Chapter Five: The Life She Almost Had

They walked in silence.

The dress was finished. The castle had resumed its chaos—servants rushing, guards barking orders, musicians arriving with polished cases and egos. The world was moving again, but Eden felt like she was walking through fog.

Garrick said nothing.

Neither did she.

Not when they passed under the marble arches, nor when the spires of the palace disappeared behind the curve of the northern wall. Not even when the uneven cobblestone of the merchant quarter met the soles of her boots, familiar and grounding.

The smell of cinnamon and pressed cloth met her like a memory—warm and steady. It pulled at something in her chest.

Home.

When they reached the tailor shop, Garrick held the door open. She stepped inside without a word.

“Eden,” he said quietly, the first sound between them since they left the palace.

She paused, her hand on the banister.

“I’m not angry,” she said without turning. “I just need time.”

And then she climbed the stairs to her room.

The sun was already setting. Golden light spilled through the window, casting soft rays across the sketches pinned to her wall—half-finished gowns, experimental bodices, flowing sleeves drawn with quiet dreams. Spools of thread were scattered across her desk, surrounding the mug of coffee she’d left untouched that morning.

She picked it up, cold and half-full, and rinsed it in the sink of her small, adjoining bathroom.

The mirror above the sink was cloudy, its edges rusted with time.

She stared at her reflection.

And for the first time in years, she felt angry.

Not at Garrick. Not even at Cassian.

Angry at the world. Angry at herself. Angry at the delicate life she had built being shattered in a single day.

She had it.

A quiet life. A simple future. One where she mattered on her own terms. And now—whether she agreed to Cassian’s request or not—it was gone. No one refused the crown and remained invisible.

The moment her name left her lips, Eden Briar ceased to be a ghost.

She would have to face her brother. Find out how he survived the war. Why he never came back. Why she was left to fend for herself in the ashes.

Her throat tightened.

The old porcelain tub behind her creaked as she turned the tap. She ran a bath—too hot at first, then cooler, until it was just right.

Water poured in. Outside, the street below buzzed with life—laughter, clinking glasses, children shouting, merchants closing their stalls. The familiar rhythm of the quarter beating on without her.

And for the first time, Eden felt jealous of it.

Of the simplicity. Of the normalcy. Of the people who weren’t tangled in power and blood.

She slid into the tub, sinking deeper beneath the water until only her face remained above the surface.

The sounds outside dulled.

And with the heat of the water pressing against her skin, and the ache behind her eyes growing heavier—

She let herself drift.

Into the water.

Into the noise.

Into sleep.

The first thing she noticed was the smoke.

It crept beneath her bedroom door, coiling into the room like a serpent. Eden coughed, her lungs seizing as the haze thickened, burning her eyes. The warmth that filled the air turned stifling.

“Papa?” she rasped, her voice smaller than she remembered it.

The walls groaned.

She staggered out of bed, bare feet hitting the warped floorboards just as a crack split through the wood. The sound came too fast. The floor gave way.

And she fell.

Into darkness. Bottomless. Endless.

She tumbled through shadows, past flickers of her life—brooms, rusted coins, a crust of bread. Hunger. Cold. The streets.

Then: thread. Fabric. Spools unraveling in the air. Tiny beads glittering like stars. Her years with Garrick. Safety. Creation. A different kind of survival.

She reached for them, but they slipped past her fingers.

The fall stopped abruptly.

She landed hard on a cold tile floor—black and crimson, shining like blood in firelight.

A throne loomed ahead. And at its feet, watching her like a wolf waiting to pounce, was Cade.

The Red King.

No crown. No armor. Just a crooked smile, and eyes too dark to see through.

“You took your time,” he said, voice echoing through the chamber like a secret.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

He stood.

And then he laughed.

Low. Cold. Amused.

The sound curled around her like smoke.

The tiles cracked beneath her again—

And she fell.

---

Eden gasped awake.

The water in the tub had cooled, sloshing over the sides as she bolted upright. Her breath came in fast, shallow bursts. The fading echo of laughter still rang in her ears.

She stared down at the surface of the water, her hands trembling.

The quiet life was gone.

And the wolves were waiting.