Chapter 25: The Shadow Queen’s Invitation

The wind whispered differently in the highlands.

It carried voices now—too soft to understand, too close to ignore. Every gust sounded like breath on the nape of the neck. Every shadow clung a second longer than it should.

Rael's group pressed northward through the Vale of Hollow Stars—a narrow mountain pass with cliffs carved from onyx and deep blue crystal. Once a sacred path of the fae courts, it had long since been abandoned… or sealed.

No one spoke much as they walked.

The forest was behind them.

But something else was already waiting ahead.

Selene walked closest to Rael, arms folded, jaw tight.

She had barely spoken since Vaelith joined them.

Not out of anger.

Out of calculation.

Every new addition shifted the rhythm. The closeness she once had with Rael—unquestioned, unchallenged—was now crowded by new footsteps, new glances.

She wasn't jealous.

But she hated uncertainty.

Behind her, Aelthaea walked in silence, sharp eyes tracking the runes etched into the rocks above them. Each one shimmered faintly in the dying light.

"They were warnings," she murmured. "Not protection."

Caelaris was more tense than usual, hand near her blade. "We're being watched."

Nyssira didn't answer.

But she felt it too.

The shadows had begun calling Rael by name.

Not aloud.

But through memory. Through scent. Through feeling.

At twilight, they made camp beneath a cliffside arch carved in the shape of a sleeping fae queen—her crown broken, her eyes filled with crystal tears.

Glyphs pulsed faintly above them, humming in rhythm with the stars.

Rael sat apart from the others, legs crossed, his sword beside him.

He wasn't meditating.

He was listening.

To the wind.

To the veil.

To the invitation he knew was coming.

And it did.

The shadows thickened behind him, pooling like liquid ink.

From them stepped a woman.

She was tall, cloaked in silken darkness that flowed like smoke. Her skin was moon-pale, her lips dusky rose. Horns arched from her temples, crowned in faint violet flame.

Her eyes—slit-pupiled and glowing—held no fear.

Only amusement.

And dangerous, endless curiosity.

Shaevari Umbros.

Queen of the Umbral Courts.

"You walk too loud for a creature of death," she said.

Rael didn't turn. "And you sneak too loud for a fae."

She smirked, circling him. "We were told you'd be sharper."

"I'm dull with distractions."

"I can remove them."

His gaze flicked toward her. "That a threat?"

She leaned in. "A promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then she laughed.

Not cruelly. Not sweetly.

But like someone who hadn't laughed in centuries.

"You carry Hel's scent," she said. "But not her madness. That's interesting."

Rael stood.

"And you carry too many masks."

Shaevari's smile widened. "And you still haven't asked why I'm here."

"I know why. You want to test me."

"Wrong."

She stepped closer. "I want to know you."

She reached out, brushing a fingertip along his collarbone.

"To lead goddesses, you must bleed more than divinity. You must mean something. So far… I've only seen power. Not meaning."

Rael didn't move.

"Then look harder."

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in interest.

"No fear. No bravado. Just… resolve. You're more dangerous than I expected."

"Is that what you want?"

"I want a king who walks like death and f*cks like purpose."

Rael arched an eyebrow. "Noted."

Shaevari's expression became unreadable.

Then she raised a hand.

The shadows opened.

A gate of twisting darkness formed behind her—carved from thorned vines and mirrored glass.

"Enter the Trial of Echoes. Pass through my court. If you do…"

She stepped aside.

"You may ask anything. Even my bed."

Rael studied the gate.

Then nodded. "I'll go alone."

She smiled. "You always do. Even when surrounded."

And vanished.

Rael stepped toward the veil.

But someone followed.

Nyssira.

She stood at the edge of the shadow-gate, her arms wrapped around herself.

"You don't hesitate for any of them," she said softly.

Rael turned.

"I don't need to. I know what waits on the other side."

"And yet, you still walk toward it," she whispered.

He didn't respond.

And she didn't follow.

She touched the edge of the veil, and it burned her fingers.

She watched him vanish into it.

And whispered, "Why do I want you to ask me again?"

Inside the Umbral Trial, Rael walked through mirrors.

Not of glass.

But of self.

He saw himself as a tyrant.

As a martyr.

As a god with a thousand wives, none of whom dared meet his eyes.

He saw Selene, kneeling without laughter.

Nyssira, kissing him with no emotion.

Vaelith, praying instead of speaking.

It made him sick.

He stumbled.

And the illusion whispered:

"Is this not what you wanted?"

"No," Rael said. "I want them free. I want them fierce. I want them themselves."

And the trial shattered.

Shaevari stood before him again.

Wearing nothing but shadows and silence.

"I have seen your chaos. Your defiance. But will you carry our madness too?"

She placed a hand over his heart.

The pain was immediate.

She showed him herself.

Memories of a court that devoured itself. Of fae kings who begged her to die with them. Of Hel reaching out to her—once—before leaving her behind.

"I am not broken," she said. "I am unfinished. If you want me, you finish what Hel could not."

Rael gritted his teeth. "Then stand by me."

Shaevari's breath hitched.

"You're not afraid of me."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I already have a shadow that chose me," he said, thinking of Selene.

"And a silence that loves me," he added, thinking of Nyssira.

Shaevari closed her eyes.

And knelt.

Not with submission.

With release.

He emerged from the veil before dawn.

The gate vanished behind him.

Selene was waiting.

She didn't speak at first.

Then, "Another one?"

Rael didn't answer.

Selene stepped closer. Her voice was quiet but sharp.

"How many more will it take before you forget who your first was?"

Rael turned fully.

And took her hand.

"Do you remember the cave?" he asked. "When I had no power. No purpose. Just blood and stubborn breath?"

Selene nodded.

"You didn't ask for anything," he said. "You stood by me. Fought for me. Chose me."

"And I'll never forget that."

She blinked once.

Then kissed him.

This time, she didn't care who watched.

And in the shadows, Nyssira did.

She watched with longing.

And aching.

And the beginning of surrender.

Later that night, as the others slept, a whisper touched Rael's ear.

He looked up.

But there was nothing.

Only his shadow, rippling faintly.

Shaevari's voice, like smoke, echoed inside it.

"I never kneel to men. Only to fate. And I think you may be mine."