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I n the never-ending twilight of the cell, day and night blended together. Adric had no idea how much time had passed—one day? three days?—before the night fae finally ’ported them some food.

He fell on it, his starving body needing calories, and watched, worried, as Rosana just picked at hers. But after that, meals came on a regular basis: fish chowder for her, steak for him, fresh fruit and vegetables, crusty homemade bread.

They slept, woke, plotted. He paced the cell, nerves stretched taut at their continuing confinement in the small, dark space.

His quartz had completely recharged—another clue that in the outside world, more time had passed than they knew. He gave Rosana what healing energy he could, but it was her life-energy that was fading, and he wasn’t healer enough to fix that.

She grew weaker, edgier. She took to pacing the cell along with him, and when they curled up to rest, she felt warm, which was all wrong for a river fada.

And when was the last time she’d eaten?

Then the day came when she didn’t get up at all, just lay curled up next to the water trough, fingers playing in the meager trickle, her breath so light, it was almost inaudible.

He bent to stroke her cheek. It was dry, feverish. Even though he’d blocked the bond, he felt her receding from him.

“Angel,” he said brokenly.

“ Amo-te ,” she whispered. Love you.

He briefly closed his eyes—and then rose to his feet.

“Prince Langdon!” He stood in the center of the cell, spine erect, hands clenched at his sides. Prepared to do anything, even accept the bastard’s geas , in exchange for Rosana’s life. “Come to me—please. I’m begging you.”

Rosana lifted her head to hiss, “No, Rick!”

He ignored her to loudly repeat the prince’s name. “Langdon! Are you there?”

A whiff of metal and decay.

Adric scanned the cell.

There. In the corner to his left, a shadow coalesced into a man-shape.

He whipped around. Hot, angry words crowded his throat, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “Prince Langdon?”

A whisper from the shadows. “You called me.”

“Yes. Rosana”—his voice broke—“she’s sick. She needs her river. You have to release her.”

“So you’re ready to negotiate?”

A muscle in Adric’s cheek worked. Inside, his cat crouched, ears back, tail swishing angrily.

“As long as you let her out of here. She has to get in the water. Even that pond outside would work.”

A dark chuckle. “Soon.” The shadows settled again.

“No! Wait, you thrice-damned bastard!” He pounded his fists against the stones. “She needs out, now .” But Langdon was gone.

Adric flung himself at the door. “Somebody, please!” He hammered on the wood between the iron straps. “Let Rosana out. She’s going to die in here.”

When no one came, he threw his whole body against the door, slamming into it again and again, uncaring of the iron straps. But the heavy wood withstood his battering, and when it was over, all he had to show for it were several burns on his arms and hands.

And he was still alone in the cell with Rosana.

He bit out a vicious curse and stood there, hands fisted on his hips, head hanging.

Rosana moved restlessly. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I’m here, baby.” He rinsed the burns in the cold water and then sat down, easing her head onto his lap. “It’s going to be all right, you’ll see. Just hold on a little longer. Here, drink.”

Dipping the cup in the trough, he brought it to her dry, cracked lips. She murmured something unintelligible and sucked at the cup’s lip like a baby, tiny sips that had half the water trickling down her jaw.

But he heard her swallow.

“That’s it. Drink some more.” He urged water on her until she shut her mouth and turned her head.

Rosana dreamed she was a small girl again, floating in Rock Run Creek. Water flowed around her, cool and silky. She sensed her mama and papai on either side of her, but her eyes were glued shut.

And she was so dry, like she’d swallowed a desert.

“Shift,” her papai said in Portuguese. “You can do it, minha pequena .”

My little one.

Nostalgia cramped her stomach. How long had it been since anyone called her that?

And then something twisted and she was an adult again, watching her younger self play with her parents in the creek.

Her father, big and black-haired like her brothers, his strong, proud face marked by the jagged white scar he’d received from a fae.

Her mother, fine-boned and creamy skinned, with a heart-shaped face and blue eyes that always seemed to be smiling.

Rosana’s throat burned. “I miss you, Mama,” she whispered—and just like that, she was back in her little girl’s body again.

“You can do it,” Ula encouraged in her lilting Irish accent. “Shift, Rosie darling.”

She whimpered. “I’m thirsty.”

“I know. But I can help,” her mama replied. “Just open your eyes.”

But instead, Rosana opened her mouth to gulp down the river’s fresh, clear water. It didn’t help—she was drier than ever.

Her heart sank. “This is just a dream,” she said sadly. “Because I need to shift and I can’t.”

Her dad faded away and now she only sensed Ula.

“It is a dream,” she agreed. “But I’m really here. Now open your eyes, alanna .”

“Mama?” In the dream-river, Rosana’s eyes popped open. To her surprise, it was nighttime. The water flowed silver around her. On the nearby bank, bare trees scratched at the rising moon.

But her parents were nowhere to be seen.

Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.

Hot tears clogged her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them not to spill out.

Gentle fingers brushed her face. “Not those eyes, alanna . The eyes you use to See.”

“Go away.” Rosana shook off her mother’s hand. “You’re not really here. This is just some night-fae trick.”

“Oh, Rosie. You still haven’t learned the most necessary lesson.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Trust,” Ula whispered.

“I do trust him. He loves me.” Her mouth curved. “He told me.”

“Ah, sweetheart. That’s wonderful. Trust between mates is a beautiful, necessary thing. But you also must trust yourself, trust your Gift.”

Rosana’s brows snapped together. “You sound like Colm. ‘ Believe in yourself. If you don’t believe you can do it, then you can’t.’ But what good can my Gift do? It isn’t a weapon.”

“Oh, but it is. Touch him .”

She turned her head away. “ Touch him? But I can’t See anything when I touch him. And how would it help anyway when we’re locked in this freaking cell?”

Hopelessness settled over her like a dark veil.

Ula moved uneasily. “I have to go now—I shouldn’t even be talking to you. But remember, Rosie. When you wake up, remember these words: Touch him .”

Then she was gone, and when Rosana forced her eyes open, she was in the cell with Adric pleading for her to drink.

To please him, she took a couple of sips. But she was so tired.

She closed her eyes, telling herself she’d only rest a minute…and slipped back into the dream-river.