Page 46 of Vines of the Underworld

To my surprise, he leads me outside, and we navigate a narrow gravel path that snakes between the toppled marble statues and the night iris flowerbeds. I startle when he grabs my hand and leads me between the vines, away from the castle. Light wisps dance over our heads, luring us deeper into the forest.

“Where are you taking me?” I try to hide the hesitation in my voice.

“To my secret garden, Celeste.” The boyish grin on his handsome face is so infectious, that suddenly, we are two kids up to some mischief in the woods.

My jaw hits the floor when we reach a clearing. It’s not too far from the castle, because the decay, which has destroyed the vines in this realm, hasn’t reached it. I am relieved we are in the safe perimeter of the protective wards.

Shimmering night lilies climb the ruins of an ancient palace. Filigree arches glow in the ghostly light of the Underworld; delicate murals and crumbling mosaic floors tell a story of splendor long gone.

A table, loaded with steaming plates and drinks, drenched in candlelight, stretches before us. This almost looks like a date.

“What is this place?” I turn to Dairell and catch him watching my reaction carefully.

“It was my father’s home, a favorite place when I was young.” He lets go of my hand and pulls a chair. “Join me, Celeste.”

We fill our plates. Bottles float across the table to our empty glasses. Crickets and some eerie night birds serenade us.

“So, your father is from around here?” I’m allergic to small talk; I always avoid the shallow and forced exchange of irrelevant information. So, my interest is genuine.

He carefully arranges his wings and leans back in the tall, carved chair, a glass of wine in his hand. Seeing him in his inky open shirt in the warm candlelight makes me salivate.

“My father was a Fae from the Underworld, the closest our people had to a King. We look slightly different than the Fae from the surface,” he twitches a wing. “When my mother, a high elf sorceress, was exiled here, it was love at first sight.” His gaze drifts into the distance. “A beautiful love story until my mother’s lust for power took over. She consumed him. Destroyed him.” I sip my drink quietly, realizing the prince is not the beautiful, heartless monster I believed him to be.

“My last conversation with my mother was here.” He looks around, sadness darkening his features. “I tried to bring her to her senses. What a young, naïve fool I was. She died at my hands, Celeste,” his voice breaks, and I dig my fingers into the wooden armrest; so heartbreaking his pain, and so frightening the revelation, “but the damage was done. She had summoned the Siphons. Death was upon all Faëheim.”

His sage eyes delve into mine, studying my reaction.

I act impulsively, walking over to him and pulling him in. His head rests on my breasts, and I run my fingers through his soft hair.

“I failed, and I have lived with this guilt for decades, Celeste. It was all my fault. I couldn’t stop her.” His hot tears wet my skin under the black lacy dress. How does it feel to live with such a secret for so long?

“That’s why I will do my best to make it right. And you know what’s funny? That the first one who hears my story is human. That my only ally is human. My only hope is human.” He looks up to me, and my heart shatters. Seeing the cruel Fae, the most feared mage, the mighty prince suffer like any of us. And there is nothing I can do to ease his pain.

“Thank you for sharing this, Dairell,” I whisper, kissing his head softly. Oh, this maddening scent of night herbs and secrets! “I might be just a mortal, but I will try to help,”

“Just a mortal?” He shoots up to his feet and towers over me, cradling my face in his large hands. “You are the one who didn’t give up on saving all Faëheim while the Hunters schemed to use you to protect their own lands! You refused to kill a captured Fae, even when your life was at stake! And you are here with me, helping me purge this evil from this world!” Fire burns in his irises, and now I know. I am more than a weapon and a depot of magical energy to him. My eyes well up. Before I can ruin the moment with some stupid comment, his lips crash into mine.

This kiss is not a struggle for domination; it’s tender and pure, a confession and a cautious invitation.

It deepens, and he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me to the soft grass. He lays me down gently and covers me with tiny kisses. I relish the weight of his body, the hard curve of his chest, the ripple of his stomach muscles under his silk shirt.

He takes me roughly, desperately, hastily, craving oblivion and forgiveness. When my magic pierces the forest’s darkness, I scream his name.

Our limbs tangled, we lie on the grass carpet.

“Do you miss your home, Celeste?” the prince suddenly asks. I nod, and with a wave of his hand, he creates the perfect illusion of the starry sky above us. I can even recognize the constellations. The Great Bear, the Northern Star…

I chuckle and playfully kiss his shoulder.

“Why did you say that tomorrow everything changes, Dairell?” I ask him when we return to our dinner.

“Because we need allies to pull this off, Celeste.” He smirks cryptically.

Indeed, the palace feels more crowded than usual the following day.

Black Guardians march perfectly aligned, and delegations of dark elves make themselves at home. Winged Fae resembling Dairell in stature and appearance roam the halls, and I guess these are his people—the secretive staff who take care of the prince’s modest household.

I find Dairell and a familiar white-haired, broad-shouldered silhouette in the throne room. A wave of relief flushes over me. Cyrell is pretty much alive, carried away in a muffled conversation with the prince.

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