The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Fifteen

Maeryn did not follow them to the forest’s edge. She escorted them only as far as the sanctuary’s mouth, where mist curled like breath and root-arches held the air in a quiet, watchful grip.

Above, red eyes tracked their movements from bark-latticed walkways. Silent, guarded, not cruel, simply unwilling to offer more trust than necessity demanded.

Zaria kept the book close beneath her cloak, strapped against her ribs like a second spine. It was heavier now. Not in weight. In consequence.

Maeryn’s attention lingered on the bundle beneath Zaria’s cloak as if she could feel it through fabric. Then her gaze lifted, sharpened, and pinned Zaria in place with the authority of a woman who had survived by refusing softness.

“That book is not a lantern,” Maeryn warned, voice low enough that the mist seemed to lean in. “It doesn’t guide. It doesn’t comfort. It reveals how to do what you want and it will not care what you become in the process.”

The sap-ink band around Zaria’s wrist tingled faintly, as if agreeing. “Open it with good intention,” Maeryn continued. “Not hunger. Not ego. Not control. If you bring greed to it, it will answer you with greed.”

A beat, then the part Maeryn clearly hated saying, because it sounded too much like mercy. “And if you start to justify cruelty as necessity… it will help you do that too.” Zaria held her stare.

She wanted to answer with conviction bright enough to burn through the wrongness of the forest. Instead, she found only steady resolve and the hollow ache that had taken up residence in her chest.

“I’m not here for power,” Zaria managed, the words true even if her mind couldn’t fully summon the old heat behind them. Maeryn studied her for a long moment, then flicked her gaze, almost unwillingly, to Koen.

“You keep her honest,” she ordered. Koen offered no promise. No nod. No reassurance. Only a stillness that acknowledged the weight of being tasked with it.

Behind Maeryn, in the threshold-shadow, Koen’s mother stood with her hands folded as though she feared what would happen if she reached for him. Her eyes clung to his face with a desperate care, memorizing what was left, measuring what time and Voryn had taken.

Koen did not look back. Not fully. Only a fraction, quick and controlled, as if the smallest contact might c***k something he couldn’t afford to break here. Maeryn stepped aside. “Go.” And the sanctuary let them.

The forest met Zaria like a wall. Humid heat, damp decay, and that slow pulse of wrongness beneath the soil, like the land itself carried a heartbeat that didn’t belong to any living thing.

They didn’t speak much on the way out. Zakai stayed close at Zaria’s side, silent, watchful, the kind of presence that didn’t need to touch you to shield you. Aldric followed a step behind, humor held back like a blade sheathed out of respect.

Koen walked ahead, choosing paths with that same unnerving certainty, as if memory had become a compass he refused to admit he still owned.

Zaria kept her palm pressed over the book beneath her cloak, pressure and warmth, something physical to anchor her when her mind kept sliding toward a blank space that hurt without offering a reason.

She tried once, while they pushed through thick brush and thorned vine, to reach for the moment in the dark room again. The rippling floor. The voice. The name. She found only fog.

River... Sound without shape. A fact without feeling. And the absence frightened her more than grief ever could have.

At the plateau, the air changed. The oppressive heat loosened. The canopy thinned enough to let pale daylight filter down in weak bands. Beyond the last line of wrong-grown trees, open stone felt almost too bright, wind tugging at cloaks and hair like it wanted to pull them back toward sky.

Their dragons waited, massive forms coiled at the clearing’s edge, wings folded, breath steaming faintly. Knights stood in small clusters, tense and relieved in equal measure. But the golden dragon wasn’t there.

Zaria felt the absence immediately, like reaching for warmth and finding only air. The captain of the guard stepped forward with a respectful bow. “Princess. We were instructed to bring you home.”

A silver dragon crouched, broad-backed, steady. A knight offered an arm to help her mount. Zaria climbed carefully, the book pressed tight to her ribs, her cloak snapping in the cold wind. The dragon launched.

Wind tore at her hood, sharp and icy at this altitude. The world fell away beneath them, plateau shrinking, forest darkening into a smear, coastline turning into a thin, jagged line.

Zaria clung to the ridge between the dragon’s wings and tried to focus on rhythm. On breath. On distance. On home. But the hollow inside her shifted again, not pain, not panic, something like waking from a dream and knowing you forgot the most important part. She pressed her cheek against the dragon’s neck, eyes stinging from cold and wind.

Zakai, flying close beside her, glanced over. He saw her face, saw the blank confusion fighting with the wetness in her eyes. His expression hardened as if he’d added another vow to the list he already carried.

By the time the castle rose into view, stone towers and bright banners against winter-gray sky, snow drifted in soft flurries, lazy and light. The sight should have brought relief. It did. And it didn’t.

They landed in the outer courtyard. Servants and guards hurried forward. Cloaks were offered. Doors opened. Heat rushed out to meet them. Zaria’s boots hit stone and she swayed slightly. Not only from travel, but from the sudden feeling of being too real again after days of travel.

Zakai steadied her with a hand at her elbow. “I’m fine,” Zaria began on instinct. Zakai’s eyes sharpened. “Don’t.” Zaria blinked. His voice lowered, firm but not unkind. “Not today.” She swallowed and nodded once.

They moved quickly through the corridors. Warmth wrapped around her, hearth heat, beeswax and clean linen. Servants bowed and hurried away, eyes wide at the sight of the party returning with winter clinging to their cloaks.

Zaria’s steps quickened as they neared the nursery. The moment she entered, everything in her softened. The room was bright and clean and warm. Wide windows let in the pale gray day and drifting snow. The hearth burned high, crackling steady, pushing heat into every corner.

Sophie and Ava were bundled in soft layers on the rug, cheeks flushed from play. They looked up and brightened. “Zaria!” Sophie launched herself off the floor and ran, nearly tripping over her own boots in the rush.

Ava followed more carefully, eyes big and watchful, like she didn’t trust good things to stay. Zaria dropped to her knees, arms opening. Sophie slammed into her like she’d been holding her breath for days.

Zaria hugged her tight, breathing in soap and wool and the unmistakable scent of a child who had been safe and warm. Ava hovered, then stepped close enough for Zaria to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“You came back,” Ava whispered, the words fragile as snow. “I came back,” Zaria promised, pressing her forehead briefly to Sophie’s hair before lifting her gaze.

Fay stood near the cradle with Zephira tucked close against her chest, steady as ever. Nearby, Cillian sat perched on a cushioned chair with a book in his hands, more interested in chewing the corner than reading it.

His soft white hair stuck up in a stubborn little crown of its own, and when he noticed Zaria, his dark golden eyes widened. Then his face split into a grin so bright it nearly broke her. “Mama!” he chirped, reaching both hands out.

Zaria’s throat tightened. She rose and crossed the room, careful and quick, and Cillian leaned into her arms like he belonged there because he did. His warmth hit her like a memory she didn’t have to search for.

She held him for a heartbeat, breathing him in, letting the simple weight of him anchor her back into her body. “My sweet boy,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Cillian patted her cheek with clumsy affection, then wriggled as if remembering there were more important things to do, like getting back to his book and whatever mischief Sophie and Ava were planning.

Zaria eased him back gently onto the chair. “Stay here a moment for me,” she coaxed, brushing his hair down with her fingertips.

Fay stepped closer, and Zephira made a small sound, half sigh, half protest, as if the world had the audacity to move her while she was comfortable. Honey-gold eyes blinked sleepily. Zaria took her daughter and cradled her close.

Love surged immediate and fierce, clean and present and real in a way that didn’t require memory to prove itself. Zephira’s tiny fingers curled around Zaria’s thumb, and something in Zaria’s chest unclenched.

For a moment, she could pretend nothing else mattered. Then she heard footsteps. Heavy. Purposeful. Callen appeared in the doorway. Black uniform edged in gold, cloak dusted with snow, hair slightly damp from cold air.

He looked carved out of control and exhaustion, but his eyes found Zaria like a man starving for proof. His gaze dropped to Zephira in her arms, then snapped back to Zaria’s face. Relief hit him first.

Then immediate assessment, like he was searching for injury he couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t touch her right away. His hands hovered, caught between restraint and need, as if he didn’t trust himself not to crush her with the force of how badly he wanted to hold her.

“You’re home,” he breathed. Zaria nodded, throat thick. “I’m home.” His eyes flicked to the book strap beneath her cloak. His jaw tightened slightly. Then he looked at her face again and Zaria understood, with cold clarity, that she couldn’t delay this.

If she let it rot inside her, it would become something worse. Her voice came out low and raw. “Callen… I keep feeling like I forgot to grieve.” Callen went very still. Fear sharpened his gaze. “What do you mean.”

Zaria adjusted Zephira slightly, holding her closer, as if the baby’s warmth might keep her anchored. “Something is missing,” she whispered. “I can feel that it’s missing. But when I reach for it, my mind slides off. Like it isn’t there anymore.”

Callen’s eyes flicked to Zakai, question without words. Zakai stepped forward and spoke with careful steadiness, as if he was trying to keep the room from cracking. “The book took a price.” Callen’s mouth tightened. “I assumed.”

Zakai held his gaze. “It took River.” The name landed like a blade in the nursery warmth. Callen’s eyes snapped back to Zaria. His voice went too controlled, too careful. “Zaria… do you remember River?” Zaria stared at him.

Instinctively she searched, reaching for love, pain, loss, anything that should rise at the name. Nothing answered. Only the faint recollection of being told she should remember.

“I know the name,” Zaria admitted quietly. “Because Zakai told me it’s someone I should remember. He told me I was crying when I spoke it.” Shame and confusion tightened her brows. “But when I try to reach for him… there’s nothing. No face. No feeling. Just empty space.”

Callen’s face went frighteningly still. Not fury. Pain. A grief he was carrying for her because she couldn’t carry it anymore. He exhaled slowly, and for a heartbeat he looked older than he ever allowed himself to look.

“You loved him,” Callen murmured, rough around the edges. “He mattered to you.” Zaria’s throat tightened. “Then tell me,” she pleaded softly. “Tell me so I can hold onto it somehow. Even if it feels like a story about someone else.”

Callen swallowed hard, eyes bright. He nodded once, stiff with control. “I will,” he said. That was the only time the word slipped out—small, simple, heavy. His gaze flicked briefly to Sophie and Ava, then to Cillian and the baby in Zaria’s arms.

His voice lowered further. “Not here. Not in front of them. But I will.” Zaria nodded, pressing a kiss to Zephira’s hair. Behind Callen, Koen lingered near the doorway, silent and watchful, as if he didn’t know where he belonged in a room filled with a warmth he’d never learned to keep.

Callen’s gaze shifted toward him, hard, controlled frustration that wasn’t quite hatred anymore, forced to coexist with the reality that Koen had been part of the road that brought Zaria home. Callen didn’t lash out. He didn’t bare teeth.

He simply looked at Koen like a man swallowing fire and choosing not to spit it onto the people he loved. Then Callen turned back to Zaria. “We’ll figure out what comes next,” he promised. “Together.”