Chapter 89: Our Space

(MAYA)

“Corrine has been visiting her every month,” Jerry tells me 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 become fast friends and spend most of their time together. Your mother is doing well, Maya.”

I caress my mom’s cheek, my heart aching. “Did she miss me?”

The older healer hesitates. “She asked about you plenty of times. I told her you were traveling and would come 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 me she was hurt really badly, that Ravenna tried to kill her using the same drug he used on you.”

At the mention of his nephew, Jerry flinches. “He gave me a mild dose, enough to suppress my wolf temporarily, but Ravenna —” He pauses, shaking his head as if to get rid of the heavy memories. “Corrine survived, but it was a long battle. Her recovery took time. 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 me. “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 me.

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 remember, yet somehow endless in its quiet warmth. It’s a far cry from my mother’s previous apartment. 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 me 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 time 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 same.

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 me.

Sinking onto the bed, I let myself close my eyes and just breathe. I’m home. This may be a temporary home, 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 me moan in relief. The shower hisses around me, 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 grime of travel, the fear, and the memories I’m not ready to name 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 something that might fit me. 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 moment 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 me 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 smells 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 time 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 me 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 me.

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 time to come 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 me. 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 immediately, 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, somehow, everything in me knows I’m safe.

I take an unsteady step forward.

His gaze flicks over me 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 me 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 me 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 me. “Today.”

His tone is calm, reassuring, like a firm, unbreakable wall in the middle of the storm that’s drowning me inside my head.

Erik clears his throat behind the desk, gently breaking the moment. “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 me. The two stewards oversee the management of the palace, each with a distinct role. Havier would always bring me 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 nickname he invented. He always called me 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 former, wordlessly.

Griffin nods at him lightly, but I don’t see any recognition in his eyes. Erik stands up. “Let us talk over our meal, 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 me, yet at the same time, I feel like an interloper.

When Erik opens the tall double doors to the dining room, I stop short.

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