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But he looked like the paintings. His long nose, his proud smile, the dark brown of his eyes—the same shape and color as mine. His hair was white, but not like that of an older man—it was brighter, like the color of sparkling snow.

In a daze, I bent in a curtsy.

His gaze met with mine, his eyes widening. He touched a hand to his heart. “Ofelia?”

This impossible man, this being who resembled the faerie king from my storybooks,knew my name. “I must be dreaming,” I whispered.

Of all things, the king laughed. “No, no, my dear, you aren’t dreaming. But perhaps I am.”

He extended a hand, not so that I might kiss his ring, but palm up, like he was asking for something. Like he wanted to hold my hand.

I tremulously reached out, laying my hand atop his. Tomy relief, I hadn’t mistaken the gesture; the king covered our hands, beaming up at me. “Gods above. You look just like Marisol.”

Joy crackled through me like a firework. He knew her. Of course he did. That sanctuary I’d always dreamed of, where Mother and I could be protected from the Shadows—it felt a moment closer.

“How do you know me?” I asked. “How do you know my mother? Do you know where she is? I—I’ve been looking all over for her—”

“Answer me first,” he said, slow and patient. “How is it you’ve come to my court?”

“Mother disappeared,” I replied. “I came after her. My—my knight is over there, sire, and she protected me from the Shadows along the—”

He flinched, giving my hand a pat. “Please, child, don’t speak of those creatures.”

The denial cut through me. I never relished thinking of them, either, but they were the monsters he claimed to protect us from. They were our greatest threat. What was this act, as though they did not plague his own kingdom?

Still—I could not afford to argue with him. Finding Mother—finding hersafe—that was all that mattered.

“Yes, sire,” I said. “But you were saying about my mother?”

The king rose from his throne, standing a head taller thanme. He looked back at the soldier who had escorted me thus far. “Take us to the orangery. Let the celebration carry on while I speak with Mademoiselle Ofelia.”

As the soldier walked before us, and the king gave me his arm, panic made my insides squeeze tight. Lope was standing among the nobles, one hand in her pocket, and her eyes firmly upon me. I wanted to ask for her to join us, to ask for her protection, or at the very least, her presence. But I feared too greatly saying something that would displease the king and keep me from my mother.

I didn’t know him, didn’t trust him, didn’t even believe all of the stories about him. But he seemed kind enough. And he was my last link to Mother. So I let him sweep me out of the room.

In the hallway, I piped up, “Why the orangery, sire?”

“It’s quiet there,” he replied. “And I have much to tell you.”

We walked quickly through halls, the evening light dazzling me and making me wince each time I passed a window. But I could not contain my questions until we had reached our destination. “Was Mother with you while you were gone? Is she somewhere in the palace?”

“She is well, I promise you.” He smiled down at me. “I cannot tell if you have her curiosity or my stubbornness.”

It startled me, how openly he spoke of being my blood. That he so easily accepted that I was his child.

“This is all so strange,” I admitted softly. “Mother made me think I had no connection to this place at all. She hid everything, even her name, from me...”

He stopped in front of a narrow iron door. The guard stood against the nearby wall, a few paces away to give us privacy.

“She did not tell you, then,” he asked, “that you were mine?”

His?All these years, he had been a character in my fairy tales, the king ruling an enchanted palace, someone I’d seen in drawings—pale imitations of the man before me. The sunlight set golden rays on his hair like a crown. I could scarcely believe that I was here, that the king stood before me, that he was my family, thatIwas a part of his marvelous story.

“Mother forbade all talk of Le Château,” I said. “But I always asked; I always read books and asked for more stories and imagined living here.”

King Léo lifted my hand and drew it to his lips. “My dear Ofelia—your heart has always called you to this place. And at last... you are home.”

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