Mother oh Mother.

Keon stands from the chair, waving to me slightly before walking out. Probably to welcome Mother or something.

They spend a good five minutes together, discussing in hushed tones.

When Keon mindlinks me goodbye, I know it's time to face the music.

I'm shaking.

Why am I shaking?

The door closes quietly behind my mother, shutting out the corridor and everything beyond it, but the silence she brings into the room feels heavier than noise ever could.

She just stands there looking at me.

Really looking at me.

And suddenly I feel sixteen again instead of twenty three. Like I am about to be questioned over something I cannot explain properly.

Her gaze moves slowly across my face, lingering on the shadows beneath my eyes before drifting lower, noticing the blanket wrapped around me, the herbs on the nearby table, the untouched drink the doctor left behind.

Then her eyes lift back to mine.

“You look exhausted,” she says quietly.

Not judgmental.

Not cold.

Which somehow makes it worse.

“I’m fine,” I answer automatically.

The look she gives me says very clearly that she does not believe me for even a second.

My mother steps further into the room slowly, the soft fabric of her robes brushing against the floor as she moves. She smells faintly like cedar smoke and lavender, a scent so achingly familiar that it makes something tighten painfully in my chest.

Home.

Gods, I miss home.

The realization hits harder than I expect.

Not the palace itself.

Not the politics.

But Ariana barging into my room uninvited. The gardens behind the estate. Late nights in the library with Mother quietly reading while I pretended to study.

Everything feels very far away suddenly.

My mother stops in front of me.

Then, without warning, she reaches up and cups my face gently.

The touch nearly breaks me.

Because there is fear in her eyes.

Real fear.

Not political concern.

Not diplomatic caution.

Fear for me.

“You fainted,” she says softly.

I blink.

“How did you know that?”

“Because your magic feels unstable.”

My stomach tightens immediately.

She noticed that fast?

Of course she did.

She is one of the strongest witches alive.

Nothing escapes her for long.

Her thumb brushes lightly against my cheek before she lowers her hand slowly.

Then her expression shifts slightly.

Subtle.

Sharp.

And I know instantly she caught it.

The scent.

Keon.

Her eyes flicker briefly toward the collar of the shirt I am wearing before returning to my face again.

She says nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But somehow the silence is worse.

Heat crawls slowly into my face anyway.

“I can explain,” I start weakly.

“You will,” she says calmly.

Not angry.

Again, somehow worse.

She moves away from the bed after that, walking slowly toward the window.

For several long seconds she simply looks outside at the palace grounds below, thoughtful and quiet.

Then finally she speaks again.

“Your father had his comments about the attack."

The words immediately pull all warmth from my chest.

I go still.

Mother does not look at me as she continues.

“It caused problems immediately. Not publicly, of course. Officially everyone was concerned for your safety.”

Something bitter slips into her voice at that.

“But privately…”

She exhales softly.

“Privately, the situation became ugly very quickly.”

My stomach twists.

“What are they saying?” I ask quietly.

This time she does turn toward me.

“That you were weak enough to become a target.”

The words land harder than I expect, even though part of me already knew.

“That you embarrassed the family by being caught vulnerable in another territory.”

I look away immediately.

Of course they would say that.

Among witches, strength matters almost as much as reputation does. Vulnerability is tolerated only when it is useful politically.

And I was neither useful nor protected.

Just attacked.

My mother watches my reaction carefully before continuing.

“Your father was furious.”

A humorless laugh almost escapes me.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“No,” she says quietly. “I imagine it doesn’t.”

Something in her tone makes me look back at her immediately.

There is exhaustion there now.

Heavy exhaustion.

Not just from travel.

From stress.

From carrying something alone for too long.

My chest tightens slightly.

“What happened?”

For a moment she says nothing.

Then she walks slowly back toward the bed and sits down across from me.

And suddenly she does not look like the High Witch’s Wife anymore.

She just looks like my mother.

Tired.

Worried.

Trying very hard not to frighten me.

She looks around, as if searching for any eavesdroppers, before switching to our native tongue. “Your father has become obsessed,” she says finally.

Cold creeps slowly into my stomach.

“With what?”

Her eyes meet mine directly.

“The relics.”

The room feels instantly smaller.

This again?

I already knew about the relics, technically. Every child in our bloodline grows up hearing fragments of the story. Ancient magical objects tied to old agreements between supernatural factions. Dangerous enough that entire wars were once fought over them.

But after everything that happened with being caught and almost being beheaded for going against the treaties between our people you'd think he would put aside his crazy selfish desires for once, seeing where it got his daughter now. That's what a normal, same person would do.

But no, my father is far, far from normal, or sane.

“He still thinks they belong to him,” she continues quietly. “Even after everything that happened.”

I stare at her.

“The marriage treaty was supposed to stop this,” I whisper.

“It was.”

The answer comes instantly.

Firm.

Certain.

“The alliance existed to keep balance. To ensure neither side could gain access to the relics without consequences.”

My throat tightens slightly.

“And now?”

A shadow passes through her expression.

“Now your father believes the balance has already been broken.”

I feel suddenly cold despite the blankets wrapped around me.

“He’s looking for them again?”

“Yes.”

The word drops heavily between us.

“He has people searching quietly. Not officially. Not through the council. Only those still loyal to him personally.”

Oh gods.

My pulse starts climbing immediately.

“That’s dangerous.”

If the Wolves find out about this, I'm dead for sure. The only purpose of this whole shit show was so Sad would be forced to stop his search with the blackmail of me. His daughter. If they even get a whiff of his continued search, my head will be on a chopping block by sundown, and I doubt even Keon could stop that.

“It’s worse than dangerous,” Mother says softly. “It’s reckless.”

Oh fuck.

Silence stretches briefly between us.

Then something occurs to me.

“The necklace.”

Her eyes sharpen instantly.

The reaction alone tells me enough.

The necklace from the dream was real.

“You saw something,” she says carefully.

Not a question.

My heart pounds harder.

“I don’t know what I saw.”

“Tell me anyway.”

So I do.

The ocean.

The darkness.

The eye beneath the water.

Her voice warning me not to let him take it.

By the time I finish speaking, the room feels unbearably quiet.

Mother’s face has gone pale.

Actually pale.

And suddenly fear starts clawing its way up my spine properly for the first time.

Because my mother does not scare easily.

“What?” I ask softly.

She looks away briefly before answering.

“The necklace belonged to your grandmother.”

I blink.

“What?”

“It was never supposed to leave the family.”

Her voice lowers further.

“It protects the wearer from certain forms of magical intrusion.”

The eye.

The dreams.

The attacks.

A horrible feeling starts settling slowly into place inside my chest.

“Father wants it,” I say quietly.

Mother looks back at me.

“Yes.”

The single word feels devastating somehow.

I swallow hard.

“Why?”

For the first time since entering the room, she hesitates.

And that terrifies me more than anything else she has said so far.

Finally, very quietly, she answers.

“Because he believes the relics are waking up again.”

The room falls silent.

Completely silent.

Then my mother says the words that make my blood run cold.

“And if he is right, Winter… then the attacks against you are not random anymore.”