Chapter 89: Our Space
(MAYA)
"Corrine has been visiting her every month," Jerry tells
as I watch my mother sleep. "She brings Finn, and your mother enjoys his company. And then there is Teresa from the cottage next door. They’ve beco fast friends and spend most of their ti together. Your mother is doing well, Maya."
I caress my mom’s cheek, my heart aching. "Did she miss ?"
The older healer hesitates. "She asked about you plenty of tis. I told her you were traveling and would co back soon. I, at first, believed you truly were dead, Maya. It was Corrine’s conviction that stirred my hope. She never gave up looking for you. She’s been searching all three kingdoms for any sign of you."
"And yet, we were only a couple of days’ journey from here," I murmur heavily. "You’re back now, and that’s what’s important."
I lift my head. "And Corrine? How is she? Cassian told
she was hurt really badly, that Ravenna tried to kill her using the sa drug he used on you."
At the ntion of his nephew, Jerry flinches. "He gave
a mild dose, enough to suppress my wolf temporarily, but Ravenna —" He pauses, shaking his head as if to get rid of the heavy mories. "Corrine survived, but it was a long battle. Her recovery took ti. She’s much better now, though. She’s pregnant again."
I blink, stunned by this piece of news. "She’s expecting? When is she due?"
"Another three or four months would be my estimate. Her healer has told her not to move between the realms, but she still insists on coming to see your mother."
I sigh. "I’ll talk to her."
Jerry studies . "You should probably shower and change. I’m sure Erik wants to know where you’ve been all these months."
When I glance toward my mother, Jerry shakes his head. "Don’t worry about her. I’m here. While she sleeps, I’ll run my healing energy over her. It will take a couple of hours."
Reluctantly, I give my mother one last, lingering look before leaving. The door to her bedroom closes with a soft click behind .
I pause in the narrow hallway, my hand tracing the worn wood of the wall, and I breathe in the scent of lavender and old books that cling to every corner of this place.
The cottage feels smaller than I rember, yet sohow endless in its quiet warmth. It’s a far cry from my mother’s previous apartnt. The living room opens up just ahead, faded floral curtains framing the windows, a sagging but familiar couch sitting beside the stone fireplace. Everything is clean. Not polished and new, but lovingly kept, like she’s been waiting for
to step through the front door all along.
My chest tightens.
The small kitchen peeks out to my left, the autumn sun spilling across the cracked tile floor. Pots hang neatly above the stove, and a loaf of bread cools on the counter, as if ti pressed pause the day I left. I smile. She hasn’t stopped baking, it seems.
Nothing’s been replaced. Nothing’s been changed.
I move toward the back of the house where two doors face each other across a threadbare rug. My room is on the right. I hesitate before turning the knob, heart pounding harder than it should.
Inside, it’s the sa.
My bed is still made with the patchwork quilt Mom stitched by hand when I graduated high school. A little desk tucked under the window, dusted clean. My books, my laptop, and the faded t-shirt that I took off the night before I was taken were draped over the chair. The garden sways just beyond my bedroom window, wild and colorful.
I press a hand to my mouth to keep the sob from breaking loose.
She’s been waiting. She never gave up on .
Sinking onto the bed, I let myself close my eyes and just breathe. I’m ho. This may be a temporary ho, but it is mine.
My mother is here. This is our space.
Falling back against the pillows, I breathe a sigh of relief. It has been so long since I’ve lain on a mattress that I could weep with joy.
But I definitely stink.
Letting out a gust of air, I get up and shuffle over to the closet. I choose a simple, long-sleeved blouse and pair it with a pair of warm jeans.
The feel of hot water on my skin makes
moan in relief. The shower hisses around , steam curling in the cool air of the small cottage bathroom. I lean my forehead against the tiled wall, letting the water beat against my shoulders, washing away the gri of travel, the fear, and the mories I’m not ready to na yet.
My body aches, but it’s a distant kind of soreness, like my mind has separated from it entirely. I stay under the stream until my skin turns pink and the mirror fogs over completely.
When I finally step out, I towel off quickly, shivering against the chill. I slip the blouse over my head, but it sags off my shoulders, the collar gaping awkwardly. The pants are worse. They slide down my hips even when I cinch my belt as tight as it goes.
I take off the clothes, wipe the mirror clean, and frown at my naked reflection.
The weight I lost is startling now that I look at myself. My collarbones jut out sharply. My wrists look too delicate, like bird bones. Dismay twists in my stomach, a sour note beneath the enduring comfort of the shower.
Wrapping the towel around myself, I return to my room and rummage in my closet for sothing that might fit . Finally, I find a soft, faded jersey skirt—a little worn but intact. I step into it and tighten the drawstring until it hugs my hips snugly. Better. Still too loose, but at least it won’t fall off the mont I move. I make do with a blouse that’s supposed to be fitted. After pulling on a sweater, I pile my damp hair on top of my head and pin it there with a clip.
It’s been a while since I wore glasses. I’ve never really needed them, but I always liked how they made
look intellectual. However, the one pair I had, Cassian stepped on.
Jerk.
I’ll have to get another pair.
The path to the palace’s main building is paved with smooth, gray stones and winds through trees and gardens. Afternoon light slants through the leaves, dappling the walkway in shifting gold. Everything slls like pine and fresh earth. My feet move on instinct, but my chest stays tight with every step.
The main building of the palace rises ahead, an elegant mansion.
There was a ti when I used to walk up and down these stairs with confidence. But now, it all feels strange. I pause at the wide steps, brace a hand on the stone railing, and draw a slow, steadying breath.
You’re not alone. Griffin is here.
The thought is a fragile thread pulling
forward.
The main office wing is on the second floor, tucked behind a heavy oak door carved with old runes. I hesitate just a second before pushing it open. I don’t bother with knocking.
The office is bathed in warm light, with bookshelves lining one wall. A wide desk is cluttered with papers and maps. Two pairs of eyes turn to .
I see Erik first, but I ignore him, my gaze seeking out the shifter who has been by my side for months.
"My mother is resting. Jerry is with her. I thought this was the best ti to co talk to you, Erik. Am I interrupting?"
The words are spoken to the king, but my gaze is fixed on his brother. Griffin’s eyes, which were holding a hard tension, soften in a way that nearly undoes . The knot that has been tightening inside my chest for days loosens all at once, like a fist unclenching around my heart.
"You’re not interrupting," he says imdiately, covering the distance between us.
My fear, my exhaustion, it all fades away at the sight of him. I don’t bother with the why of it. All I care about is that, sohow, everything in
knows I’m safe.
I take an unsteady step forward.
His gaze flicks over
quickly, taking in the too-loose sweater, the skirt I’ve hitched higher on my hips. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a flash of protectiveness crossing his face so fast I might have missed it if I weren’t watching him so closely.
I feel the undercurrent of tension, but my worries are gently put to rest by Erik.
"While we wait for the food, we should talk, then." He gestures toward the elegant sofas.
I take a step forward, nearly tripping over my skirt, which has slipped down. Griffin catches
before I fall on my face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice low, almost rough.
I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I just—" I trail off, heat rushing to my face. I feel fragile and raw and stupidly emotional, standing here in clothes that barely fit, pretending I’m stronger than I am, like I have not been through hell and lost months of my life.
But Griffin doesn’t make
feel small. His proximity is like a balm, steady and solid. "My clothes are too loose," I admit, wondering why I feel the urge to cry.
"I’ll get you new ones," he murmurs, steadying . "Today."
His tone is calm, reassuring, like a firm, unbreakable wall in the middle of the storm that’s drowning
inside my head.
Erik clears his throat behind the desk, gently breaking the mont. "We don’t have to do this right now. The two of you have been through enough. Waiting a few days won’t change anything."
"No." I shake my head, my hand curled around Griffin’s arm. "I want to catch those bastards. They’re nowhere near done. The things they are developing in that lab are too dangerous."
Erik’s eyes darken, but before he says anything, there is a knock on the door, and a man enters. "Havier." I smile at him in greeting.
"Little Miss."
A large, hulking shifter with deep brown skin and an incredibly kind smile, Havier is one of the two stewards of the palace. Corrine always referred to him and his counterpart as butlers, but Jerry corrected . The two stewards oversee the managent of the palace, each with a distinct role. Havier would always bring
snacks when I was working.
"I’m glad to see you back, Little Miss." His voice is deep, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.
Little Miss. It’s a nickna he invented. He always called
that, and I never questioned it. Next to him, I look positively tiny.
"Thanks, Havier."
"Lunch is served in the dining room." Havier looks between Griffin and Erik before bowing deeply to the forr, wordlessly.
Griffin nods at him lightly, but I don’t see any recognition in his eyes. Erik stands up. "Let us talk over our al, in that case."
He leads us down a wide corridor toward the dining room, his shoes clicking softly against the gleaming marble floor. The hallways are so familiar to , yet at the sa ti, I feel like an interloper.
When Erik opens the tall double doors to the dining room, I stop short.
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