Snow fell like whispers from the sky, blanketing the village of Briarhollow in silence. The houses, with their moss-covered roofs and smoke-worn chimneys, huddled together as if in fear of what lay beyond the woods. Somewhere beyond those trees, just over the ancient boundary line, lay the Veil. And behind the Veil, the fae watched. Waited. Laughed at their fear.

Seren Vale had never seen a fae. Not up close. Not like the stories. But she knew their work.

The healer's hut smelled of death.

"He's gone," Healer Brynn whispered. Her voice cracked like old bark. "Poison took the marrow first. Then the heart."

Seren pressed her lips into a thin line as she covered the soldier’s eyes. He was young. No older than twenty. She had tried everything—sage oil, iron ash, flamevine—nothing slowed the spread of the black veins that had bloomed across his chest like rot.

Fae poison.

"Three this week," Seren muttered.

Brynn looked at her with a weary gaze. "And it’ll be more next week if the border doesn’t hold."

Outside, the cold gnawed at the windows, rattling them with every gust. Beyond the village, beyond the hills, the Veil shimmered like the edge of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Seren rolled up her sleeves. “We need bloodroot. If nothing else, it eases the pain.”

"You’ll freeze before you find any," Brynn warned. "Not in this storm."

But Seren was already out the door.

The garden behind Brynn’s hut was buried in snow. Once a fragrant place of healing, it now resembled a graveyard, herbs withered and lost beneath the frost. Seren dropped to her knees, pushing aside brittle leaves, brushing away snow with fingers that went numb quickly. Somewhere beneath this cold earth, bloodroot waited. It bloomed in late winter, when the earth was dying and rebirthing all at once. Just enough might still grow near the oak.

She found it after ten minutes—red-veined leaves curled tightly together. The plant looked like it bled color into the snow. She plucked it gently, cradling it in her palm, when something shifted.

The wind stilled.

The air changed.

A faint hum rippled through her—deep, bone-born, ancient.

Her breath caught. The forest.

She turned slowly. Past the garden. Past the edge of the village. Toward the glade beyond the stones.

It called to her.

She shouldn't go. She knew the stories. The warnings.

But her feet moved.

The ancient stone circle sat at the edge of the woods, half-forgotten by most of the village. Carved with runes older than the kingdoms, the standing stones marked a thinning in the Veil. Most people avoided it. The old laws forbade venturing too close. But tonight, magic bled through.

The air shimmered with cold silver light, dancing like flame. Seren stepped into the circle and saw him.

A figure slumped at the base of the central stone.

Not human.

He lay sprawled across the altar stone, snow melting where his skin touched. Pale as starlight, dark hair matted with blood. Not just wounded—dying. A fae.

Seren froze. Her breath came fast and harsh, clouding the air. She should run. Tell the wardens. Let them deal with him.

But something in her stirred.

She stepped closer. He didn’t move.

“Hello?” she called.

No response.

She knelt cautiously, peering into his face. Long lashes brushed sharp cheekbones. His features were too perfect, too inhuman—yet strangely beautiful. His chest rose and fell with shallow breath. Blood soaked his side, staining the snow black.

Seren reached for his cloak. As her fingers brushed the fabric, the world spun.

A vision struck her.

She stood in a great hall of obsidian and moonlight. Shadows flickered along the walls. At the far end, the fae knelt before a silver throne. A woman’s voice echoed, cold as ice:

“You will bring her to me. Or I will destroy everything you love.”

The vision changed.

Fire. Screaming. A golden crown shattered on marble.

Then—her. Seren. In the fae’s arms. Thorns blooming from the ground, wrapping around them both, light pulsing from her skin.

She gasped, wrenching her hand back. The vision vanished.

He groaned.

His eyes opened.

Silver. Bright as the moon. Piercing.

“You,” he rasped.

Seren stumbled back. “Who—what are you doing here?”

He blinked slowly. “Too late... they followed... the Veil...” His voice broke into a cough.

“Are you dying?”

“Would you care if I was?”

She hesitated.

“No,” she said finally. “But I’m not a monster.”

He smiled faintly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Can you stand?” she asked, ignoring the jab.

He tried. Failed. Blood seeped faster.

Seren cursed under her breath and glanced behind her. The storm covered her tracks, but if anyone found her here—

They’d hang her for treason.

Still, she couldn’t leave him.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she muttered, throwing his arm over her shoulder.

He was heavy. Unmoving. But she dragged him anyway.

It took nearly an hour to reach her barn behind Brynn’s cottage. She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stumbled inside, collapsing with the fae onto the hay. Her muscles screamed.

“You better not die now,” she growled at him.

He didn’t answer.

She lit a lantern, half-expecting someone to burst through the door and arrest her. But the village was still buried in snow and sleep.

She gathered herbs, heated water, washed his wound. It was deep—something had ripped through his side with claws or blades. Maybe both. She ground the bloodroot, mixed it with wine, and poured it between his lips.

He coughed. Choked. Swallowed.

Then whispered, “Foolish girl.”

“You’re welcome.”

His silver eyes met hers. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Saved a life.”

“You’ve brought the war to your door.”

He slept for two days.

Seren stayed near, keeping the fire low and the barn warm. She lied to Brynn, told her she was staying at her uncle’s for a few days. Brynn barely noticed—she was too busy tending to the next wave of poisoned soldiers.

When he finally woke, he sat up sharply, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there.

“You’re in my barn,” Seren said calmly, arms crossed. “I took your weapons. You’re safe.”

The fae stared at her. He looked... different awake. Even more dangerous. Not like the fragile thing she dragged through a storm, but a predator studying prey.

“Name?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Thalion.”

Of course. Even his name sounded like storm and steel.

“And you are?”

“Seren Vale.”

“Vale,” he echoed. “Fitting.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. His gaze swept the room. “You’ve hidden me. That’s treason, is it not?”

“Only if someone finds out.”

He tilted his head. “Why did you save me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe because I’m tired of watching people die.”

“Even fae?”

“Even fae.”

He leaned back, his expression unreadable. “You’re braver than most.”

“Or stupider.”

He smiled. This time, it reached his eyes. “Perhaps both.”

On the fourth day, he stood. Still weak, but stronger. She noticed the way his movements had shifted—fluid, precise. His magic stirred the air. He was healing faster than any human could. A reminder of what he was.

“You have questions,” he said.

“I have dozens.”

“Ask.”

Seren folded her arms. “Why were you on this side of the Veil?”

“I was ambushed.”

“By whom?”

His face hardened. “Not yet.”

“You crossed the Veil. That’s supposed to be impossible.”

“Not for me.”

“And the vision,” she said carefully, “what was that?”

Thalion looked at her. “You felt it too.”

She nodded.

He studied her face for a long moment. “Then the rumors were true.”

“What rumors?”

“That the bloodline still exists.”

Seren blinked. “What bloodline?”

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped closer, and the hay shifted under his boots. “You have a choice, Seren Vale. Walk away, forget me, live your life. Or follow the path already set for you—and risk losing everything.”

She stared at him. “You speak in riddles.”

“I’m fae.”

“Right.”

The wind outside picked up again. A storm was coming. Not just snow.

“I’ll stay a few more days,” he said softly. “Then I’ll leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“Home.”

“And where is that?”

He met her eyes. “The Night Court.”

Thalion remained in the barn for three more days, though Seren had the sense he could’ve left much sooner. His wounds had closed faster than seemed natural, and though he claimed to be “recuperating,” his silver eyes watched everything. Every corner of her barn, every step she took. He was always aware, always calculating. Like a fox trapped in a human pen—watching for the moment to strike or flee.

On the fifth day, he began to ask questions.

“Why do you live alone?”

Seren was spreading feed for the goats when he asked it. The wind bit at her cheeks and her gloves were worn, but she liked the quiet of the morning.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I live with the healer. But I come out here when I need silence.”

“You don’t trust her.”

She shot him a look. “I trust her more than most.”

“But not entirely.”

“Should I trust anyone entirely?” she countered.

Thalion gave a faint nod, like that was the answer he’d expected.

“And your parents?” he asked.

Seren stiffened. “Dead. Like most people’s.”

That wasn’t the full truth, and he seemed to sense it. But he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted to the next question.

“Do you know what you are?”

The pitch of his voice changed. Softer. Sharper.

“I’m human,” she replied. “Just a stubborn one.”

“You saw what I saw,” he said, stepping closer. “You felt the vision. That isn’t human.”

“I don’t know what that was.”

“But it’s not the first time, is it?” he pressed.

Seren dropped the feed pail.

The chickens scattered.

“No,” she whispered.

She had always known something was wrong with her.

Or right. Depending on the day.

The first time it happened, she was eleven. Her younger brother had been drowning in the river, caught beneath a current too strong for his legs. She hadn’t thought. Just ran. Jumped. And when she touched the water, the world had... slowed.

Everything had frozen—time, sound, even the current itself. She swam to him as if walking through honey. Pulled him out. Then watched as the water crashed forward again, as though it had simply paused for her.

She never told anyone. Not even her brother, who only remembered waking on the shore.

After that, strange things began to happen. Lights flickering when she cried. Animals moving toward her without fear. Dreams that felt more like memories.

She kept it hidden.

And now this fae—this stranger with silver eyes and bloodstained magic—was looking at her like he already knew all her secrets.

“I don’t want this,” she said. “Whatever it is.”

“That’s rarely our choice.”

“What am I?” she asked.

Thalion looked away. “That answer isn’t mine to give. Not entirely.”

“But you know.”

“I know enough to say you’re not just human, Seren Vale. You’re something long forgotten.”

The next night, he told her a story.

It was cold, and the fire in the barn crackled softly. The goats snored on the other side of the stable wall. Seren sat cross-legged near the embers, and Thalion sat across from her, sharpening a dagger she hadn’t realized he still had.

“Once, long before the Veil was raised, the world was whole,” he began. “Fae and humans lived together—not always in peace, but in balance. Some humans were born touched by the old magic. The Sighted. They were seers, dreamers, sometimes warriors.”

Seren listened, silent.

“One bloodline was sacred,” he continued. “Daughters of the Thorn Queen.”

She blinked. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he said. “The Thorn Queen was erased—by both human kings and fae lords. She threatened them all. Her power wasn’t just magic. It was truth.”

“What happened to her?”

Thalion hesitated. “She fell. Betrayed by her lover. Her court was scattered. Her daughters vanished.”

“And you think I’m one of them?” Seren scoffed. “A descendant of a myth?”

“Not a myth,” Thalion said quietly. “A prophecy.”

“Oh, of course there’s a prophecy.”

He smirked.

She stared at the fire. “I’m a healer. I dig in the snow for bloodroot. That’s all.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out something wrapped in silk.

A pendant.

Delicate silver vines wrapped around a dark stone—violet-black, almost pulsing.

Seren’s breath caught.

She’d seen it before. In a dream.

“Where did you get that?”

“From the last Thorn Priestess,” he said. “She died protecting it. She told me to bring it to the one who would dream of it.”

Seren swallowed.

She didn’t take it.

By the sixth day, the villagers were stirring with rumors.

Brynn whispered about strange tracks found near the glade. The wardens patrolled more heavily, their iron-tipped arrows gleaming in the sun. Someone claimed to have seen shadows moving through the trees at night.

Seren knew it was only a matter of time before someone came too close.

“You have to leave,” she told Thalion.

“I know.”

“Tonight.”

He looked at her. “I’ll draw them away from the village.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to the Night Court. If I can.”

She handed him a satchel she’d prepared—dried meats, a flask of water, healing powder.

He nodded his thanks.

Then, to her surprise, he stepped closer.

“If you ever cross the Veil,” he said, “head for the broken tower by the Moonfang cliffs. Ask for the Court of Thorns.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” he said with a smile that looked suspiciously like a joke.

Seren found herself smiling back.

He touched her cheek, just once, fingertips warm.

“Be safe, Thornborn.”

He left just before dawn.

No sound. No sign.

Just an empty patch of hay.

And the pendant, left on the edge of her pillow.

Seren tried to return to normal.

She worked with Brynn, helping the sick. She hunted for herbs. She tried to forget the strange pull in her blood, the vision in the stone circle, the warmth of silver eyes.

But the world had changed.

And it was changing faster still.

The wardens found two more bodies near the glade. Both soldiers. Throats slit with a blade that didn’t match any known metal. Villagers began to whisper of war.

One morning, Seren woke with her hands glowing faintly violet.

She scrubbed the light away. Buried the pendant beneath her mattress.

But the dreams returned.

A throne of vines.

A storm of fire.

A voice—familiar and terrible—calling her name.

One week later, they came for her.

Not fae.

Humans.

A group of riders in crimson cloaks. Royal scouts. They arrived at Brynn’s doorstep with cold eyes and clipped orders.

“You are Seren Vale?” the leader asked.

She nodded.

“You’re coming with us.”

“Why?”

The man held up a sealed scroll.

“By order of the Crown. You’re wanted for questioning regarding treason, contact with fae, and possession of forbidden relics.”

Seren’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Brynn stepped in front of her. “She’s done nothing—”

The scout backhanded her.

Seren screamed, rushing forward, but the other soldiers seized her arms.

She struggled. Bit one of them. Kicked another.

One raised a sword.

Then—

Everything stopped.

Time slowed.

Just like the river.

The sword froze mid-air. The soldiers blinked slowly. Their movements lagged.

Seren could feel her blood thrumming. The pendant under her shirt pulsed with light.

Her voice echoed in her mind:

Stop.

And they did.

When the world snapped back, the soldiers dropped to their knees, gasping as if their lungs had been squeezed.

Seren ran.

She didn’t know where she was going.

The forest swallowed her.

She ran past the glade, past the stone circle, deeper into the woods than she had ever dared. Branches clawed at her skin. Snow soaked her boots. But she didn’t stop.

She ran until her legs gave out.

Collapsed near the frozen river.

The pendant glowed brightly now, as if guiding her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

The river didn’t answer.

But the wind did.

It shifted.

Then, slowly, the Veil appeared.

Not as a wall. Not as a shimmer.

As a doorway.

Carved from moonlight and thorn.

And beyond it, a world of magic and danger.

Seren Vale took one breath.

Then stepped through.

The moment Seren stepped through the Veil, the air changed.

She had expected cold. Darkness. Maybe pain. Instead, the forest was alive—throbbing with sound and color. Trees that shimmered like silver and gold stretched above her, their trunks spiraling with runes that pulsed softly. The grass glowed faintly underfoot, casting her shadow in hues of green and blue. The sky was a deep violet, streaked with two crescent moons.

She staggered forward, clutching the pendant.

There was no wind, but the world breathed.

Each step into the fae realm felt like stepping into a heartbeat.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

The forest answered not in words, but in song. The low hum of leaves, the rustle of unseen creatures. The kind of sound that made her skin rise with gooseflesh. Ancient. Knowing.

She kept walking, deeper into the trees.

The first thing she noticed was the silence.

It wasn’t a peaceful silence.

It was watching.

Like the hush before an ambush. A wrong kind of stillness.

Something was following her.

She turned quickly, heart in her throat.

Nothing.

But the feeling didn’t fade.

Instead, it grew. A heavy sense pressing against her chest, as if the forest were holding its breath.

Then, without warning, a shadow dropped from the trees.

Seren fell backward with a cry.

The figure landed in a crouch—tall, lean, and cloaked in deep gray.

Not Thalion.

He stood, silver hair braided with feathers and bone. His skin glinted faintly in the moonlight—tattoos coiling around his throat and down his bare arms. His eyes were strange—one black, one pale blue.

A fae.

And not a friendly one.

“Human,” he said, voice low and rough. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Seren scrambled to her feet. “I didn’t come here to die, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He tilted his head. “Then why did you come?”

“To find the Court of Thorns.”

The fae paused.

His eyes flicked to the pendant on her chest.

“That doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Thalion said it did.”

That made the fae blink. Then narrow his eyes.

“You know Thalion?”

She nodded. “He told me to come here. To find a tower near the Moonfang cliffs.”

The fae chuckled darkly. “And you listened?”

Seren clenched her fists. “Are you going to kill me, or help me?”

That earned her a smile. It wasn’t a kind one.

“I should do neither,” he said. “But Thalion owes me.”

Before she could react, he stepped forward—and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Images exploded in her mind.

A tower crumbling into ash.

Wings of black smoke.

A crown of thorns dipped in blood.

She stumbled back with a gasp.

The fae studied her. “Interesting.”

“What was that?”

“A test,” he said. “You passed.”

Before she could question him further, he turned and walked away.

“Follow, if you want to live,” he called over his shoulder.

With little choice, Seren obeyed.

They traveled through the fae forest in silence.

The path twisted strangely, folding in on itself. At one point they walked through what looked like a tunnel of roots—only to emerge under a starless sky with no sense of how far they’d gone.

Time didn’t move normally here.

After what felt like hours, they came to a clearing.

A broken tower rose from its center—half-swallowed by ivy and moss. It looked like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.

“This is it?” Seren asked.

The fae nodded.

She stepped forward.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist.

His fingers were ice. His gaze sharp.

“Your name.”

“Seren Vale.”

He released her. “Mine is Kaelen. If Thalion lives, he’ll be in there.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Kaelen gave her a smile full of teeth. “Then you’ll join the dead.”

Inside, the tower was colder.

She expected dust, ruin. But everything was clean—like the stone remembered the people who once walked here.

The staircase spiraled downward.

Kaelen didn’t follow.

“You walk alone from here,” he said. “The Court of Thorns tests its own.”

Seren hesitated.

She touched the pendant at her chest, then descended.

The stairs led to a hall lit by flame.

Torches flickered on their own as she passed, casting shadows that moved too deliberately. Portraits lined the stone walls—some with slashed faces, others faded entirely. As if history were trying to erase itself.

She stopped before a mirror at the end of the corridor.

It didn’t reflect her.

Instead, it showed a field of blood-red roses. A throne made of vines.

And a woman—tall, cloaked, with eyes like the night sky.

Seren reached out.

The mirror rippled.

Then shattered.

And from the glass, Thalion stepped through.

He looked different.

Worn.

His eyes were tired, his mouth set in a grim line. His armor—black with silver accents—bore a crest she hadn’t seen before: a rose pierced by a blade.

He looked at her as if she were a ghost.

“You came,” he whispered.

“You told me to.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

She crossed her arms. “Are you going to yell at me, or explain what the hell is happening?”

That made him smile. Just a little.

“I suppose I deserve that.”

He stepped closer, and for a moment, the weight of this place fell away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve told you more. But I couldn’t be sure—until now.”

“Sure of what?”

He touched the pendant. “That you’re her heir.”

Seren shook her head. “I’m not royalty. I’m not powerful. I don’t even know how I slowed time—”

“You don’t need to know yet. You need to survive.”

She blinked. “That’s comforting.”

Thalion turned. “Come. There are others who need to see you.”

They walked into a chamber beneath the tower.

A circle of fae stood waiting.

Each one was different. One had horns like a ram. Another had wings of mist. A third wore a gown made of petals that moved on their own.

This was not a royal court.

This was a broken court.

A court in exile.

Thalion stood at Seren’s side.

“Behold,” he said. “The last daughter of the Thorn Queen.”

Murmurs rose.

Disbelief. Awe. Fear.

Seren braced herself.

But none moved toward her.

Except one.

A woman in deep red robes, her silver hair braided with bloodstones.

She looked older than the others—her gaze sharp, but sorrowful.

She stepped forward, cupped Seren’s face.

“Do you remember me, child?”

Seren shook her head.

The woman smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t. You were taken too young.”

“T-Taken?”

Thalion stepped forward. “Your mother hid you, just before the Veil rose. She knew the courts would fall. She gave you to humans—to protect what remained of her bloodline.”

Seren’s voice trembled. “She’s dead?”

The woman in red nodded. “The Thorn Queen fell. Betrayed by the High Court. And now, her court lives in shadows. Until you return us to the light.”

“I can’t lead anyone,” Seren said, backing away. “I’m not a queen.”

“You are,” the woman said. “In blood. In right. And soon… in power.”

The court knelt before her.

Seren stared at them in horror.

And somewhere deep inside, something woke.

Later that night, Thalion found her alone in the tower garden.

The thorns had grown wild here—roses the color of wine, thorns long as knives.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said.

“No one ever does.”

“Why did my mother give me up?”

“To save you.”

“She could’ve raised me. Taught me.”

“She tried. Until the court betrayed her. Until she died.”

Seren touched one of the roses. It curled around her finger like it knew her.

“I don’t want to rule,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to rule,” Thalion said. “But you have to choose.”

“Choose what?”

“Who you want to be. Human. Fae. Or something else.”

She looked at him.

“Will you help me?”

He hesitated.

Then said softly, “Until the end.”

And as the stars burned above them, Seren Vale—heir to a lost queen—began to understand:

This was only the beginning.