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I wondered if the sprite had called thisthe path that was always therebecause of how uncannily convenient it was—I could not imagine it being blocked even during the snowy winter months. Perhaps the fairies paved the way with the help of magic to lure humans into their domain. After such a pleasant journey, any traveler would be much more relaxed and therefore easier to trick.

After several minutes of echoey silence, I finally cast Apollo an inquisitive glance. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“And we’re talking about…” he trailed off, the sarcasm sizzling in his voice.

“Your incessant flirting with everything that breathes.”

“Careful, Nepheli,” Apollo drawled. “You sound jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I hissed. “I was merely wondering if this odious habit of yours is what has earned you your ominous title.”

“My title?”

“Prince of Broken Hearts?”

“Ah,” he mocked.

“So?” I persisted.

“So, I still think you sound a little jealous.”

I’d never met a person who was more averse to straight answers than Apollo Zayra. It was a miracle that he wasn’t going into physical shock every time I opened my mouth.

I raised my chin defiantly. “Believe it or not, Apollo, not every woman in the Realm is obsessed with you.”

Apollo smirked. “Says the woman who slept in my arms all night long.”

“Yes, and I almost suffocated under the weight of your giant—”

“Cock?”

“Ego!”

Suddenly, Apollo’s hand jutted out and seized my arm.

“What—” I started with a gasp as he yanked me to his side.

“We’re here,” he said, his eyes manic, flicking toward every direction at once.

My brows knit. “There’s nothing he—”

At once, the most curious sight befell my eyes.

Opalescent swirls of mist emerged from the underbrush, wrapped around the barks of the trees, and braided through the saggy branches. The vapor glazed everything with its eerie, dewy tactility, dancing in the air like the prelude to some thrilling fever dream, luring and sensuous, and secretly lethal. A glum, tomb-like silence fell over the forest, as if every living creature that was previously buzzing and chirping with life met its sudden death.

My heart skipped a beat. The breath thinned in my lungs. Fear burrowed deep between my shoulder blades.

I tightened my grip around the handle of my parasol and whispered, “What is happening?”

The mist dispersed slowly, dreamily, revealing a grand, marble archway. Two glowing pillars and a pediment emerged from the sod, the massive, pale stones sculpted into masterful representations of flowers and vines, stars and suns, and tiny fairies holding up jugs outbursting with fairydust, each carving so detailed and animated I could have sworn they were one breath away from coming into life. Strange yellow-hued branches sprouted from the ground and twisted up the columns, pink and lilac flowers tumbling like a head of curls over the edge of the pediment.

Everything around me faded out, blended into a haze of unimpressive shapes, darkness sweeping over and sucking out all the colors until the arch was the only beautiful thing left in the world, the only thing worth seeing.

“Gods, it’s magnificent,” I gasped, stretching out my hands. I longed to thread my fingers through the pretty leaves and press my palms flat upon the stones. I was certain they’d be cool like rain to the touch, and my hands all of a sudden were hot and sweaty, and I craved the relief.

Apollo seized both of my wrists and spun me around. “Nepheli, focus on me for a moment, please,” he urged, and although he was standing right in front of me, it was still very hard to discern the lines and contours of his face.

All I wanted was to turn and gaze at the glorious arch again. I wanted to touch it and be absorbed by it. I wanted to become something as interesting and beautiful as it was.