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The writing across the bottom of the poster is difficult to read. Most of the ink is faded and smudged, worn away by time and weather. Squinting, I can just make out a few surviving words:missing… Prince offers reward… safe return.

My heart stutters and stops. The Prince mentioned on the faded lettering could be referring to Prince Theron—the Stag Shifter Prince of Sylvalis.

This could be the confirmation she’s been searching for—a tangible link to her past.

CHAPTER 38

REN

My fingers tighten against the wood as I stare at the image on the poster. Footsteps draw my attention, and I look up as Merlyn walks toward me with a tray of food. I fold the parchment and tuck it under my arm.

A sharp, gnawing dread curls in my gut as I carry our food upstairs, the parchment heavy as a stone. My heart pounds painfully against my ribs. This could be the truth she’s been searching for—her chance to reclaim her stolen past.

But what if it’s not?What if it’s only a coincidence? A cruel twist of fate, taunting us with the hint of an answer that’s not really hers at all?

I know what I should do. I should march upstairs to our room, and hand this poster to Rapunzel. She deserves answers. She deserves the truth, even if I’m not entirely certain what that truth is.

Worry coils tight around my chest. What if this fragment of the past steals her from me? I cannot deny the selfish, ugly panic gripping my heart.

What if she sees this and believes it’s proof she belongs somewhere else? Withsomeoneelse? The thought feels like a dagger in my heart.

I’ve never felt anything as terrifying as this—this desperation, this bone-deep fear of losing her.

“I love you, Rapunzel,” I whisper to the empty hallway, my voice harsh with the raw truth of it. “If I show this to you, what if I lose you forever?”

My jaw tightens as I glance back at the poster, the faded image haunting me with painful uncertainty. If she sees this, she might leave to search for a past that might not even exist anymore. And if she leaves, I lose everything.

The paper feels heavy in my grasp, like it’s made of stone. Taking a shuddering breath, I fold it carefully and tuck it deep into my tunic. My chest aches because this feels wrong… cowardly even.

But another thought occurs to me:what if I show her this and I’m wrong?

Rapunzel trusts me.

How devastating would it be for her to dangle the hope of having found a link to her past, only to find out I’m mistaken, and the woman in the image isn’t really her at all?

My heart squeezes painfully as I make my way back up to our room, each step heavier than the last.

Gods, how do I tell her this without breaking her heart? And mine along with it?

Guilt claws at me, a bitter taste rising in my throat as I pause at the door, struggling to compose myself.I promised to protect her, not just from harm, but from pain. And now, if I make the wrong decision, I’m the one who could hurt her most deeply.

When I walk into the room, I discreetly tuck the poster into our satchel, and set the tray with our meals on the table. Rapunzel wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing hercheek against my back. “Thank you for getting our food. I’m starving.”

I turn in my arms to face her and she stretches up on her toes and presses a tender kiss to my lips. Tightening my arms around her, I pull her closer, every instinct deep within me demanding that I claim her right here and now.

She must taste the desperation in my kiss because when she pulls back, her small brow furrows. “Ren, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just a bit tired.” I regret the lie as soon as it leaves my mouth.

After our meal, Finik curls up in his blanket on the sofa by the fireplace, while we lie down in the bed. Rapunzel rests her head against my chest, her fingers drawing idle patterns across my chest.

“Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve been rather quiet since you came back upstairs.”

She knows me better than I realized. I should tell her what I found, but I’m afraid of what it might mean. I don’t want to lose her. So, instead of telling her the truth, I arch a teasing brow. “Are you saying I’m normally very loud?”

“Of course not.” She laughs. “But you do usually love to talk. And sometimes even sing.”

“Miss my singing, do you?” I grin. “Well, perhaps I’m thinking up a new version of my ballad about the charming and brave Fox Shifter.”