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I stared at the mirror, and I think he stared back. We were both silent.

“If you have not come for Casamir, then why are you here?”

“I came in search of his true name,” I said.

“Ah,” said the mirror. “You will not find answers here.”

“Where will I find them?”

I imagined that the mirror shrugged as he answered, “Here and there.”

I ground my teeth, frustrated. I walked to the end of Casamir’s bed, and all I could think, all I could imagine, was us, tangled together in a sea of dark silk. If we had sex again, would it be different? Would he be gentler, sweeter, far more protective?

It all made me too angry. I should not even be thinking about a next time. I should be focused on my goal of getting out of here.

I ground my teeth and turned to look at the mirror, leaning against the end of Casamir’s bed.

“Do you always watch him?” I asked.

“I have no choice,” he said. “I am a mirror.”

“Does he…” I started. “Does he have…visitors?”

“He does not,” said the mirror.

I hated the relief that unfurled in my body, hated that I had asked at all.

“Why does he keep these plants when his whole castle is a garden?” I asked.

“He loves them,” said the mirror. “That is why the castle is a garden.”

My brows lowered and I crossed again to the corner where all his plants were on display. Suddenly I saw his home in a new light. I had thought there was nothing personal about it, but the whole thing…it was a reflection of what he loved.

Something warm filled my chest.

“Why does he love plants?”

“I imagine it is because with plants, he can be who he truly is without consequence.”

“And who is Casamir?” I asked. “Truly?”

“I think you know,” said the mirror. “The question is, are you willing to see it?”

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms, feeling strangely exposed.

“Where is he?”

“I can show you,” said the mirror. “Though you may not wish to know.”

I waited and watched as the mirror’s surface warped and changed, and I saw Casamir waist-deep in water. He was washing a spray of blood and gold dust from his body. I did not think I needed to know what he had killed. I could guess. The fae who had drawn me into their trap last night, the fae who had blown into my face and made me ache for him.

His features were hard, and there was a part of me that wanted to trace away the tension between his brows and his mouth. I followed his hands, trailing over the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms, his chest and stomach, before he disappeared below the surface of the lake.

When he rose again, he waded to the shore. As his body was slowly revealed to me, I could not help but ache for him again, and as much as I wanted this to be magic, I knew it wasn’t.

I took a deep breath and turned from the mirror.

“How do I find his true name?”