Keira was being taken to the High Ledge.
The path toward it twisted through ancient corridors, walls grown over with ivy that sparkled faintly under light. The air was colder here. Still. Like it hadn't moved in a hundred years.
Keira followed the Fae woman in silence.
She hadn't given her name.
When Keira dared to ask for it, just a whisper, a thread of civility, the woman had stopped, turned, and stared at her as though the question itself was offensive.
Her eyes had been pale and bright, like sea glass scorched in fire.
Keira didn't ask again.
They reached the High Ledge without ceremony.
It was not high. Nor was it a ledge. It was a quiet sector built into the western wing, wrapped in climbing moss and arched windows that looked out into nothing but silver mists.
And it was quiet, not the comforting kind. The kind that made you feel like you had already been forgotten.
The door creaked open to reveal stone floors, shelves of scrolls, and two human women seated near a basin.
They looked up.
Older. Worn.
One of them had lines around her mouth that said she smiled once. Long ago. The other had a streak of silver in her braid and hands stained with ink and herbs. They watched Keira like they were already measuring where she would break.
Neither of them spoke.
The Fae woman gestured once, then left her.
Keira hovered at the threshold, unsure.
And then, he appeared.
From a passage near the far wall, Lord Aeren stepped into view, his cloak trailing like night water behind him.
His white hair was unbound for once, cascading past his shoulders like the moon spilled itself over him. His eyes, sharp, angled, widened at the sight of her.
He hadn't expected her so soon.
She bowed immediately, kneeling low. "Thank you for saving my life, my lord."
He said nothing.
For a moment, the silence stretched too long.
Aeren thought to himself, and then spoke. "Get my horse ready. I wish to ride."
Keira blinked. "Now?"
He did not repeat himself.
She rose, nerves bristling. "Which horse, my lord?"
Aeren's eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. "Figure it out."
He turned away, his presence vanishing like mist pulled into shadow.
The two human women exchanged a look behind her. One muttered, "So he finally brought another one."
Keira didn't ask what that meant.
She made her way to the stables, arms wrapped tight around herself, trying to ignore the pounding of her thoughts. She could still hear Riven's voice in her skull: You are no longer mine.
She wasn't sure if that was meant to be a punishment. Or a warning.
The stables sat further out, past the inner gardens, where strange blooms moved with no wind. Keira stepped into the scent of hay, leather.
A stable hand looked up from brushing a long-maned beast.
Fenric.
She recognized him instantly, the broad-shouldered Fae with emerald eyes and midnight black hair. He stared at her with a tilt of his head.
"I need Lord Aeren's horse," Keira said, trying to keep her voice steady.
He squinted. Then pointed to the far stall.
Keira turned, and froze.
The creature there was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Tall and white, with golden flecks dancing across its hide like motes of sun trapped in skin. Its mane fell like woven silk, and its eyes… its eyes were blue, like frost in a sapphire glass. It stood quiet, watching her as if it already knew her name.
"That is Lord Aeren's horse?" she whispered.
Fenric did not laugh.
Keira stepped closer, unsure what she expected, snarling, stamping, a violent toss of the head.
Like Shadowmare.
He wasn't in the stable today.
Instead, the horse inclined its head gently.
"I see," she muttered. "you are not like Shadowmare."
When she reached out, the horse leaned into her palm. Warm. Real. Steady. Like something out of a half-forgotten dream.
It let her lead it without protest, hooves soft against the moss-lined stone.
The riding field lay beyond a sloping archway, past white stones etched with runes. Fae children were training nearby, their laughter bright and brittle, riding in graceful arcs on mounts so still they looked like paintings in motion.
Keira stepped into the field, leading the horse beside her, and there he was.
Aeren.
Waiting in the center. Back turned. Cloak drifting around him.
She approached quietly. Her hands were trembling again, though she wasn't sure why.
"My lord," she said, voice barely carrying.
He turned.
His gaze touched the horse first. Then her.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
She hesitated. Her thoughts raced to Shadowmare, its eyes wild, its rage like firestorm breath, the way it had tried to kill her without hesitation.
Her answer was instant. "Yes. Without question."
A flicker passed over his face. Approval? Amusement? It was gone too quickly.
He stepped forward, hand brushing the horse's muzzle. "Her name is Velithrae. Born under the eclipse moon. She is the offspring of a horse that once belonged to someone... important."
Keira wanted to ask who, but the question died in her throat.
Aeren mounted in one smooth motion, more graceful than any rider she'd ever seen. Like the saddle belonged to him, like the wind itself moved to make way.
He rode without a word, drifting across the field in long, quiet arcs.
Keira stood and watched.
And then, suddenly, an image came to mind.
A flash.
A blur of something behind her eyes.
She was on the horse's back.
Laughing.
Arms wrapped tight around someone, she didn't know who. It was too blurry. The scent of wind, pine, fire. The sound of a voice murmuring something ancient into her ear.
The memory snapped shut like a book.
She staggered back slightly, breath shallow.
When Aeren returned, he dismounted, brushing Velithrae's mane with practiced fingers. "She likes you."
Keira met his gaze.
The truth buzzed under her skin like bees in winter.
There was something here.
Something she had seen.
Or… lived.
"I've never ridden a horse before," she whispered.
"Mm," Aeren said softly. "Perhaps not in this life."
Keira blinked. "What do you mean?"
But Aeren had already turned away.
And the wind, ever a quiet keeper of secrets, carried no answer.