the chain over my head with the other. The small silver disk hums with ether, still singing in my palm. I fumble with the clasp until, finally, the scathan opens. The top holds a mirror. The bottom holds a small, sharp needle.
Without wasting another moment, I press my thumb onto the needle, hissing at the pain. A bead of blood slides down the point, pooling in the hollow beneath it, before being absorbed.. The mirror ripples awake. I slip my thumb between my lips, the bitter tang of copper coating my tongue.
My mother’s face fills the mirror. Long black hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves. A glittering black crown sits upon her head, mocking me. If things went differently that night, that crown would be on my head. If that night had gone differently, the crown would be mine. Her skin is so pale it borders on translucent, blue veins visible beneath the surface. Her bright blue eyes are an unwelcome reminder of how different my own are—deep brown, almost black.
“What took you so long?” she asks, her stare piercing me from across realms.
“Mortals were everywhere.”
She leans forward, lips curling. “I don’t care. When I call, you answer.” Her gaze drops. “Perhaps you need a little motivation.” y mother’s gaze flicks downward as the image pans out to encompass her throne, and the man curled at her feet, his body wrapped around her legs. The man is naked, but thankfully, the way his body is curled on itself hides anything scandalous from view. Bruises paint his pale skin in cruel shades of purple and blue. His blonde curls are red with blood. My breath hitches in my throat as the promise of tears stings my eyes.
Oisín.
“What did you do?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes from his broken, bloodied body.
“I did nothing.”
“Then who?” I search the mirrored surface desperately, begging for a twitch of his fingers, the rise of his chest—anything to prove he is still alive.
“Aiden.” My eyes snap to hers. Aiden? My Aiden? No. Impossible. Why would he hurt someone like this? “He wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” she murmurs. “Or did you simply never see what he could become?”
My stomach twists.
“Oisín is merely… leverage,” she says lightly. “A reminder. Aiden wants you home.”
“I’m not going back.” My voice cracks, but I force the words out anyway. “Not for him. Not for you.”
She leans closer. “You will.” Her hand settles on Oisín’s head, fingers combing through his blood-streaked curls. He doesn’t flinch, and that twists my stomach harder than the bruises.
Is he one of her playthings now?
“You ran,” she says softly. “You hid. You played pretend among mortal filth.” Her fingers tighten in his hair. The muscles in his back ripple, but he makes no sound. His fingers trace up her calf as if to soothe her. “But you belong to me. To my court.”
Bile rises, not from her words, but from the way he tries to comfort her.
“I don’t belong to you.” I shake my head as the room seems to close in. I can’t go back. I can’t step into the Unseelie Court again. Not after that night.
“Refuse, and the next body I lay at my feet will be your little pet.”
My blood runs cold.
Her head tilts to the side, a small smile tipping her lips. “…Jason, isn’t it?”
My eyes lock onto hers. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You’ve been watching me.”
A quiet, humourless laugh. “Of course I have. You are the heir to the Unseelie Court. Did you truly believe I would let you rot among mortals without eyes on you?” Her lip curls. “You’re even more foolish than I thought. Return home, Morrigan, or I will drag you back by your hair.”
The mirror goes dark, leaving only my reflection. My heart slams against my ribs. Tears spill before I can stop them, dotting the compact’s surface.
I snap it shut and shove it into my bag.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Once my breathing steadies, I unlock the bathroom door and step back into the restaurant. Silverware clinks. Voices murmur. A soft melody plays in the background, obscene in its normalcy.
Jason sits at our table, turning the ring box over and over in his hands. The cheque book rests near the edge, the bill tucked inside.
Mother of all Darkness, what am I supposed to say? Sorry for interrupting your proposal and bolting to the bathroom. My mother, Queen of the Unseelie, called after years of silence and demanded I come home.
The urge to flee rushes through my veins. He isn’t looking at me. I could run now—leave the restaurant and keep going. But how far would I get before Mother Dearest found me? Would she drag me back herself and lock me in the cell beneath the Sidhe, the one she liked to keep me in as a child?
Does it even matter? What options do I have? Stay with Jason and risk his life, or return home and lie to the only man who loves me for myself, not the title attached to my name. I might not be in a cell anymore, but the crown feels just as confining as iron bars.
There is a third option—the most tempting and least practical. Run. Leave everything behind again. I did it once. I could do it again. But how long would it take them to find me? If Aiden needs me to return before he can take the throne, will the next call come from him? What will he do if he is willing to torture someone before speaking to me? And why now? Why not five years ago, when I first ran?
“Miss, are you okay?”
I jump, startled from my spiralling thoughts as a pretty blonde server stops in front of me, concern lifting her brows.
Heat rises to my cheeks. How long have I been standing here? My eyes flick to Jason, who’s now facing me, his brows furrowed.
I abandoned him mid-proposal. That isn’t something a couple recovers from. Then again, neither is leading a double life, so maybe recovery was never an option.
“Do you need me to call someone for you?”
I turn back to her, forcing what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m good, thank you.” Then I brush past her and return to Jason.
He stands as I approach, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe, searching for any physical explanation for why I fled at the worst possible moment.
“Can we go home?” I ask.
Jason swallows hard, his gaze flicking to my necklace before he nods. He wraps his hand around mine and leads me out of the restaurant. The ride home passes in a blur. Cars streak by. City lights flash across Jason’s profile as he steals glances at me, but everything feels distant, as if I am already slipping out of this world.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
His words pull at something inside me. I have to tell him. Waiting only makes the air thicker, the silence harder to breathe through.
“My mother called me.”
Jason glances at my necklace, then back to the road. I wait for the questions—how my necklace rang, why I ran to the bathroom without my phone—but he says nothing. He only drives and waits for me to explain.
“I need to go back home.”
“When?”
I nibble my bottom lip. “As soon as we get back to the apartment.”
Jason’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. The leather creaks under his grip. “So, you take a call from your mother—a woman you’ve never spoken to or about since we’ve been together—in the middle of my proposal, and now you need to leave immediately.” He shoots me a look. “Do I have that right, Morrigan?”
“Yes.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
Jason scoffs and shakes his head. I swallow my irritation. I have no right to it. If our positions were reversed, I’d be furious too.
“Are you leaving because I proposed?”
“Absolutely not.” I lean across the console and rest my hand on his bicep. And that much is true. I’m not sure I could have said yes—not when I’m already bound by contract to another male—but his proposal is not the reason I’m leaving. I hate that he even thinks it could be.
Jason turns his head, taking his eyes off the road briefly. “Say you will marry me when you come back.”
My fingers knot in the green cable-knit dress Jason bought me last year for my birthday because it makes my red curls stand out. Now the fabric feels tight and suffocating, as if the thick knitting itself blames me for hurting him.
“I wish more than anything I hadn’t taken that call.”
Jason tenses underneath my touch but doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I.
