The fairy who Dances with Shadows

Under The Pine Tree

Liora’s POV

I stayed in the palace healing ward, where a fluorescent blossom pulsed gently on the nightstand beside the sleeping child. The enchanted flower—a rare Pyraethrean firebloom—glowed a soft amber, illuminating his delicate features. He stirred occasionally, his tiny frame wracked by nightmares. Several times he woke up screaming in his native tongue, begging for his mother.

Vermior was able to coax a few words from him. The child’s name was Flayre. His mother’s name—Asha. Vermior sent one of his attendants to investigate, and what they uncovered sent ripples through both realms.

News of the missing Pyraethrean child had already set his homeland ablaze. The Dragon Empire was in an uproar. Mothers wept and roared with fury. It had been reported that the child was lured away from his school with the promise of sweets. His teacher raised the alarm immediately, but whoever had taken him used portal magic, meaning they could travel from realm to realm unchecked, and so with that power they vanished without a trace. Asha, a widow with limited means, was said to be inconsolable.

When word reached Pyraethra that the child had been forced into premature transformation, the fury turned to fire. The people demanded answers. Vermior had to appear before his father through a looking glass just to calm tensions. Queen Ellaria assured the Dragon Emperor that justice would be done, but the Dragons wanted the culprit alive. The Emperor invoked the right to handle the punishment the Dragon Way.

My breath caught. I had studied Pyraethrean law. Their methods of justice were not for the faint of heart. For dragons, traitors or child-harmers might be thrown into a frozen pit with no way to escape—doomed to freeze slowly in absolute silence. But for non-dragons, the sentence was far worse: execution by lava, before the full might of the Dragon Court.

Flayre whimpered in his sleep. Vermior stayed close, sitting by the bed, his hand gently holding the boy’s. He hummed in Pyraethrean, his voice like molten gold—low and steady. His thumb brushed across Flayre’s knuckles as he sang. The melody calmed the child almost immediately.

The only reason I understood the lyrics was because of my royal training. As a princess, I was schooled in diplomacy and fluent in many languages—even Elvish, though its grammar made even the best scholars groan.

I glanced across the room and caught Noctis watching us. When our eyes met, he subtly pointed toward the door.

I turned to Vermior, who gave me a knowing look, then winked at both of us. My face heated instantly.

I slipped into the hallway, wings fluttering.

"What is it?" I asked Noctis, my voice low.

"I went back to the grove," he said, looking unusually grim. "The place where we found the boy. And I recognized a scent."

I tilted my head. "Who?"

His jaw clenched. "Someone I prayed never to encounter again. The reason I was banished from the vampire realm."

"She is the one who destroyed my family," he said, his voice cracking. "My parents. My little brother. Everyone. Because I refused her."

He turned away sharply, his shoulders shaking.

"Please excuse me," he said.

Before I could blink again, he was gone—vanished in a blur of speed and shadows.

My mind spun with questions. Who had returned? Why now? And what part did she play in all of this?

I returned to the ward, only to find Myrelle leaning suspiciously close to the door of the healing chamber. I stifled a laugh.

My stoic sister—usually immune to flirtation—was peeking into the room like a lovestruck girl.

I fluttered my wings deliberately, making sure she heard my approach.

She straightened instantly, pretending she had just been checking on the boy. But when I looked through the door, I saw Vermior and Myrelle locked in a soft gaze, completely unaware of the world around them.

I threw the door open.

They both jumped.

"So," I grinned. "When’s the wedding?"

Vermior’s eyes widened, and Myrelle shot me a glare so deadly it could’ve wilted steel.

I beamed. Payback was sweet after all the teasing they’d given me lately.

Suddenly, a ring on Vermior’s finger glowed. He blew a plume of smoke over it, and the smoke twisted into a round looking glass.

"My prince," said a male attendant on the other side. "The boy’s mother—Asha—has arrived. She requests to see her son or have him brought to her."

"He’s too weak to travel," I interjected gently. "She should be brought here. Her presence may help stabilize him."

Vermior nodded. "Do as she says."

The attendant pounded his fist to his chest. The looking glass evaporated into mist.

—

A few minutes later, we stood in the portalarium, where gates to other realms shimmered with pulsing energy. Each realm had its own portalarium, but Vaeluna’s was the most majestic. White polished marble covered the floors and walls so smoothly you could see your reflection in them.

The Moon Kingdom gate shimmered with silvery light and golden flares. The Crimson Isles—home of the vampires—was a pool of liquid crimson, ever swirling. The Pyraethrean portal was crystal-clear, framed in dancing flames.

From that gate emerged Vermior’s attendant, followed by a slender woman with weary eyes. Her dark hair clung to her face, and her movements were slow with exhaustion and fear. This was Asha.

My mother welcomed her gently, and my sisters and I bowed with courtesy. I approached her and offered my hand.

"I am a doctor, trained in the Moon Kingdom’s healing arts. I have taken only the utmost care of your son."

She looked startled, but then smiled and bowed deeply in thanks.

I guided her through the palace to the healing chamber. Flayre, though still weak, lit up like dawn when he saw her. He launched himself into her arms.

"I’m sorry, Mama," he sobbed. "You said not to go with strangers… but he offered me a Cinder Crunch bar and sparkstones if I helped him carry something."

"Never mind that," Asha whispered, tears running down her face. "You’re safe. That’s all that matters."

I stepped out to give them privacy, though Vermior remained nearby. Their reunion felt sacred.

But I couldn’t shake my worry for Noctis.

I walked outside, scanning the skies. The pain in his eyes lingered in my memory.

Just as I finished the thought, the necklace around my neck—infused with Noctis’s blood—glowed and began to float. It pointed north.

I flew quickly in that direction. After a few minutes, it redirected me south and guided me downward.

There, nestled in the branches of a pine tree, was Noctis.

I floated toward him. The whites of his eyes were red, his face pale even for him.

Without a word, I wrapped my arms around him.

He rested his head on my shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"No."

I looked into his eyes. "Why not?"

"You are my future," he said quietly. "That… is the past. And it stirs feelings I thought I had buried."

"Please, Noctis. I’m your mate. If you can’t unburden yourself with me, who can you turn to in times like this?"

He didn’t answer, but his arms tightened around me, and in that silence, I heard more than words could ever say.

—

Noctis’s POV

How could I share something so horrific with her? The true details of what happened the night my family was destroyed were too gruesome to speak aloud.

I was summoned to the palace—told that the vampire princess had been gravely wounded in a hunting accident. The beasts that roamed the Crimson Isles were deadly, and hunting was often used to build strength and satisfy ones appetite. The royal healer hadn’t been summoned—only me.

I was known as the most gifted graduate of Sangralaris, the Crimson Isles’ healing university. I healed her swiftly, but something felt… off.

The king thanked me before the entire court. My parents and little brother were there, proud and unaware. Then, the king made his declaration: as a reward for saving his daughter, I would marry her.

My breath caught. I stammered. "This is a great honor, Your Majesty," I said.

"It is," he replied.

I hesitated. "But I want to wait… for my fated mate."

Those nine words sealed my family’s fate.

The king feigned understanding, but within a week, my father was accused of orchestrating the attack—to manipulate favor. I was thrown in prison, an accomplice. I only saw them once more.

I begged them—I’d marry the princess if it would spare them. But my mother gave me her ring.

"One day," she said, "you’ll find the one meant for you. Promise me—give this only to her."

I nodded with trembling hands.

I was released, only to be dragged before the court again. The king sneered, “Since you didn’t care for the first reward I offered… perhaps this will suit you better.” A silver cart was wheeled into the hall, two polished trays resting atop it. When the lids were lifted—

It was my parents.

Their severed heads stared back at me, eyes glassy with death

I lost control. I attacked him.

He was strong—but I was stronger in that moment, consumed with blood lust and venom and rage I hope to never feel again. I killed him. Right there.

I hurled his head at the princess’s feet. She screamed. I would’ve killed her too, but guards swarmed me.

I expected death.

But the new king—his eldest son—spared me. "You did me a favor," he said. "Everyone will think you’re dead. But you’re banished. Step foot on the Isles again, and I’ll finish what my father started."

When I returned to collect my brother… he was gone.

A note rested on his chest, smelling of jasmine and crushed spinel berries. Her scent.

You should’ve married me.

She’d taken his life; he was all I had left and she wouldn't even let me have that. She was nothing but a monster, a disease I would gladly eradicate if I could.

I buried him near our burned-down estate. Buried him beside our grandparents. Renounced the Crimson Isles forever.

But now… that scent was back. That ghost. That grief. That rage.

I couldn’t let Liora see that part of me. She was light and gentleness. My mate.

I breathed in her scent instead—moonlight and wildflowers—and let it soothe me.

Head on her shoulder, I finally drifted to sleep.