Page 42 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“He arrivedyesterday.” Nevander struggles to control himself. Panic won’t help Seren. “He should have had his entire childhood to learn the rules.”
The shadows soften, and Primrose sinks onto her hindquarters.I warned Haelwen against using the changeling spell. But what’s done is done—to Seren, and to you.
She wields compassion like a dagger.
Nevander lowers his blade. “Is he safe?”
Primrose huffs a laugh.That is a complicated word.
“Not that complicated.” With tremendous force of will, Nevander sheathes his sword. “Let me in. I can’t think for him, but I can stay by his side.”
Seconds tick past as Primrose considers. Seconds in which Seren is alone in a great beast’s haven, facing an unknown lesson. Seconds in which thorns twist around Nevander’s heart.
You may join him for the second test,Primrose says at last, dark eyes glinting.If he passes the first.
15
The Realms of Fae
“Nevander?”Serenshouts,whirling.Meadowgrass whispers around his calves, and blossoming trees blur into the distance. “Primrose?”
Only birdsong answers. The melody is eerie, without source or direction.
Seren jumps at a figure—but it’s only a broken tree, jagged shards of wood softened by moss. Fighting for calm, Seren twists the new carryhold around his finger. If only he’d put something useful in it, but he hardly expected to be transported… wherever this is.
Not Wymond, or any place in the mortal realm. The trees are too strange, with smooth, iridescent bark. Spikes of bell-like pink flowers rise nearly as tall as Seren, and they chime out of tunewith the wind.
The place is unmistakably fae, but not Summer. Seren isn’t sure how, but he’s certain he’s not home.
Unless this isn’t real.
He agreed to a demonstration. The teacher must be present in some capacity. Seren picks through the meadow. The broken tree is the most jarring thing in sight, so he may as well start there.
“I suppose this is my fault for agreeing so quickly,” Seren says aloud. He has practice sounding cheerful and confident. “Nevander probably thinks I’m an idiot. But now that I’m here, we should get started.”
Something gleams atop the broken tree. A crown made of pale iridescent metal. Pink, purple, and green shift along the surface, and no moss has grown over it. Seren reaches, but before he can touch it, drifting petals skirl past. A voice rises with them.
Myria is a constellation of realms, each separate yet dancing together.Primrose’s words echo from the broken tree, then dart across the meadow.Prima, the realm of mortals. Elsewhere, which slithers between the rest.
Seren follows her voice to a hulking, bear-like boulder. Another crown gleams on its craggy head.
The realm of dreams. The realms of fae.
“Is this one of the other realms?” Seren asks, piecing things together. The meadow looks like the mural. “Is this Spring?”
A memory of Spring,Primrose replies through the boulder.You are in my haven.
Nevander explained havens as a magical private room. This is a lot bigger than a room. Seren wishes Nevander were here now. Frustrating shields and all.
“Does that mean it’s a vision?” Seren asks. “Or is it real?”
Primrose’s laugh arcs away from the boulder.You speak as though visions and reality are two different things.
Maybe Seren hasn’t left. Maybe his body stands in the library, eyes glazed over. Except exhaustion lingers with physical force. The breeze tickles his blue hair, and the scent of flowers pools in his lungs. His shoulder hurts beneath the scars.
“Whatever it is, I want out,” Seren says, though that truth is incomplete.
He does want out. He isn’t powerful or brave enough for this. But he wants to learn. This is his history, too.
