FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN - rowan needs daddy lorcan

"Perhaps you should ask your grandfather to redirect his efforts to another eligible female"

Rose grunted, "As if I hadn't already tried. It's unfair that she is not held ac-"

"Uh-" Luca started before coughing awkwardly as all pairs of eyes refocused on him. "I shall take my leave, now" He nodded, then vowed. Then nodded again, and walked nervously out of the tent as the healers thanked him before his figure disappeared.

"He's adorable" Dahlia murmured, like a mother would speak about her child. The others mumbled their agreements.

A stretch of silence followed as Louise and Rose read their respective letters. The former with a deepening frown as her eyes scanned the pages, and the latter with a widening grin that ended in a squeal of happiness.

"Ren is coming to Banjali" Rose exclaimed with utter joy.

"Congratulations" Dahlia said from her place back on the studying table.

Louise blinked. "He's coming? Here?" Isabella was taken aback as she could not recognize the emotion behind the female's voice. "Why?"

"Apparently there's been a royal decree that ordered all high ranking nobles and officials to gather here" She shrugged as she finished speaking, not at all bothered by the politics of it.

"Ren Allsbrook is coming to Banjali, I should warn all the eligible unmarried fae in camp, I know many of them would love to try to steal your brother's heart" Dahlia called.

Ren Allsbrook. The title spiked a memory in Isabella's mind. She mentally cursed herself for not realising it sooner. He was yet another real life who Sarah had taken upon her hands only to transform him into words on paper for her own amusement. She could now recall that he had been described as a rebel from Terrassen. A human. But that was yet another differentiation from this world, for Rose was a pure-blooded Fae, and so must be Ren.

Murtaugh had been the name of his grandfather, whose depicted old age had not stopped him from joining the rebellion group against Dorian The First, a possessed king. Based on the healers' words, she could only guess that characterization was, at least, honest to reality.

Isabella had a gnawing feeling that there was something she was forgetting, but whatever it was, was as thin as mist, it vanished before she could grasp it.

She convinced herself it must not have been important if she could not remember it. She had, after all, books to study, and only a long night ahead.

-

Rowan tried not to stare too fervently at the figure quietly sprinting through the woods. He also tried to ignore the not-so-slight pang of pride at the subtleness of her steps as she moved. She had learned to master it quite fast.

The small, tranquil flapping of his wings was barely above a whisper as he flew from one branch of the tree to another. His shadow was a follower of hers; the moon and the Gods of the night their only audience.

The figure stopped as she reached the centre of the forest. A circular field surrounded by trees, knee-high grass, and heavy darkness that even the stars struggled to fight tonight.

His sharp senses, his extremely keen eyesight was the only reason why he could still see her despite the blackness of the night; and it was the small tear in a jar that permitted her to fight the gloom on her own.

It was, perhaps, the simplest of things. Yet he couldn't help but find her to be brilliant.

Rowan repeated to himself for over the millionth time that he was merely following Isabella to make sure she was safe, to be convinced that she was not suffering, to quiet his doubts about her persona; and not just because he wanted to be sure that she was not secretly sneaking at night to meet with another male.