Page 74 of The Queen's Box

The food wasn’t like anything she’d had at World’s End. There was a glass bowl filled with iridescent berries that popped sweetly on the tongue. Thin slices of honeyed root draped over coiled greens. A cup of something pale and steaming, scented like cardamom.

“Eat,” Severine said. “You’ve traveled far. You must be hungry.”

Willow picked up a spoon without thinking, feeling very much as if she were in a dream. But even dream food never tasted like this. A curl of root vegetable dissolved on her tongue like spun sugar. A cluster of iridescent berries burst between her teeth, leaving a trace of peppered citrus that made her eyes sting. A sliver of meat—or something meat-like—filled her mouth with salt and smoke.

When Willow had eaten her fill and set down her spoon, Severine spoke.

“You came,” Severine said. “Thank the stars you came at last.”

“Of course,” Willow replied. “I came for Serrin.” Her chair scraped the floor as she rose, horrified to realize that she’d only now remembered why she was here.

“Where is he? I’d like to see him—right away, please!”

Severine exhaled. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

The food in Willow’s belly turned sour. “Why not?”

“He’s fading. Wasting away.”

Willow shook her head, confused. “No, that’s not possible. In my dreams, he wasn’t sick.”

“His mortal blood is poisoning him,” Severine said. “He is half-human, after all. Did you know? Half of him still belongs to your world. He needs your world’s sustenance. Here, in Eryth, he is slipping away.”

Willow felt herself slipping too, as if the stool beneath her had turned to an hourglass and she was made of sand, spilling through the narrow center.

“You are the only one who can save him, Willow,” Severine said. “I just hope it’s not too late.”

Her fingers curled around the armrests of the throne as she pushed herself up. “Come. You’ve traveled far enough for one day. Let me show you where you’ll sleep.”

Willow followed. Her limbs felt strange, as if Eryth’s gravity hadn’t fully taken hold.

Severine’s gown brushed the floor as she strode out of the throne room and down a new corridor. The palace opened around them, grand and uncanny. The walls shimmered, and gold-leaf vines threaded the ceiling. Mosaics of strange birds watched from the tiles.

Everywhere, the same boy appeared. He was painted on panels and carved in marble, pale-haired, moon-eyed, and beautiful.

Willow paused before one of the statues. “ItisSerrin,” she said, not sure where her uncertainty sprang from. “Isn’t it?” In the statue, he stood beneath an arch of ivy, his hand outstretched.

“Of course,” Severine said. “Why ask questions when you already know the answer?”

“Please, Severine, can’t I see him just for a moment? I won’t tire him out.”

“Sweet girl,” Severine said with a gentle smile. “Youwillsee him. But not yet.”

“When?”

Severine resumed walking. Willow fell in beside her.

“The magic of Eryth is delicate,” Severine said. “Rituals matter. Timing matters.” They passed through an arched hallway, and faeries of the court bowed low.

“It’s not easy for me to deny your requests—or his,” Severine continued. “A son’s pain is a mother’s pain, and my Serrin, he longs for you. He dreams of you just as you’ve dreamed of him.”

“Then why keep us apart?”

They turned down another hall. This one was softer, decorated not with portraits but with woven tapestries.

“It won’t be forever,” Severine said. “Only until the Mating Ceremony.”

TheMatingCeremony? Willow squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shake off her slowness, her sense of being always one step behind. Here she was... inEryth. It was real. All of it was real. But a Mating Ceremony?

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