Chapter One

        A piercing wail cut through the cavern, bouncing off the jagged walls in a relentless echo. It rippled through Elena’s bones, vibrating in her skull like a bell struck too hard. Her breath hitched. The air here was thick and damp with the coppery tang of blood. She blinked as her vision wavered from the shifting shadows around her.

       She stood in a tunnel that stretched long and narrow, carved deep into the earth. The flickering torchlight cast restless shapes against the rough stone, adding to her feeling of disconnection, like she wasn’t quite there.

       At the far end, wide ancient doors loomed. But it was what Elena saw at the foot of their iron reinforcements that made the acid creep up in her throat. A thick trail of blood smeared down the worn stone steps leading to them, seeping into the cracks and pooling where the ground dipped.

       “Elena.” The whisper coiled around her through the static hum in her ears, not from ahead or from behind, but from everywhere at once. She flinched. Another step, and her knees wavered beneath her, the world tilting, breaking apart like a poorly threaded illusion.

       Something was wrong.

       Time itself stuttered. She felt herself standing, yet the ground beneath her kept shifting. A blink, and the torches burned brighter. Another, and their glow dimmed to a dying ember. Her own heartbeat faltered, skipping, then racing, her chest tightening as if she was slipping through seconds that didn’t belong to her. Blackouts. Fragments of movement. A colour shifted, then a sound. The air thickened, then thinned. The tunnel… Was it shrinking? Expanding?

       “Elena!” Lucas's voice surged again, louder this time. Desperate.

       Her head throbbed like a hammer against her skull. She pressed her fingers against her temples, but it did nothing to hold the unravelling fabric of time in place. A shadow moved at the edge of her sight, but when she turned, there was nothing.

       Just the doors.

       Just the blood.

       Just the drowning pulse of the name ringing in her ears.

       Elena hadn’t realised the scream ripping through the cavern belonged to her. Not until her knees collided with the icy ground at the base of the stairs, jarring her bones and sending a tremor up her spine. Warm tears slid down her cheeks, blurring her vision into streaks of flickering torchlight and shifting shadows.

       The darkness pulsed. Then, in a flicker, he was there…

       Lucas.

       He clawed at the ground just inches away, his fingers splitting open on the jagged stone, his body convulsing as he fought against an unseen force dragging him backward. His wide, terror-stricken eyes locked onto hers, his breath coming in frantic, broken gasps.

       “Elena!” his voice cracked. “Don’t let it take me!”

       His mud-streaked, tear-stained face contorted with fear as his nails dug into the ground. His arms trembling with the strain.

       Elena lurched forward, scrambling on all fours, hands outstretched.

       The invisible force yanked him harder. He jerked back, his body sliding against the blood-slicked ground.

       “No… Lucas!” She lunged, fingers grazing his wrist before he was wrenched away.

       A final, deafening thud swallowed his last cry as the doors slammed shut.

       The weight in her chest collapsed inward as an unbearable pressure crushed her ribs, pressing against her lungs, choking the breath from her throat. Her hands curled into fists against the floor as a sound erupted from deep within her – a howl of grief so raw it stripped the air from the room.

       “Lucas!” She shrieked, shattering the stillness.

       The walls trembled, shifting.

       Darkness surged around her, then collapsed inward. The cave walls closed in as the lights went out.

       No, not walls… sheets.

       Elena jerked upright, gasping, plunged into the dark of her own room. Her sheets tangled around her body.

       “Lucas!” she cried out, the sound piercing the all-too-real silence around her.

       A heartbeat. Then another. The silence of reality settled as thick sobs escaped her.

       Footsteps echoed and the door to her chamber flew open.

       “Madame!”

       Elena barely had time to process the voice before the swish of heavy fabric pulled her deeper into reality. The curtains yawned open, spilling dull, grey morning light into the room. The day outside was thick with clouds.

       Elena blinked rapidly. The edges of her vision wavered as the world around her still shifted between the lingering remnants of her nightmare and the present.

       The servant girl stepped closer, her footsteps hushed against the stone floor. “Madame is safe,” she murmured, as if speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile.

       Safe.

       Elena’s hands trembled as she glanced down at them, fingers twitching against the damp sheets. The tremors ran through her arms, reaching her shoulders. Her breaths were uneven.

       The servant girl approached the bed, helping with the tangles of the sheets.

       “Shhh,” she soothed. “Madame is home.”

       She grabbed hold of Elena’s still trembling hands as she sat beside her. “Madame is safe,” she repeated.

       A presence stirred at the doorway.

       “Another nightmare?” Gabriel asked with a measured voice, but beneath it, Elena caught the thread of concern.

       The servant girl didn’t hesitate to answer for her. “Madame has been having them more and more,” she said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from Elena’s forehead.

       The touch was light, but Elena flinched. Her skin was clammy, her body feverish, yet she felt cold from the inside out.

       “I will run her a bath,” the servant announced, standing with practiced grace. She dipped into a quick curtsy before slipping into the adjacent room. Moments later, the sound of water filled the silence.

       Elena’s breathing remained uneven, her pulse a frantic drum against her ribs. She clenched her jaw, pressing her lips together to keep from gasping for air. Her body still remembered the panic, the weight, and the sharp snap of waking.

       She shifted, moving to plant her feet on the ground. The cold stone sent a shiver through her spine.

       Gabriel stepped forward as soon as Elena moved. He lowered himself onto the mattress beside her, watching without pressing.

       Elena winced as a sharp pull ran through her abdomen. She curled a hand around her swollen stomach, feeling the tautness beneath her fingers. The movement sent fresh beads of sweat rolling down her back.

       Her chemise clung to her, soaked through, the damp fabric sticking to her skin. She tugged at it, adjusting the neckline, the material feeling suffocating against her overheated body.

       “Is it the baby?” Gabriel asked, his voice laced with concern. His eyes flicked to her stomach, then back to her pale face. “Do you need me to fetch a healer?”

       Elena shook her head. “It’s the same one,” she murmured, her hoarse voice barely recognisable. “Over and over again. It never stops.”

       Gabriel exhaled, shifting his weight beside her. “It’s only been seven months,” he said gently. “These wounds take time to heal. Longer than any physical ones would.”

       He reached for her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a calming embrace. But the warmth, the contact, felt suffocating. She pulled away, shoulders tensing, and he let her go without resistance, though his lips pressed into a quiet forced smile.

       “Perhaps a bath,” he suggested, voice lighter now, “and then a walk around the gardens?”

       Her fingers curled into the sheets, the fabric damp beneath her touch.

       “I’m just so… exhausted,” she whispered. “And the more I try to sleep, the more I see… him.” The name caught in her throat, too painful to say aloud.

       A dull, pulsing ache lingered behind her eyes, her head still thick with the fog of sleep. Or grief, she wasn’t sure.

       Gabriel’s gaze softened. “I wish we could give you something to help you sleep,” he admitted, “but we don’t know what it could do to the child.”

       Elena nodded, a slow, reluctant motion. “I know,” she whispered, barely audible.

       The servant girl stepped back into the room, curtsying slightly as she announced, “The bath is ready, Madame.”

       Elena hesitated for a moment, then allowed Gabriel’s hand to steady her as she stood up. The ground felt impossibly far away. Her legs trembled violently as her knees buckled beneath her.

       In one swift motion, Gabriel swept her up into his arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. She didn’t fight him, didn’t have the strength to. Her head lolled against his chest. The familiar scent of parchment and worn leather clung to him, dust threaded through the fabric of his clothes.

       “Marcus has got you in the library again?” she muttered, her voice flat. “You’re very… dusty.”

       Gabriel let out a short chuckle as he carried her toward the bath, his warmth soothing beneath her cheek. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

       He set her down gently at the edge of the tub, kneeling beside her as he helped her out of her sweat-drenched chemise. He kept his gaze away from her as he did so, but she wouldn’t have cared if he looked.

       As she slid into the water, she tensed, a sharp hiss slipping through her teeth.

       “It’s cold,” she muttered, arms tightening around herself.

       Gabriel dipped his fingers into the water, testing it for himself. “It’s lukewarm, Elena,” he corrected with a small shake of his head. “For the–”

       “The baby,” she interrupted, finishing the sentence for him, irritated. “Yes, I know.”

       Gabriel pressed his lips together, his expression unreadable.

       Elena leaned back against the smooth stone wall of the bath, her body sinking into the lukewarm water. The tub, carved directly into the floor, surrounded her in a shallow circle, two steps leading into its depths. She exhaled slowly and let herself slip lower.

       The water closed over her head. For a moment, the world was silent. Muffled. Heavy.

       She lingered there, eyes shut against the sting, floating in the weightlessness beneath the surface. The pressure of the water pressed against her skull, her lungs, holding her in place.

       A couple minutes passed.

       When her head finally emerged, Gabriel was gone.

       She blinked, her vision blurry from the water and exhaustion. Her eyes burned, her cheeks swollen and tender from months of crying. But there was nothing left. No more tears. Just a dull, aching emptiness.

       Her arms felt like lead as she wrapped them around herself, bringing her knees up, or at least trying to. The swell of her stomach made it impossible to curl in on herself the way she wanted. The faint scent of chamomile and lavender rose from the soapy water. It was meant to soothe her. It didn’t.

       Nothing did.

       She traced her fingers lightly over her knees. She could still feel the sting of contact with the stone floor. It was as though the pain had come out of her nightmare with her.

       A knock on the bedroom door echoed into the bath chamber.

       Elena tensed.

       Gabriel’s footsteps, muffled against the rugs, could be heard crossing the room. The door creaked open.

       “How is she?” Marcus asked, voice hushed.

       “She’s not getting any better,” Gabriel murmured back. “She’s getting weaker with every passing day.”

       “She is dealing with trauma, Gabriel,” Marcus answered, voice firm. “Not to mention carrying a child we know nothing about. Nepheine bodies were not made to carry children.”

       Elena sighed, dragging her hands down her face before pressing them over her mouth. She inhaled deeply, forcing her shoulders to square, then exhaled through her nose.

       Enough.

       She stood, water cascading off her as she reached for the large, hemmed cloth folded beside the bath and surrounded herself with it.

       When she entered the bedroom, both men turned to her.

       Marcus's gaze immediately flicked away, his jaw tightening as he cleared his throat.

       Gabriel, ever composed, gave her another soft, knowing smile.

       She ignored them both, slumping back into her bed and covering herself with the newly changed sheets.

       “How was the bath?” Gabriel asked, his tone light but cautious.

       Elena didn’t answer right away. She shifted under the covers, pressing her damp hair against the pillow, her body still heavy with exhaustion.

       “Loud,” she finally said. Her voice was flat and distant. “You talk of me as though I am not here.”

       Gabriel hesitated. His lips parted as if he might confirm her words, but after a brief pause, he seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth.

       Marcus cleared his throat. “Our apologies,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “We are just worried about you, Elena.”

       She exhaled slowly, then sank deeper into the bed, pulling the sheets up to her collarbone as if they could shield her.

       “I didn’t just lose a friend that day, Marcus.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. “I lost a part of myself.”

       She rolled over, her gaze landing on them both, though she wasn’t really looking at them. Her emotions felt disconnected from her body, like they belonged to someone else.

       “Losing him was like losing my whole village again.”

       A sharp, familiar ache stabbed at her chest. She curled her fingers into the fabric of the sheets, gripping them.

       “As though, while he was there, I could somehow make myself believe that everyone still lived back home. That they somehow made it out and we had just travelled away from the village like I used to wish we would. But I could go back at any time, and they would be waiting for me.”

       Marcus and Gabriel stood quietly, listening.

       “But with him gone,” she swallowed hard, still unable to say his name, “they’re all gone. And you may both have a place in this castle. And I know–” she said quickly, as Gabriel opened his mouth to protest, “I know I am just as much a part of this place as you are. But I was still both a Nepheine and a villager until…”

       Her throat tightened. The words wouldn’t come.

       A long silence stretched between them before Marcus finally spoke. “I can make the memory go away,” he offered gently. “If the pain is too much to bear.”

       Elena’s jaw clenched. She shook her head, staring past him.

       “I must bear it in order to get over it,” she said, her voice firmer this time. “He taught me that after the attack. That grief is something to go through in order to heal.” Her breath trembled as she exhaled. “I just… wish these nightmares would stop.”

       Marcus studied her, the weight of his gaze settling on her like a hand pressing against her shoulder. “You are braver than most of us,” he said.

       Gabriel stepped forward, lowering himself onto the bed beside her. “You don’t have to brave it alone, though,” he murmured. “We are here.”

       Elena looked at him, a small, tired smile pulling at her lips. It did not reach her eyes.

       “Thank you,” she said softly. Then she turned her head toward Marcus. “To both of you.”

       She paused, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before adding, “If I did not feel sorrow, I would feel panic at the idea that I will soon be bringing a child into the world.”

       Gabriel let out a short chuckle, but Marcus grimaced.

       “I’ve read everything I could find on the subject,” Marcus said. “But other than normal births, I could not find anything about Nepheine children. This could very well be the first time it has ever happened.”

       Elena let out a dry laugh, one without humour. “Not something I’d want to celebrate,” she muttered before shifting her focus back to Gabriel.

       “Could you send for someone to help me dress?” She inhaled deeply, summoning the energy she didn’t have. “I think I’ll take you up on that walk in the garden.”