Brielle POV
Her heart was racing, and her pulse quickened. She could feel a warm tingling in her hand as magic began to gather, forming a glowing sphere of light. It always happened when she was anxious—her emotions triggered her powers, especially when fear or anger crept in.
"Mathew…" she whispered shakily. "This… this is what I was trying to explain to you."
She extended her trembling hand so he could see it clearly—the shimmering ball of magic hovering just above her palm.
His eyes widened, his lips parting in stunned disbelief.
"You're… a witch," he breathed out, his voice barely audible.
Brielle looked away, her expression darkening as a frown tugged at her brow. "Not just any witch," she said quietly, her voice cracking with emotion. "A dark witch."
Tears welled in her eyes and slipped silently down her cheeks. She wasn't proud of what she was—or what she had done.
The name "Wicked Brielle" had haunted her for years. No matter how hard she tried to earn Lord Lorcan's favor, or prove her worth, the shame clung to her. She had done terrible things in the name of loyalty—hunting magical beings, destroying lives—and every act chipped away at her soul.
She couldn't bear to look at him. If Mathew walked away now, she would understand. Who could love someone like her?
But instead of footsteps retreating, she felt the warmth of fingers brushing her tears away. The gentle touch made her flinch, caught off guard. Slowly, she turned her head—and found Mathew beside her, sitting close on the floor.
"Even if you are a dark witch… whatever you've done, it's in the past," he said softly, his voice full of emotion.
Her breath caught. She hadn't expected kindness. She hadn't expected him to stay.
"Mathew," she murmured, searching his eyes, "you're looking for someone different… someone good. Not someone wicked like me."
But he shook his head and gently cupped her cheek, wiping away another tear.
"I don't care what you are, Gabrielle," he said, his voice breaking as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "The things I feel when I'm around you… they're wild and confusing. But they're real."
His gaze locked with hers, and she gasped softly, captivated by the vulnerability and intensity in his blue eyes. He wasn't running. He wasn't afraid.
Something within her snapped.
She leaned forward and kissed him—hard and desperate, pouring all her emotion into the kiss. Her passion ignited something in him, and Mathew kissed her back with just as much fire. He wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss, and slowly, carefully, he pressed her back against the wooden floor.
Their hearts pounded in unison, their breaths mingling. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. Nothing mattered but the connection between them, raw and powerful.
Everest POV
As he rode back toward the castle, Everest's heart pounded in his chest. He was almost there when he noticed a soft, unnatural glow coming from one of the upper rooms. His brow furrowed deeply—he recognized the room instantly. It was Willow's.
A surge of panic gripped him.
Something's wrong.
He urged his horse faster, giving a swift nudge with his heels. The horse galloped across the open field at full speed, hooves thundering over the earth. When they reached the gates, Everest pulled the reins hard, halting the steed before quickly dismounting. He handed the reins to the nearest elven guard without a word and sprinted into the castle.
With every step down the corridor, the feeling in his gut worsened. Dread crawled over him like a cold wind. As he rounded a corner, a servant passed by carrying a bloodied cloth in a bucket. His breath hitched.
Fresh blood.
Everest's pace quickened. He reached Willow's chamber and found the door already open.
It was their wedding day. This was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives.
But what he saw froze him where he stood.
Evelyn was on her knees beside the bed where the woman he loved lay on lifeless on the bed on her one side, tears running silently down Evelyn pale cheeks. Everest's father, Tyron, was hunched over her, hands glowing faintly as he tried to heal her back.
For a moment, Everest couldn't breathe. The air around him seemed to collapse.
"What… what happened?" he whispered, barely able to speak. His legs buckled beneath him as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. His blood felt like ice in his veins.
Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, and he instinctively reached out, taking Willow's cold hand into his. Her skin felt lifeless in his grasp, and it tore something inside him.
"I heard a scream," Evelyn sobbed beside him, her voice shattered with emotion.
Everest looked up at her, heart clenching, and then back to Willow's broken form. Something stirred deep in his mind—an unshakable thought, a dreadful connection.
Was this… was this because of Lord Lorcand?
Because of the dark magic he had warned them about? Had her awakening cost her everything?
He looked again at Willow. Her back was bloodied, the skin raw—and her wings… they were gone.
Gone.
His breath caught. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, his tears falling silently.
"When I found her," Evelyn whispered, "she was unconscious… in the bath. The water was thick with mud."
Everest clenched his jaw, trying to breathe, but it felt like his lungs were being crushed. He shut his eyes, trying to steady himself, to stay strong—for her. But his heart was shattering.
He opened his eyes again and brushed a lock of damp hair behind Willow's pointed fairy ear, his voice trembling.
"Everything is going to be okay, my love. I'm here now."
He didn't know if she could hear him, but it didn't matter. He wasn't leaving her side.
"The healing is complete," came Tyron's voice at last.
Everest slowly lifted his gaze to his father. "How bad is it?" he dared to ask.
Tyron's face was grim. "I'm afraid her wings are lost completely. They will not grow back."
Evelyn gasped, her sob breaking into a wail. "No! No… My baby girl has lost her wings!"
Everest felt the pain stab through his chest like a blade. Her wings—her identity, her heritage, the very essence of her being—were gone.
He reached out to comfort Evelyn, but Tyron stepped in quickly, taking her gently by the shoulders and calling for a servant. "Bring tea for Queen Evelyn. Now."
Everest lowered his hand, watching his mother being led to a nearby sofa. The grief was written across every line of her face.
With trembling limbs, Everest rose from the floor. His body felt like it was made of stone, but he forced himself forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Carefully, he scooped Willow into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.
He didn't speak—he couldn't. All he could do was cradle her, bury his face in her hair, and kiss her forehead with the gentleness of a man who had just lost a piece of his soul.
She may have awakened her magic and lost her wings… but she was still the woman he loved. The woman he had promised to marry.
And he would stay by her side. Matter what happen.