The night was heavy with silence, but my mind refused to follow suit. I sat by the window of my chambers, staring out at the shadowed expanse of the dark realm, my thoughts racing. The faint glow of the twin moons cast an eerie light over the jagged peaks and swirling mists, a landscape as alien as it was hauntingly beautiful. But I couldn’t appreciate it tonight.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the gauntlet. I saw the blood, the bodies crumpled to the ground, the flash of weapons, and the raw, unforgiving magic tearing through the arena. The violence wasn’t just a spectacle—it was a stark reminder of what these people were capable of.

And what I had willingly aligned myself with.

I hugged my knees to my chest, resting my chin atop them, trying to sort through the storm of emotions swirling within me. Back in my realm, I had seen my share of battles. I’d seen my people fight, bleed, and die in defense of our lands. But this… this was different.

The dark fae didn’t just fight to survive. They fought to dominate, to win, to prove their strength. It was brutal, relentless, and devoid of mercy. Watching them in the gauntlet had been like witnessing the raw, unfiltered essence of their power—and I knew that power was precisely what we needed.

I shivered despite the warmth of the room. The Lycans were no ordinary threat. Their curse made them nearly invincible, their hunger for destruction insatiable. My people had tried to fight them with honor and strategy, but we’d been outmatched every time. We needed warriors who could meet the Lycans' savagery with an equal—or greater—ferocity.

And no one embodied that more than the dark fae.

I stood, pacing the room, the soft fabric of my dress brushing against my legs. My thoughts were a tangled mess, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear: the alliance was necessary. I couldn’t afford to let my fear or my moral hesitations get in the way. My people needed the dark fae’s strength, their ruthlessness, their willingness to do what others couldn’t.

I stopped in front of the mirror, my reflection illuminated by the faint moonlight. My face looked pale, my emerald eyes shadowed with exhaustion and doubt. For a moment, I barely recognized myself. The girl staring back at me wasn’t the same person who had left the palace only days ago.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy, I reminded myself. You knew sacrifices would have to be made.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

I turned away from the mirror, moving back to the window. My gaze drifted to the horizon, where the faint glow of the gauntlet arena still lingered. Somewhere out there, Drakaris was likely celebrating his victory, basking in the glory of his win. His power had been undeniable, his skill unmatched. He had proved, without a doubt, that he was a leader worth following.

But he and his people are genuinely more terrifying and dangerous than I had even considered. Watching them in the arena wielding weapons and magic with such accuracy and force. My best warriors wouldn't stand a chance if the dark realm truly wanted to take over the island.

I pressed a hand to my chest, taking a steadying breath. I reminded myself again that they’re exactly who we need, this time with more conviction. The dark fae could do what my people couldn’t—they could fight the Lycans on their level without hesitation or restraint. And if it meant aligning myself with them, then so be it. I would do whatever it took to save my people, even if it meant walking into the heart of darkness itself.

But I couldn’t let myself get swept away by their power. I had to stay grounded, to remember why I was here and what I was fighting for. I had to find a way to balance their strength with my sense of justice.

A week had passed since the gauntlet, yet I still hadn’t seen so much as a shadow of Drakaris’s son. The elusive figure who was supposed to be my future husband—remained nothing more than a mystery. I had tried to bring it up with Sylvain once, but her knowing smirk and cryptic comments made me regret asking. Drakaris himself had only offered a vague promise that all would be revealed in time.

It was maddening. They wouldn’t even tell me his name.

This morning, however, my attention was pulled away from that mystery. I was preparing to leave the dark realm to return to Crescent City. My heart ached at the thought of returning to my court. Not because I missed it—if anything, I dreaded facing my council and their judgmental stares. But this trip was necessary. My people needed reassurance, and I needed to show them that I still had a firm grip on the situation.

The air in my chambers was thick with tension as I packed a few belongings into a small bag. A soft knock on the door drew my attention, and I turned to see Quill leaning casually against the frame. His tall figure seemed even more imposing in the morning light, his dark hair slightly tousled as though he hadn’t bothered to fix it after training. His ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Ready to go, lightness?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

I rolled my eyes at the nickname, though I was secretly grateful for his levity. "Almost. Are you sure you’re up for this, Quill? Spending days surrounded by my court and their endless politics doesn’t sound like your idea of fun."

He stepped into the room, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t forget everything I’ve been teaching you." He gestured toward the pile of books and scrolls he’d insisted I study during our lessons.

"Yes, because learning the intricacies of your language wasn’t enough," I muttered, shoving a weighty tome into my bag. "You had to throw in all the history and customs as well."

Quill’s grin widened. "You’ll thank me when you catch people trying to lie to you."

I groaned though I couldn’t deny that he was right. The dark fae’s history books were far more informative than the books I read back home. Journals and scrolls that gave full details of the curse they used on Vexor and how they were interrupted during a part. That interruption caused a rift in our magic, which led to the creation of dark fae.

As I finished packing, Quill stepped closer, his tone turning more serious. "You ready?"

I nodded, though I could do little to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest. "They’re not going to make it easy for me. My council, my people… they don’t understand what I’ve seen here, what I’ve learned. They still think we can fight the Lycans on our own."

"Then show them they’re wrong," he said simply. "You’re stronger than you think, Little Light. You’ve proven that already."

I gave him a small smile, grateful for his confidence in me. "Thank you, Quill."

"Don’t mention it," he said, flashing another grin. "Now, let’s get going before Sylvain decides to port in and drag us there herself."

The thought of Sylvain’s exasperated expression made me chuckle, and for a moment, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.

Breakfast in the dining hall seemed to pass far too quickly, much like the days leading up to this morning. I was seated at a central table with Quill, Sylvain, and a few other fae who had begrudgingly warmed up to my presence since the gauntlet. This realm had a strange sense of camaraderie, one that didn’t follow the rigid decorum I was about to return to. Their laughter and banter echoed through the hall.

Quill leaned back in his chair beside me, casually popping a grape into his mouth as he observed the room with his usual smirk. “You’re quiet this morning,” he said, his voice low enough not to carry past our table.

“I’m just taking it all in,” I replied, sipping the warm, spiced tea they served here. It was leagues better than the bitter brews of my realm, and I savored every sip.

“Careful,” Sylvain quipped from across the table. “If you stare too long, they might think you’re plotting something.”

I was about to retort when a commotion drew my attention to a table a few rows down.

“You ate all the ham?!” A loud, burly voice yelled.

One of the younger fae, his hair a wild mop of dark curls, stood abruptly, a half-eaten ham leg in hand. His mischievous grin was infectious as he called out to another fae at a table across the hall.

“Oi, Varek! Catch!” Without waiting for a response, he hurled the ham through the air with an impressive amount of force.

The entire hall seemed to pause, all eyes following the trajectory of the flying ham. Varek, a broad-shouldered fae with a perpetual scowl, looked up just in time to see it hurtling toward him. With reflexes honed from centuries of combat, he caught it mid-air, his expression shifting from surprise to begrudging amusement.

“Nice throw, Lorne,” Varek called back, raising the ham in a mock salute before tearing a bite from it.

The hall erupted into laughter, the sound rich and unrestrained. Even Sylvain chuckled, though she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink. Quill, on the other hand, was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

I couldn’t help but smile. The sheer absurdity of the moment was a welcome reprieve from the weight of my thoughts. These people—so fierce, so dangerous—had a surprising capacity for levity. It was a side of them I never expected to see, and it made them feel… real. I am finding myself more drawn to their lifestyle.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Quill said, nudging me with his elbow. “If you start throwing food in your court, I doubt they’ll find it as amusing. But I’m game to try it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I said, shaking my head. “Though it’s good to know that you’ll have my back.”

Quill grinned. “Oh, absolutely. I would love to see the look on those stiffs faces.”

“Noted,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upward.

As the laughter in the hall began to settle, I found myself glancing around at the faces of those present. Each of them is capable of unimaginable destruction. And yet, they were also a people united by more than just power. There was a bond here, forged through centuries of shared struggles and victories.

I realized then that this was exactly what my court lacked. Not just strength, but unity. Trust. Perhaps that was why I felt so drawn to this place despite its many dangers.

“Come on,” Quill said, rising from his seat and stretching lazily. “We’d better get moving before Drakaris decides to summon us with a blast of magic.”

I nodded, finishing the last of my tea before standing. The weight of the day ahead pressed against my chest.

Sylvain's portal shimmered and pulsed around us, casting the world into a swirl of silvery light. In an instant, the dark realm’s dining hall vanished, replaced by the grand marble entryway of the palace in Crescent City. I stumbled slightly as the solid ground of my realm came into focus, the air here feeling lighter and cleaner than in the dark realm. Yet, there was a weight to it—a reminder of the pressures that awaited me here.

"Home sweet home," Sylvain said, her voice laced with sarcasm as she glanced around, her arms crossed. She never lingered in my court longer than necessary, and for good reason. The air of judgment and tradition practically choked anyone who didn’t belong.

I glanced down at the tiny creature nestled in my arms. Quill, now disguised as a sleek black cat, blinked up at me with his emerald-green eyes. His feline form was flawless, down to the twitch of his whiskers and the glossy sheen of his fur.

"Remember," I murmured under my breath, "We can’t risk anyone finding out you’re here, not yet anyway."

Quill stretched lazily, his tiny claws lightly brushing against my arm. "Relax, Little Light," his voice echoed in my mind, his tone laced with amusement. "I’m not exactly planning to waltz into your council chambers and announce myself. Although, that would be entertaining."

I shot him a warning look, which only made him purr louder. Sylvain raised an eyebrow at our silent exchange but said nothing.

Then the shouts started.

“Hold it right there!” a guard barked.

I barely had time to blink before a dozen guards surrounded us, their weapons drawn and expressions tense. The clink of armor echoed ominously, and the grand hall that once felt like home now seemed hostile and cold.

Sylvain didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her dark eyes scanning the guards with a bored expression, her hands resting casually on her hips. If anything, she looked like she was judging the symmetry of their formation.

“This is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Quill muttered, his voice low enough that only Sylvain and I could hear. “They act like you’ve brought a battalion of dark fae with you.”

“I did warn you,” Sylvain said lazily, glancing at me with a smirk. “Your fashion choice screams ‘villainous accomplice.’”

I glanced down at my dress, the dark, shimmering fabric marking me as someone who had just returned from the dark realm. It wasn’t exactly subtle. “It’s not my fault your seamstress is so good,” I muttered.

“Maybe you should’ve listened when I suggested a different color,” Sylvain quipped, her voice dripping with amusement.

The captain of the guard stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Your Majesty,” he said, his tone wary. “You’ve been gone for over a week without any explanation. And now you return with… guests.”

“Guests?” Sylvain arched a brow, her lips curving into a sly grin. “That’s a generous term.”

“Stand down,” I said, lifting my chin. “There is no threat here.”

The guards hesitated, their eyes flicking to Sylvain, whose very presence radiated danger, and then to Quill, who was doing his best to appear unassuming as he cleaned a paw in my arms.

The captain’s gaze lingered on the black cat. “And… that?”

Quill looked up, his green eyes gleaming with disdain.

Sylvain snorted, clearly amused, while I groaned internally. “He’s just a cat,” I said quickly. “An early wedding gift.”

The captain frowned but reluctantly gestured for the guards to lower their weapons. They did so, though their tension didn’t dissipate.

“Thank you,” I said with a nod of gratitude.

As the guards returned to their posts, Quill muttered, “I can’t believe they didn’t bow. Do they not recognize authority when they see it?”

“They see a cat,” Sylvain said, smirking. “What do you expect?”

Quill’s tail flicked with indignation. “They’ll see more than a cat if they try anything.”