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“Well, being heartless does make mea bitspecial, don’t you think?” Apollo mocked. “Of course, my killer grey eyes do add to the general allure of my person.”

“Being heartless doesn’t make you special,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “It just makes you cruel.”

“No retort about the eyes, huh? I see. So you do like something about me.”

As he went to brush his teeth, I remained pinned to my spot, staring at the grey-brown planks of the wall with my skin tingling and my heart taking dancing lessons on the floor of my chest.

Finally, the bed screeched, and Apollo cooed, “You can turn around now, darling.”

I did, hesitantly. He was already tucked under the bedcover with one arm propped behind his head as a pillow. His undershirt was so white that it paled the shadows of the room and made his skin look warmer, almost ethereal, and when his smoldering eyes fell on me, intense enough to make me aware of the most microscopic mechanisms of my body, my fingers flew up to close around my pendant.

He regarded the gesture with a raised brow. “Are you going to stand there all night, Little Butterfly?”

“Notallnight,” I clipped and tried to divert his attention away from me. “Aren’t you going to eat first?”

“I ate in the kitchen. These were for you. Now stop stalling.”

I swallowed. “I’m not stalling.”

He sighed at the ceiling. “Nepheli, darling, please don’t make me get up and drag you to bed. We have a very long journey tomorrow. You need to rest.”

At the mention of our journey, my good sense resharpened, and my previous anxieties returned to me at once.

I slipped into the bed, as mindful as I could be of the wisp of linen between us, and rested my head back on the pillow, admittedly grateful that he hadn’t taken it for himself. The covers were already warm from his body, and I pulled them up to my neck, desperate for some heat. He shifted, trying to give me a bit more space. The bed creaked. The fire crackled. My knees cracked. The side of my thigh touched his hip, but neither of us moved about it.

We were so close and so quiet, I was afraid he’d be able to hear the thudding of my heart. I remembered reading something like that in a novel once, and I finally understood what the protagonist meant. That dreadful feeling of being discovered. That harsh betrayal of your own body.

“About that,” I began, my voice hoarse. “How exactly am I going to return to Elora?”

He released a long breath. “Once we reach the city, I’ll get you on the first ship that sails out to the South. You’ll have an escort to ensure your safety and a handmaiden to tend to your needs or to just keep you company if you’re too used to taking care of yourself. Either way, she’ll be there for you. And of course, I’ll reimburse you for the damages, lost business, and all the distress I’ve put you through.” He turned his head to face me. “Does that sound okay, darling?”

He’d really thought of everything, hadn’t he?

Okay, fine. Perhaps Apollo Zayra wasn’t so horrid after all. Of course, he still hadn’t properly apologized to me, but at least I felt a bit more assured now that I knew he had a plan.

And maybe, just maybe, I could go to sleep now and feel a tiny bit excited that tomorrow morning I would wake up in the most enchanted kingdom in the Asteria Realm, the place where magic was birthed and curiosity was forever celebrated.

I tried to picture myself in Thaloria, wearing one of those fancy, elaborate garments I’d read about in the papers while strolling by over-bright storefronts and opulent theaters, my every step leading me to newness, my heart pounding from the thrill of the unknown, my senses taut and outstretched for any evidence of magic. And there would be so much magic to see, to learn, to master, and so many people to talk about all the things that never failed to make the blood quicken in my veins and my heart leap with joy.

How would I look to these people with my strange hair, my curious eyes, my thirsty ears? Would I be just another girl? Would I fit perfectly, like a lost piece of a puzzle? Or would I still be marked by this invisible veil of otherness I seemed to wear? Was the extent of one’s strangeness only as large as the world they lived in?

I stole a glance at Apollo, a man who’d seen so much of the world that I figured he had to have the answer. And I knew he would be honest—brutally so, for he didn’t have the capacity to care about my silly little heart at all.

The handsome line of his profile was perfectly serene, his lips slightly parted, and his black eyelashes lowered, drifting into the calm of sleep.

“Apollo?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you think I’m strange?”

He stifled a yawn. “Do you care if I think you’re strange?”

Something caught in my throat—a fear I couldn’t swallow. “I don’t know.”

His eyes opened and met mine. “You like magic, right?”

“Of course, I like magic. I’m a Curiosity.”