Hidden Wings

The Proximity Protocol

Calculated over a standard twelve-hour cycle, a high-court Fae requires approximately eight hours of unmonitored neurological rest. An elemental entity under active threat from a Class-A mental parasite, however, requires zero unsupervised intervals.

Which is precisely why, just as the first pale light of dawn began to bleed through the willow-wood shutters, I was already seated in the primary reception pavilion of the northern residential wing, a data slate resting on my knee.

The residential quarters assigned to Ivy and her brother, Elaris, were structurally designed to mimic high-court luxury—vaulted ceilings carved from weeping willow wood, floors inlaid with pale river stone, and tracking wards woven into the crown molding. It was aesthetic, pristine, and an absolute security nightmare.

The door to the inner chambers chimed, and Elaris stepped into the pavilion. The prince was already fully dressed in his formal Seelie uniform, his silver-threaded jerkin immaculate, though his posture carried the characteristic fatigue of someone who had spent the night reading intelligence reports on the Solitary Fae. He stopped dead when his eyes landed on me.

"Seth," Elaris said, his hand instinctively dropping toward the hilt of his ceremonial blade before he caught himself. "Why are you sitting in our living room at dawn? The High Council meeting isn't for another three hours."

"The High Council meeting is a static variable," I stated, not looking up from my data slate. "My current objective is dynamic. As of precisely ten hours ago, Princess Ivy’s defensive parameters have been elevated to Level Four. I am now executing a twenty-four-hour proximity protocol."

Elaris frowned, walking over to the carved side table to pour himself a cup of infused mint tea. "A twenty-four-hour protocol? You’re shadowing her? My grandmother didn't mention approving a permanent guard."

"The High Matriarch operates on political timelines. I operate on biological survival rates," I replied, finally shifting my gaze to him. "Your sister's encounter with the Solitary Royal yesterday caused a forty-two percent spike in her volatile air currents. If she experiences a similar emotional cascade during today’s briefing with Ashton, the Dreamweaver will breach her perimeter. My presence is the only neutralizing counterpoint that can safely ground her. I am non-negotiable."

"She isn't a project, Seth," Elaris said, his voice dropping into a register that made me pause my calculations. "She is a person."

"She is a walking disaster because you and the High Matriarch spent eighteen years lying to her about her own blood," I countered, my voice icy. "You broke her compass. Don't be surprised when she doesn't know which way is North."

Before Elaris could offer a counter-argument, the door to the secondary chamber slid open.

Ivy stepped into the room, and the ambient temperature of the pavilion instantly dropped by four degrees. She was wearing a pair of oversized, faded gray sweatpants and a worn-out, dark green t-shirt from Washington State University—a stark, unpolished contrast to the regal silks her brother wore. Her vibrant, fiery red hair was tied up in a chaotic, messy knot. The brilliant crimson of her hair created a violent, stunning contrast against her moss-green eyes, which were currently narrowed with a level of morning hostility that my data slate could not fully quantify.

She took three steps into the pavilion, froze, and stared at me.

"Why," Ivy said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low gravel, "is the fae calculator sitting on my couch before I've had coffee?"

"Good morning, Your Highness," I said, intentionally utilizing the formal title. "Your cognitive and magical defenses require continuous calibration. From this point forward, until the threat of the Unseelie spy network and the Dreamweaver is neutralized, I will be maintaining a constant perimeter within a six-foot radius of your person."

Ivy closed her eyes, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. I watched with analytical fascination as a faint, localized draft began to swirl around her ankles.

"Tell me you're joking," she muttered, opening her eyes to glare at me. "A six-foot radius? So you're telling me you are legally obligated to watch me be miserable twenty-four hours a day?"

"Factual. Yes," I replied, adjusting my glasses. "Because your massive reservoir of magic was suppressed for eighteen years across the veil, it is currently overflowing at a highly volatile rate. Your irritation increases that instability by an estimated sixty percent."

Ivy smiled, a sharp, incredibly rude glint flashing in her eyes as she crossed her arms. Her gaze suddenly flicked away from me and locked directly onto her brother. Elaris was casually sipping his tea, looking perfectly composed. To Ivy, he was a living testament to betrayal.

"Well, it’s a good thing I’m Fae then," Ivy purred, her voice dripping with venom. "Because if I were still playing the part of a polite human, I’d feel bad about how much I’m going to make you regret this. Though, I see some people have absolutely no problem throwing off the human act."

Elaris paused, his tea cup halfway to his lips. "Ivy, please—"

"No, seriously, it’s impressive," she snapped, her eyes tracking the elegant lines of his silver-threaded uniform. "You just washed your human face off, put your pointy ears on display, and went right back to being a prince like the last eighteen years of our lives never happened."

"I did what I had to do to keep you hidden, Ivy," Elaris said, his true Fae features tightening, a flicker of genuine guilt passing over his sharp jawline. "The suppression was the only way to protect your source."

"Right. You lied to my face for my entire existence to 'protect' me," she huffed.

Elaris sighed, looking back to his sister. "You’re leaking, Ivy. If you do that in front of the Unseelie delegates today, they’ll smell the blood in the water. Let him do his job."

Ivy scoffed, a dry, deeply sarcastic laugh cutting through the tension. She glared at her brother, her moss-green eyes flashing. "Oh, so now you're on his side? Literally last night you were throwing a royal tantrum about how bringing him in as a tutor was an unnecessary risk. It has been a few hours. We slept for one night, and you've already completely flipped."

Elaris shifted his weight, his pristine Seelie composure fracturing slightly. "Ivy, the circumstances have evolved since last night."

"No, what evolved is that you finally realized his magic completely counteracts my allure," she snapped, stepping closer, the air pressure dropping with her mounting frustration. "The second you processed that he's completely immune to my frequency, you went all upon Seth like he's some kind of magical mechanic. I am your sister, Elaris. Not a broken pipe you can just hire a contractor to patch up at dawn."

Elaris closed his mouth, the guilt on his sharp Fae jawline deepening into a silent admission.

Ivy looked from the room around her, to her brother, and finally back to me. "Why is he free, Seth?" she asked, her voice deadly quiet. "On Earth... I heard them. Faith. She was talking to my grandmother about keeping him at court. I heard her say it, clear as day."

I stayed near the door, my posture formal, my mind already cataloging the implications. "You heard them discuss his placement?"

"I heard them! And when I asked my grandmother about it, she just... she erased it," Ivy said, her voice dropping into that dangerous, quiet register. "She didn't tell me he was banished. She didn't tell me he was a spy. She didn't tell me anything. She just looked at me like I was a child who had misheard a conversation and moved on. I spent hours thinking I’d imagined the whole thing."

I stepped forward, my presence acting as a stabilizer. "It is a standard technique in the high courts, Ivy. It is called 'omission of agency.' They didn't lie to you about his status—they simply denied your right to know your own reality. By ignoring your question, they forced you to doubt your own senses. It makes you easier to manage."

She stopped pacing, her knuckles white as she gripped the back of a velvet chair. "So I wasn't just kept in the dark. I was being conditioned to ignore my own intuition."

"Precisely," I said, my voice clinical. "Your grandmother understood that if you knew Ashton was a fixture at court, you would have sought him out. By acting as if the conversation never happened, she ensured your compliance through confusion."

Ivy stared at me, the betrayal radiating off her not as heat, but as a cold, sharp clarity. The vulnerability in her posture vanished, replaced by the hardening resolve of someone who had just realized the board was rigged.

"She didn't trust me," Ivy murmured, the realization hitting her with the weight of stone. "Not even to know who my own enemy was."

"Trust is not a metric used in palace politics, Ivy," I replied. "But now that you know the architecture of their omission, you can stop doubting your perceptions. You heard Faith. You were right. From this point forward, we operate on the assumption that every piece of information you’ve been given is a calculated omission. We adjust our strategy accordingly."

"Fine," she hissed, marching over to the breakfast spread and grabbing a piece of toasted elven bread with unnecessary force. "But if you're going to follow me around like a creepy, data-obsessed ghost, you're going to have to listen to me complain about this entire garbage kingdom. Non-stop. Every single hour."

"An acceptable compromise," I replied, standing up and smoothing the front of my dark coat. I stepped precisely five feet and six inches away from her—well within the required neutralizing grid, but leaving her enough clearance to consume her meal. "Your complaints provide valuable baseline data regarding your stress thresholds."

"You are infuriating," she said, taking an aggressive bite of the toast. Yet, as she stood there, her shoulder subtly brushed against mine. The brief contact immediately grounded the remaining static in her veins, the overmounting crimson sparks dissolving safely into my sleeve. The quick silence washed over us for a moment. I move and push the pain of the fae hum that hit me just as fast as the silence.

"Before we engage," I said, pausing at the threshold, "you need to understand the structural difference between Ashton and the Solitary Fae. Ashton is an infiltrator—he operates by exploiting emotional gaps. But the Solitary Fae, like Faith, operate on absolute sovereignty. They believe they are the law of the fringe. They don't want to infiltrate your mind; they want to rewrite the board entirely."

Ivy stiffened, her gaze sharpening. "And Ashton? He’s just a pawn to them?"

"To Faith, yes," I replied, my voice steady. "But a pawn that knows exactly where your weaknesses are. When we enter that hall, do not look for his eyes. He will use your history against you. Look only at his hands—they will reveal his intent before he speaks."

"Look at his hands," she repeated, her voice steadying. "Got it."

"Maximum logic," she whispered, mostly to herself.

I looked down at her—really looked at her. The green of her eyes was darkening, reflecting the dangerous, volatile power she was just beginning to realize she possessed. I knew, with the precision of a Nøkken, that the moment we walked out those doors, the Vipers would strike. I also knew that for the first time in two centuries, I didn't just want to save the data. I wanted to save her.

"Maximum logic," I confirmed, my hand brushing against hers as I opened the door to the gauntlet. "Just remember, Ivy... logic is only the foundation. Survival is what we do when the walls come down."