Willow Vanserra was born wrong.
Or at least, that's what she had always believed it.
There was something wrong, somethingvery wrong, with the way she was.
Her tongue was too sharp, her temper too easy to ignite, and trouble seemed to follow her like a shadow wherever she went. No matter how hard she tried to steer clear of it, misfortune clung to her like a persistent fog. And in the place where she grew up, every misstep, every ill-considered word, only seemed to sink her deeper into despair.
Yet, perhaps the most disturbing aspect of her existence was the bitter tempest that brewed within her—a roiling storm of resentment and anger that threatened to erupt at any moment.
Hate. Too much hate.
As thick and suffocating as the smoke billowing from a raging forest fire.
Willow hated her father, Beron—the High Lord of the Autumn Court, the male whose very existence was a plague upon her family. The mere thought of him ignited a smoldering rage within her, and she had often found herself lost in dark daydreams, envisioning his downfall, wishing for a moment when the weight of his tyranny would finally be lifted from her shoulders, sending him to his grave once and for all.
But her disdain didn't end with him. Oh, no; it spread like wildfire, an unending catalogue of grievances that twisted and tangled within the chambers of her mind. From the most trivial vexations to the most profound injustices, her heart brimmed with hatred.
She hated her brother's hounds—those relentless beasts with their razor-sharp teeth and low, menacing growls, snarling at her whenever she dared to pass too close.
She hatedthe stifling heat of the Summer Court and the bone-chilling cold of Winter.
She hated mundane tasks, dirtying her delicate hands. Hated the fact that her skin smelled of nothing but the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
Rising too early in the mornings and people who spoke too loud. Laughed too loud.
Willow despised the suffocating embrace of her corsets, seemingly designed to smother her sighs—a constant torture she endured in the name of elegance and refinement. From an early age, she had learned to accept discomfort as an inevitable price for belonging to a Court obsessed with superficial perfection.
What else did she hate?
The lack of autonomy over her decisions, over her life. Witnessing the females around her being just as powerless, just as miserable.
Willow hated knowing that Beron left bruises on her mother where no one could see, and that the following day, her mother would brush them off with a sorrowful smile and an empty assurance that she was alright.
Willow hated the feeling of helplessness, of not being able to act. It ate away at her very being.
The accusing stares from others, the condemning whispers that trailed her wherever she went, only deepened her resentment toward those who fancied themselves moral arbiters while remaining oblivious to the horrors her family endured at Beron's hands.
Some days, she found herself lost in a labyrinth of hatred, unable to discern which aspect of her life was not worthy of her disdain.
The freedom she lacked, the beauty that eluded her.
The tangle of burgundy curls that was her hair in the mornings.
"What did you think would come from your little spectacle of yours?"
Her husband. She hated her husband with all her burning heart.
"It wasn't a spectacle," Willow countered, her tone unwavering as she braced herself for the inevitable confrontation. This familiar scene, this all too rehearsed dialogue, had played out countless times in the brief yet seemingly endless four—five?—years of their marriage. Time seemed to stretch into an eternal loop of misery, and she had long lost track of its passing.
So from the moment they both departed the Dawn Court, Willow knew exactly how this conversation would unfold.
"I couldn't just stand by and watch thatstupid batharm my brother."
To be honest, Willow couldn't give a damn about what happened to Eris. The bastard deserved it. As for Morrigan, she held little interest for her, but oh, how satisfying it would have been if Morrigan had been the one to put her brother in his place. The thought of her standing up to him, delivering a well-deserved thrashing, brought a wicked gleam to Willow's eye.
Morrigan kicking Eris's ass? Willow would make sure to remind him of it even in the afterlife, if there was one.
But then that insufferablebathad to interfere.
Who did he think he was?
"You made a fool of yourself," Caden declared, his voice dripping with disdain. Of course, nothing rankled her husband more than a female daring to assert herself—a true son of the Autumn Court, through and through.
"Eris is the son of a High Lord," Willow muttered through gritted teeth, restraining the fire threatening to erupt from within her. "Not only that, he's the future High Lord himself." It was common knowledge that power would pass to Eris once Beron was out of the picture. "How could you expect me to stand by while some lesser faerie bastard insults him, humiliates him like that?"
Well, Willow would be lying if she said that attacking the Shadowsinger was solely to defend her older brother. Again, she couldn't care less if Eris finally got what was coming to him for his big mouth. But she had simply had enough of the Night Court that day.
TheperfectandflawlessNight Court. With its unquestionable rulers. With the perfect and innocent Morrigan who could do no wrong. And then there were the High Lord and High Lady, with their piercing, judgmental gazes that seemed to strip Willow bare with every glance. Their endless speeches about peace, about protecting the innocent...
It all felt like a mockery, a charade she was sick of pretending to believe in.
Hypocrites, fucking bastards. It wasn't even necessary to delve into the past, to recount Rhysand's time beside Amarantha, to discern the dissonance between their words and actions. Feyre Cursebreaker alone, with her personal quest for vengeance, had left most of the denizens of the Spring Court vulnerable and exposed to Hybern's attacks.
Fitting, Willow thought. No wonder the Cauldron had paired them up.
So, indeed, the Shadowsinger and his blind loyalty to Morrigan became the final straw for her.
"You were the one who humiliated him," Caden said, his tone laced with a derisive chuckle that underscored his next words. "Reducing him to nothing more than a sorry excuse of a male, desperate for a female to fight his battles."
At last, Willow turned to squarely face the man whose visage many Court females found appealing. Yet, for her, it held no allure. There was no beauty to be found in the rotten. "I was defending our name," she retorted, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides.
Her impulsive nature was just one more aspect of herself she deemed imperfect. But in that moment... she remembered, and the flame within her seemed to blaze with renewed intensity. It had felt satisfying. It had felt empowering. For once in years, she had felt incontrolof her own life.
"No, you didn't do such a thing," her husband retorted, his tone tinged with skepticism, as he casually dropped onto the sofa and kicked off his muddy boots with deliberate insolence, fully aware of her disdain for him dirtying their home. "You're not even half as powerful as you think you are."
Willow shot him a glare as she squared her shoulders, her voice resolute as she faced him down. "I am powerful." After all, she was the damned daughter of a High Lord, for all the gods' sakes. "I was the only one able to penetrate his shield."
And indeed, that was precisely what had happened. When not even Beron had managed such a feat, Willow had effortlessly dismantled the Shadowsinger's formidable shield. The whispers of amazement that had filled the room only served to reinforce her confidence.
She rose with the grace and intensity of a wildfire in motion, advancing toward the shimmering blue barrier that stood between her and her target. With a gesture that seemed to draw upon unearthly strength, Willow reached out and effortlessly shattered the barrier, the crackling energy dispersing like shattered glass.
A wicked smile played upon her lips as she forcefully pushed the bat away from her brother, commanding him to kneel before her. The gasp that escaped him at her sudden movement hung in the air. Had he even realized how she had breached his defense? His head lifted, eyes meeting hers in a mixture of confusion and defiance.
He was beautiful. Too beautiful.
"Don't touch my brother, bat."
Satisfaction coursed through her veins like a triumphant anthem as she observed his utterly bewildered expression. And then, with a swift yet deliberate motion, she struck him, unleashing an explosion of scorching fire that engulfed his handsome features. The anguished cries of his Court reverberated in the background, but they seemed distant, barely registering in the intensity of the moment. The intention hadn't been to inflict significant harm—it was merely a demonstration, a message.
No one crosses the members of her Court without facing the consequences.
Willow nonchalantly shrugged in the face of her husband's gaze, her demeanor defiant and unyielding. "Perhaps you're simply consumed by envy because it was I who put a stop to him," she declared, ensuring that her voice dripped with disdain, mockery, and a hint of superiority as she added, "And now everyone knows that I wield far more power than you,dear husband."
The blow soon landed squarely on Willow's cheek, a searing, stabbing pain shooting through her. When had her husband moved from the sofa to stand in front of her? His eyes bore into her with hatred, or what she interpreted as the glare of a man with wounded pride.
"So you don't forget just how powerful you truly are," he spat, his fingers digging into a handful of her hair with a violent grip as he forced her head back, compelling her to meet his seething gaze. Despite the agony pulsating through her head, Willow refused to waver, her eyes locking defiantly with his. "And so you remember your place."
Her scalp felt as though it were ablaze, a thousand needles pricking at her skin as he finally released his hold, leaving her reeling. The instinct to shed tears washed over her, yet she held them back. She never cried. Not since that first hit years ago, when she understood that no one would come to save her, no matter how many tears she shed.
"Get your face out of my sight," he barked as he retreated to his spot on the sofa, displaying no concern for the blood staining his knuckles, the same blood that flowed from her nose. "And think twice before acting without my permission."
Yes, a true son of the Autumn Court.
The flame within Willow danced, a seductive invitation to be wielded. For a moment, she was tempted to give in, especially when the metallic taste flooded her mouth and a hiss escaped her lips as the first twinges of pain where she'd been struck began to register.
However, an invisible force restrained her, as it always did whenever she even considered that option. Something beyond the physical, a deep-rooted part of her—the one that had always chosen survival over fury, calculation over reckless vengeance—held her back.
Because killing Cadenmeant facing Beron.
And she couldn'tjustkill Beron.
"Youcan't kill him. What about... anyone else?"
Willow met Naya's eyes in the mirror, those vibrant green irises so reminiscent of springtime—a remnant of a Court that had long since crumbled. The Spring Court was nothing more than a faded shadow, its gardens withered by betrayal and indifference, leaving behind only memories of its former glory.
"What do you mean?" Willow asked, raising a burgundy eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
Naya placed the brush down gently on the vanity. Tonight was one of those rare, cherished nights when Caden was away, likely bending over backward to earn Beron's approval or curry favor with other nobles. That left Willow with a precious few hours of freedom—a chance to reclaim her home, her time, her peace. These were the nights she lived for: a long bath filled with fragrant bubbles, a bottle of the finest wine, and Naya's hands moving expertly through her hair, untangling the knots of tension and exhaustion.
"You're clever," Naya murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips as she casually shrugged. "I'm sure you've already thought about it."
Willow course she had considered it.
"You just need someone powerful," Naya continued, her nimble fingers beginning to weave a braid through Willow's hair, each movement precise and careful. "Someone with the power to act where you can't. Your brothers..."
Willow's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the possibilities. Her brothers might have the power, but loyalty was another matter entirely. Eris would never risk his standing for her, and the others... they had their own struggles to contend with. Besides, family alliances were fickle at best, especially in the Autumn Court.
"They wouldn't help," Willow muttered, the bitterness clear in her voice. "Even if they all joined forces... They fear Beron too much."
And while hatred came all too easily when it came to everything else, she truly couldn't bring herself to hate her brothers. Blame them, despise them.
Even as she tried, as she struggled to nurture resentment toward them...
What were they but equally tortured souls, ensnared by the same burdens that weighed upon her own spirit?
Too fractured, too stained by the chains of obligation and betrayal. Each one molded by violence and anguish to resemble Beron, to vie for supremacy amongst themselves, to covet power that some of them didn't even desire but were compelled to wield.
"Besides..." she trailed off, a heavy sigh laden with resignation escaping her lips as she sank back against the chair's sturdy backrest. "Let's say I just make a bargain with any of them to get rid of Caden and by some miracle Beron decides to keep me alive... He would soon arrange another marriage for me. Another obedient pawn to bind myself to."
Naya nodded, as if she had expected that response. "Then perhaps it's time to look beyond family..." she paused, her next words laced with a boldness that caught Willow off guard. "And to get rid of Beron once and for all."
Willow's gaze snapped to Naya's, halting her hands in mid-braid. The room suddenly felt charged, as if the very air had shifted with the weight of her suggestion.
"I'm sorry," Willow remarked, both eyebrows arching in curiosity. "Is there something I'm missing? Have you been playing friends with the Night Court too?"
She was no stranger to the schemes brewing in the shadows. Eris, in particular, had been relentless in his futile attempts to court an alliance with the Night Court, aiming to oust Beron and seize control of Autumn. It was fortunate, then, that Naya was not just an efficient maid but also an invaluable spy. Her web of connections spread through every Court, and most importantly, her loyalty remained unwavering—to Willow.
"Don't make fun of him," Naya said, her tone sharp with seriousness, though the effort only managed to coax a soft laugh from Willow. Eris had half of Autumn wrapped around his finger, and it was no secret that even Naya wasn't immune to his charm.
"You're showing favoritism," Willow teased, a playful glimmer dancing in her gaze.
"He's making an effort," Naya defended.
"Should I expect you to start pampering him too?" she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips.
"If he pays me more."
Willow shaked her head."You're an opportunist," she chided. "And he's hardly the most handsome. For looks, you should set your sights on Aiden."
"Aiden is stupid," Naya wrinkled her nose in distaste. Willow couldn't help but agree; after all, all her brothers seemed rather stupid, though Aiden was perhaps the most harmless of the lot. "And Eris just has... something."
"What?"
"I don't know," Naya shrugged, then sighed wistfully, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression. "He always dresses impeccably, exudes elegance with every gesture, his voice..."
"Save me the details, please," Willow implored with a melodramatic groan, rolling her eyes with a grin.
Naya stuck her tongue out. "You asked."
Both of them exchanged smiles, and a serene hush settled over the room, interrupted solely by the soft crackle of the fireplace against one of the walls. For a fleeting moment, Willow allowed herself to be captivated by the enchanting dance of the flames. Fire had always possessed a soothing allure for her—the warmth it exuded, its comforting embrace, an innate instinct drawing her toward it wherever she ventured.
. And of course, the source of her power as well.
"Eris is a fool," she murmured eventually, turning her gaze back to Naya's reflection in the mirror. "A desperate one at that. It sickens me to seethemtaking advantage of him."
Willow's heart constricted with sorrow in that moment. What false promises had they whispered to him, and how many had they honored?None, she imagined, because thus far, Beron remained unscathed in the heart of the Forest House.
How many secrets had her brother surrendered in his quest for favor? How many vulnerabilities had he laid bare, traversing a precarious tightrope? If Beron were ever to uncover the truth...
It was but another ploy to glean information for them, yet for Willow, for all of them, it held the fate of their Court within its grasp.
"If Beron ever catches wind of this, Eris is a dead male," she muttered, her jaw clenched. "And as much as I hate to say it, he's our only option to make this damn Court something better."
"What about Lucien?"
"He's not an option," she said, rolling her eyes in an exasperated gesture. "And if he were to do so, which I highly doubt, he will probably exile all of us on the very day of his coronation."
Willow could almost envision it. He would eradicate anything that bore even a semblance to Beron, likely consigning it to flames with his own hands. He would undoubtedly provide refuge for their mother; Lucien had always been his favored son, and he made no secret of it. But as for the rest of them? Likely cast out, left to the mercy of fate. Perhaps their mother would plead with him to pardon her—after all, she had played no role in his banishment, merely an infant when it occurred.
But she would sooner face death than stoop to begging for mercy, bearing witness to the condemnation of her family for deeds they wereforcedto commit.
Naya's expression turned more conflicted, devoid of any laughter. "And what about...?"
"The power is destined for Eris," Willow asserted, her tone unwavering.
It had to be.
Naya nibbled on her lip, grappling with words she was hesitant to voice, but eventually nodded in reluctant agreement. A wave of relief washed over Willow, unburdening the tension that had unknowingly gripped her shoulders.
"Here," Naya whispered softly, the words barely audible as she delicately placed a small rolled-up papyrus on the gleaming surface of the vanity.
"What's this?"
"When you tasked me with journeying to the Continent to monitor Koschei's activities..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes fixed intently on the parchment before her, a hint of hesitation coloring her tone. "I met... someone."
Willow furrowed her brow, a mixture of intrigue and apprehension swirling within her as she reached for the papyrus, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as she unfurled it with careful deliberation. Scrawled upon it was a name, the letters appearing hurried and chaotic.
Malachor.
"The sorcerer," Willow murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingertips tracing the inked letters as if trying to summon the man himself, her mind already awash with the rumors and legends surrounding his name. "I've heard about him."
"I've heard about him too," Naya affirmed, her voice tinged with a blend of caution and fascination as she leaned in closer, her eyes alight with a glimmer of excitement. "Inquire about him. The tales all echo the same refrain. He's but a specter of his former self, stripped of his powers by a warrior from the Night Court centuries past."
"With justifiable reasons for such an act."
"Undoubtedly," Naya chuckled softly, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips as she leaned back, her gaze meeting Willow's with a knowing glint. "He posed a threat. Males of great power often have ambitions that lead down treacherous paths."
His unquenchable thirst for knowledge and mastery drove him relentlessly down dark paths. Ambitions, once noble, became entangled in the forbidden arts of black magic, defying the very fabric of the world in a relentless pursuit of boundless power. Each step deeper into the abyss only fueled his obsession, spiraling into a maelstrom of madness and despair that consumed him from within, distorting his once brilliant mind into a shadow of its former self.
His transformation into a figure of terror and revulsion was inevitable. The whispers of his name struck fear into the hearts of those who once revered him, their admiration replaced by dread and disavowal.
The teachings of her instructors echoed in Willow's mind as she stared at the name scrawled on the crumpled parchment.
"Legend has it that his power was so great, he was deemed unkillable. But the warrior was wiser, and instead imprisoned his powers, though no one knows where or in what," she mused, her lips pursed in contemplation. "Malachor vanished, no longer a sorcerer, nor even distinctly male. Some tales suggest he became a shapeless entity, a being of terror rendered impotent by his loss of power."
"He appeared quite corporeal to me."
Willow furrowed her brow at the interruption, turning once more to regard Naya—her maid, her spy, her friend. "Why have you kept this from me?" The existence of Malachor was but a fable, a tale to inspire caution and fear. Yet, stumbling upon him was no trifling matter. "You traveled to the Continent months ago. Why are you telling me now?"
Naya let out a resigned sigh, her shoulders giving way slightly under the weight of what she was about to reveal. Her eyes, normally direct and fearless, seemed to shy away from meeting Willow's, betraying the turmoil within her.
With a hesitant tone, she began, "I didn't think... Some things are best left untouched, my friend. I'm certain there's a reason Malachor chose to appear before me, of all beings. And because of his dark past, I chose to ignore him."
Her lips formed a bitter line as she continued, "He proposed a bargain. His power in exchange for anything my heart desired. I dismissed him, threatening him with death if he dared to cross my path again."
Willow blinked, processing Naya's words before repeating, "He asked for the return of his powers?"
Naya met Willow's gaze with a mixture of caution and guilt, perhaps regretting her silence until now. "I know what you're thinking. But as I said, I pushed the idea away because it's too dangerous. We're talking about someone who was once revered as a god. And not the benevolent kind."
"Then why are you telling me now?"
Willow struggled to keep the anger from seeping into her voice, but despite her efforts, her features hardened, her cheeks flushing with a fiery red mirroring the hue of her hair. Deep down, she knew that if she were in Naya's shoes, her reaction would likely have been the same. After careful consideration, her mind would have echoed the same warning:Dangerous, stay away!
Yet, even with this understanding, it stung to discover that there had been a potential source of aid all along, hidden away by Naya's silence.
And again, it had always been a battle to contain the rising emotions within her.
Despite Willow's evident anger, Naya's lips curved into a sad smile as she looked at her.
"How much longer did you think you could hide it from me, of all people?" Naya asked gently, her green eyes slowly drifting down to the middle of Willow's body—her stomach.
Breath caught in her throat, terror flickering across her features as she instinctively recoiled, backing into the vanity behind her.
"How long?" Naya persisted, her voice gentle yet insistent, her eyes searching hers for answers.
Willow's lips trembled slightly as she struggled to find the words, the fear overshadowing any trace of anger that had gripped her moments before.
"I don't—I don't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet of the room. "I haven't seen any healers. How do you...?"
The words died in her mouth, choking back the bitter taste of denial that had lingered for far too long. How foolish she had been to think she could prolong the inevitable, to pretend that her life was not careening toward a monumental shift, one that would alter the course of her existence forever.
Naya's expression softened further. Without hesitation, she reached out, gently taking Willow's hand in hers, offering silent support.
"The other maids may be oblivious, but I am no ordinary maid," she affirmed softly. "And you... you are not very subtle in your attempts to conceal what's happening within you... That and the sudden morning sickness."
Naya's attempt to lighten the mood with a smile fell short, as Willow's gaze remained fixed, blank and haunted.
"I didn't want this to happen," she admitted, the words escaping her lips in a whisper. "Every night, I've been consumed by thoughts, desperately searching for a way..." Her voice faltered, the anguish evident in her eyes as she looked at Naya for solace. "I can't bring a child into this world with Beron and Caden living in it.I can't, Naya."
The female's heart ached at the pain etched across Willow's features, the depth of her anguish striking a chord within her own soul. With a gentle squeeze of Willow's hands, she reached for the paper that had been left behind, cradling it between her palms and Willow's.
"As I said before, I considered it a very stupid and dangerous idea," Naya admitted, her voice tinged with regret as she bit her lip. "But we're running out of options here, Willow."
The weight of her words bore down on her like a leaden cloak, suffocating any lingering hope she had held onto. How long would it be before her sick mornings were no longer just noticeable to Naya? When the other maids discovered her sudden aversion to certain foods? When her belly grew to the point where she could no longer hide it?
When there was no longer any way to escape her husband's grasp?
"Malachor could get kill Beron if we give him what he wants," Naya whispered, as carefully as if the very fire at the side of the room might report to the Lord of Autumn about their talk. "And if we get rid of Beron, we get rid of Caden. We just need to make a cautious bargain with him."
"Give him back his powers," Willow snorted, the idea seeming impossible. There were countless legends surrounding the possible locations where Malachor's powers could be kept. "Even if I were to travel to make the bargain with him, I'd have no idea where to start. The Continent is vast. Prythian is vast. They could be anywhere."
Naya's smile remained unwavering, her eyes alight with determination. "Oh, but we already have a clue where to start." Willow's scowl deepened at her cryptic words, but Naya remained undeterred, her resolve unshaken. "You already said it yourself; the warrior who took his powers was from the Night Court."
Willow felt a chill run down her spine at the realization. "Don't you even dare say it."
But Naya only laughed. "What, were you going to let your brother be the only one making friends with the Night Court?"
Willow stepped past her, a wave of frustration radiating from her as she lifted one hand to cup the bridge of her nose."It's impossible," she declared, collapsing onto the plush furs of her bed, her body sinking into the softness while her spirit felt anything but. She let her eyes drift upwards, fixing on the intricately woven patterns of the ceiling as if they held the answers she desperately sought.
"We're talking about making a deal with a dangerous sorcerer," she continued, her voice heavy with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "Yes, I know he may be the solution to taking down Beron..." Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud, thick with the gravity of her thoughts. She paused, a chill creeping through her as the implications settled in. "But at what cost?"
What price was she willing to pay?
Was the freedom of his unborn child worth the sacrifice of the entire realm of Prythian?
From the depths of her mind, a shadow whispered in the silence.
Yes.
Before she could fully grapple with the weight of that answer, Naya approached, her presence a burst of warmth in the cold storm of Willow's thoughts. She plopped down beside her, her blonde hair spilling around them like a shimmering halo. "I know it's crazy," she admitted, her voice laced with uncertainty. "That's why I didn't tell you at first. But if not this one... I really don't know any other way to help you."
Willow turned to her friend, and for a fleeting moment, she believed she saw the reflections of countless eyes within Naya's gaze—thousands of females who inhabited the Autumn Court—each one burdened by rules, limitations. Each one trapped in a gilded cage of expectations and tradition.
A heavy sigh escaped her lips.
"Give me time to think about it," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Right now, I just want to rest."
