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A woman with golden curls stepped outside, holding a basket of clothes. She began hanging them on a string tied between two trees. But it wasn’t until Tristan approached that he noticed her bulging belly.

“Ella?” Tristan called out, his voice careful not to startle her.

She swung around with a smile, clutching her bump, ready to greet the visitor. But upon locking eyes with him, her smile fell.

Tristan immediately lifted his hands.

“I come in peace,” he said, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening. He even offered a friendly smile for good measure. “I just want to talk.”

She must’ve sensed his honesty because her features relaxed and her eyes softened at him.

“You have questions about your lost memory,” she said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Tristan nodded. “I wasn’t sure who else to seek.”

“That’s all right. Come on in.” She motioned toward the door, leaving her clothes basket on the grass outside.

Tristan entered the home, then waited for Ella to guide him as to where to sit.

She gestured toward the sofa.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

“I do not wish to bother you,” Tristan said, pulling the hood from his head as he took a seat. “I also do not wish to take too much of your time. I simply come seeking answers about that night.”

Ella reached for a kettle that seemed to already have been boiled and grabbed it by the handle.

“I believe I already told you everything I know,” she said, pouring the steaming liquid into a ceramic mug. “I don’t think I left anything out.”

“Maybe.” Tristan nodded. “But the night you told me everything, I had been drinking. I only remember flashes of information, but not the details.”

After sprinkling some mint leaves into the mug, she handed him the drink.

He took it appreciatively. “Thank you.” Then his eyes roamed around the place once more. “Where’s Killian?”

“Out hunting,” Ella said with a pleasant smile. And for a moment, Tristan wondered if she’d meant to paint an image of her assassin husband with a hunting knife.

Tristan swallowed drily at the thought that Killian could walk in at any moment and use that same knife on Tristan.

“So, you want details,” Ella said as she took a seat on a rocking chair across from him. When her eyes settled on him, she sighed. “Are you sure about that?”

Tristan nodded as he blew into his cup. “Yes. I need every detail you can remember. No matter how dark. Don’t sugarcoat it on my account,” he said. “I believe it’s the only way I will find closure and be able to move on.”

Ella considered it for a moment, resting a soft hand on her belly as she rocked back and forth on the chair. “The tricky thing about memories is that we all have our own. It’s about perspective,” she explained, looking down as though remembering words spoken by someone else entirely. “When I retrieved my memory, I could only see what my own mind registered from that night. Even though I saw what you—Neri—did, I do not possess the reasons behind it.”

Tristan sighed and placed his drink on the coffee table between them, watching as the steam danced above it.

“There must be something I can do,” he pressed.

“There is,” Ella said, piquing Tristan’s interest, and he lifted his eyes to her again. “The fairies told us about the sundrop flower. They prepared it under the moonlight, and when we drank it, we were sent to a dream world where all our memories reside. As well as our deepest fears.”

Tristan watched her, enthralled.

“What was it like?” he asked.

“For me…” Ella let out a humorless chuckle. “It was a nightmare involving a Golden Tower, my dead parents, and me barely getting out. If Killian hadn’t come for me, I would’ve gotten stuck in there like Aurora—”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find one of these sundrop flowers, would you?” Tristan asked.