Hannah had been lucky.
It turned out that the mont she had left her quarters and wandered into the kitchens to grab sothing to eat and drown out her heartbreak, the palace had shuddered with a deafening roar. The sound had ripped through the halls like thunder, shaking stone and glass and sending Fae scrambling in terror.
By the ti the dust settled, she was holess.
Only later did the rumors spread, that the devastation had been caused by Violet. The princess had lost control during her training and nearly tore the kingdom apart.
And so Hannah found herself displaced, standing in the eastern hall among dozens of other Fae. The place buzzed with restless chatter, voices overlapping, and emotions running high. Fear. Awe. Anger. Wonder. The hall was loud as hell, and no one seed able to stop talking.
The wing that had collapsed, it turned out, was one that housed the servants’ quarters—both high-born attendants and low-born workers—along with several eco-bound Fae who lived close to the palace to tend its inner workings.
Groundskeepers, ward-keepers, archivists, caretakers of the Tree of life and enchanted roots that ran through the palace foundations. So minor nobles lived there too—not powerful enough to demand private estates, but close enough to court to serve, advise, or simply remain visible in the queen’s favor.
With so many Fae gathered in one place, it was the perfect opportunity for Hannah to socialize and carry out Operation: Get a Fae Husband.
However, it was safe to say that after Taryn had ripped her pretty little heart straight out of her chest, she had no desire for such foolishness anymore.
She hadn’t even realized it until now, but none of the Fae males around her held the slightest fascination. Every single one of them failed in comparison to him.
Hannah sighed. Perhaps it was for the best.
Happiness was never ant for her.
Once the Fifth One decided she was to die, she would go peacefully. They would probably grant her a death so swift she wouldn’t even feel it. And honestly, that was far better than eting a slow, horrible end at the hands of that bitch, Ziva.
She let out a long, tired breath.
The romances written in books were lies. Big, fat lies.
Yep.
Hannah was depressed.
She might as well have been a ghost in the middle of that din. The noise, the laughter, the endless chatter of the Fae washed over her without touching her at all.
Then it happened.
A sudden pull tugged at her and Hannah turned.
And there he was.
Lord Taryn.
He was moving toward her with that sa infuriating confidence, his strides unhurried, while the crowd parted for him without being asked. For a split second, it felt absurdly like one of those overdone romance scenes, where the dashing male lead advanced in slow motion, the world blurring around him, every other presence fading into irrelevance.
Except this wasn’t scripted.
And her heart was hamring far too hard for it to be pretend.
It was almost laughable how long it had taken her to realize the truth. All that irritation and heat beneath her skin whenever he was near. The constant urge to snap at him, to shove him, to do sothing just to piss him off.
It hadn’t been hatred, or even attraction the way she’d understood it.
It had been the bond that was pulling, provoking and twisting them toward each other while she stubbornly mistook it for fury.
Hannah couldn’t tear her eyes away now. Her gaze clung to him like a magnet, her breath shallow as he closed the distance between them. Each step he took felt echoed in her bones, until he stopped right in front of her.
He was close enough that the noise of the hall finally vanished completely.
And all that remained was him.
Taryn was incredibly handso. No—he was impossible. A picture of perfection that had no business existing outside of myth. His hair was braided today, though not entirely. It was a Fae style with so strands woven neatly into braids, and the rest left loose to spill over his shoulders.
Her eyes traced him helplessly. That perfectly straight, pointed nose and high brows that always seed carved in judgnt. The sharp, chiseled jaw that looked capable of drawing blood if one got too close. And then his lips—
The sa lips she vividly rembered kissing the night before.
Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it. Hannah frowned, mortified, as the mory rose uninvited. She imdiately dropped her gaze, suddenly recalling the way he humiliated her last night.
She focused on the pain, as if it could undo the way her body reacted to him.
But before Hannah could retreat any further into herself, Taryn thrust his hand toward her. "Co with ," he said.
Her brows knitted into a frown at once.
"Why?" she asked.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly working up the courage. "You don’t deserve to stay here," he said carefully. "Co. I have a space we can set up for you to rest while the earth wielders work on restoring the fallen wing."
Hannah let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Don’t worry," she said coolly. "I’m nothing but a foolish prisoner..." She deliberately used the sa words Taryn had thrown at her the day before.
He swallowed hard, and for a brief mont, the light in his eyes dimd.
"I’m not Fae," she went on. "I don’t deserve preferential treatnt. If I have to stay in this hall until whatever day it takes to restore my room, then so be it." Her lips curved in a bitter smile. "I’m sure you’ll agree your people need the space more than I, the outsider, do."
The self-mockery in her voice cut deeper than anger ever could.
A low, irritated growl slipped from Taryn’s throat. For a second, it looked like he might grab her and drag her off that seat whether she liked it or not. Hannah t his gaze without flinching, her eyes daring him to try.
Then he let out a controlled breath.
"Please," he begged. "I just want to talk to you."
That made her pause.
Around them, the Fae had begun to stare openly now, whispers rippling through the hall.
’What is Lord Taryn doing with the girl?’
’They’ve been awfully close...’
Hannah lifted a brow, eyes glittering with challenge. "You’re really sure you want to do this?" she asked lightly. "Isn’t your reputation important?"
"Hannah," Taryn said through clenched teeth, a warning threaded through her na.
She smirked, clearly enjoying how easily she got under his skin. Rising to her feet, she brushed imaginary dust from her clothes.
"Fine," she said. "Let’s go."
She turned and walked away without waiting, leaving him no choice but to follow.
Hannah noticed the flurry of activities as soon as she stepped into the corridor. Fae were at work while orders were being barked here and there, the air buzzing with urgency.
Hannah didn’t mind them, walking straight through it all as if she already knew where she was going. Then warm fingers slid into hers.
She startled, her breath hitching before she could stop it. Her heart skipped a beat but she masked it quickly, schooling her expression into indifference.
"T-this way," Taryn said lowly, already guiding her to the right.
She tried to pull her hand free on instinct but he wouldn’t let go.
"Taryn—" she warned, tugging again.
"So you don’t get lost," he said firmly, not even looking at her.
It was a pathetic excuse. They both knew it.
Hannah scoffed under her breath, but she stopped resisting. As much as it annoyed her the way her pulse quickened, and the warmth spreading up her arm, so treacherous part of her craved the strength of his grip. The reassurance she hated herself for needing.
They walked in silence, weaving through the palace until Taryn pushed open a door and ushered her inside.
The room was quiet, far removed from the chaos on the outside.
Hannah glanced around, then back at him. "Where is this?"
"My quarters," he answered simply.
She blinked once. Then laughed.
"Oh," she said dryly. "So you bring to your room to talk. No ulterior motives at all."
Her tone was taunting, but there was unmistakable mirth beneath it.
"Hannah—" he started, frustration edging his voice.
She turned away before he could finish, wandering deeper into the room.
It was spacious. Everything about it scread him. Dark stone walls etched with runes. So typical Fae. A wide bed pushed against the far wall, its linens neat and untouched. Weapons arranged carefully along one side, and his scent filled the space.
Yep, definitely his room.
She folded her arms, and faced him. "If you didn’t bring here to seduce , then what is it? Because you certainly didn’t seem guilty last night."
The words landed the way she wanted it.
For a mont, Taryn looked like he wanted to speak only to swallow back down. His jaw was clenched so hard while his hands curled into fists.
Hannah waited for him but nothing ca.
Her patience snapped.
"You know what?" she muttered. "I don’t have ti for this."
She turned toward the door.
"Hannah."
She didn’t stop.
"Your father killed my wife."
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