Chapter 1: The Thorn in the Snow

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.”

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