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It wasn’t until he’d told us the whole story that we understood that he was the fulfillment of the prophecy, the queen had told me. He hadn’t known, either. Not until the very end.

And I had watched it happen.

I am the reason it happened.

He looks at me with a growing . . . interest ? Amusement?

“Anton,” I try again.

“My,” he says softly, his eyes roaming over me, “what little treat did they send me now? But even a treat as delectable as you won’t satiate me enough to keep me here. Tell Sadira that I do not appreciate this betrayal of hers, especially after all I did for her.”

“You . . .” I frown. “You don’t know who I am.”

“Should I? I do apologize if we’ve spent a night together; you understand. I do that often. It’s rather difficult to keep it straight.”

My heart drops.

He doesn’t know me at all. And yet he remembers Sadira. His other memories are intact, muddled or not . . .

No—no. If I could just snap him out of it, get through to him—

“Of course,” he says, eyeing my lips, “you are welcome to spark my memory . . .”

I don’t even blink. Angry, resolute, I pull his mouth determinedly to mine.

It sends a jolt through us both. And when I ease back, I swear— swear —I see a hint of recognition. Hope stirs within me. I cling to it, fisting his shirt.

His breath fans my cheeks, my nose.

Then he’s guiding me back, back until my shoulder blades press into the wall—

His lips find my throat.

It saps the strength from my legs. But he catches me, holds me, and when he kisses me, his teeth are there, pulling at my bottom lip—

I come undone. And together we sink, twin ships with a single anchor, and I forget the queen is just outside the door. Her warning. All I know is I need him. I need him.

My heart was just beginning to blossom at his touch. Unfold, like the first ray of sun on a Brisendali aster after a long winter. These were our first chapters, the very beginning of our story, if I dared hope for more—

He pulls back suddenly, running his tongue over his swollen lips.

“Who are you?” he breathes.

Emboldened, I step toward him, taking his hands in mine, but something stirs in his eyes. They flash, darken. No. I clutch him tighter. “Come back to me,” I beg him. But it’s as if he doesn’t even hear me.

Eyes of shadows, glazed like mist,

Whose touch will kill, and lips will kiss.

“It seems the goodness Moranya took from him was you, Vasti-anna,” I hear the queen say from behind me.

The goodness of it, Moranya had said. The warmth and comfort.

We all have our comforts, Minnow. I wonder if you might be mine.

“Anton,” I breathe again. The performances. Philam. Illian, I try to say, but my throat tightens, squeezing around the words. I wrap a hand around it, and only just manage, “You remember the Gathering, don’t you? You must—”

My windpipe cinches until I can no longer speak.

“I remember enough, ” he says, turning a sharp glare on Sadira. “And now that my kingdom has been stolen from me, I am held hostage by the woman I thought a friend. A nice distraction this one is, Sadira, but I’ve had enough.”

He remembers the Gathering differently, she had said. And no matter how hard we try, our words never seem to reach his ears. We even tried to show him the stills. He sees nothing but a blank pane of glass.

My pulse storms through my veins. “We need you. I need you.”

Consumed by darkness, his heart a snare,

Those around Him will remain unaware.

Heat burns through my blood. “I don’t care what Moranya did. Anton —”

“You dare speak ill of my Fate,” he says, swinging back toward me. One step, and he’s cornered me against the wall—

Soldiers in black swarm the room, Basile along with them.

“Leave him alone!” I beg, but they don’t. They shove him until his back hits the opposite wall. Basile pins his arms above him. “Get her out of here!” he shouts.

“Vastianna,” calls the queen.

I whirl around. “Why is he in here, hidden away like some kind of common convict? He is a Crown !”

He is stronger than this, stronger than what was done to him. I can reach him—somehow. I believe in him. Why don’t they?

Queen Sadira sighs. “His first request was for us to imprison him. Lock him up. But I refused, and even now, I wonder if I made the right choice. If he reclaims the Miridranian throne, child, he could become a monster. You know the prophecy. The second Eremis will crave blood. He’ll wash the lands with it in service to her. ”

When Crowns divide, and nations collide,

Blood will run, high as tides.

And I had seen it, hadn’t I? She had some kind of hold on him, even before the bargain. He’d leaned into her touch, there for a moment, as if he were drawn to her somehow. And the stories of her—it wasn’t just who she appeared as. She had a power beyond that. An allure of some kind.

“There has to be a way to undo this,” I say.

“Maybe,” says the queen. “But for now, it’s time to go.”

But I won’t. I can’t. I march toward him, resolute. “Take me to Moranya,” I demand. “I want to speak with her.”

“You can’t,” Sadira interjects. “Only in death. And to try to arrange that, Vastianna, would be an insult to what he did.”

“But he found a way into her lair without dying.” He’d carried my body there. “Surely I can, too.” I eye him, see the pendant—the lens—still hanging around his neck.

“Even if I knew how he accomplished such a thing, he forbade it,” she says.

“But we need him. Miridran needs him.”

“Yes, we do. Like you, I do not intend to abandon him so easily, prophecy or not. We of Razam are loyal to our friends.”

“Then I will find another way,” I say, my eyes locked on his. “I will save you, Anton, like you saved me. This is my vow.” I throw my hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing my promise onto his smirking lips.

He doesn’t notice the way I unhook the chain, the way the pendant falls into my free, open palm.

If he could cheat death, I can certainly cheat a deal.

For my immortal king, I will find a way.