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Willow smiled and nodded, keeping her lips pressed together. They could go around and around on this, and Poppy’s bottom line would remain the same. Prince Serrin was good, the Blighted were bad. Poppy wasn’t built for nuance.

Jace, on the other hand . . .

Jace had a mind like a steel trap—Willow was sure of it.

Any opinion Jace held about the realm was bound to be sharp and worth hearing.

The problem was, Jace rarely let anything slip.

She was quick with a joke and always good for a friendly chat, but when it came to what she actually believed?

Willow just didn’t know. Sometimes she worried Jace didn’t trust her enough to say.

Poppy grinned and elbowed Willow in the ribs. “Speaking of roots—our Serrin’s got a fine root on him, I’d wager. He’ll have you ripening in no time.”

Willow did a spit take, spraying hot chocolate down the front of her nightdress.

“Oh, miss, look what you’ve done!” Poppy tutted.

“Sorry, sorry,” Willow said, trying to laugh it off. Poppy’s bawdy joke shouldn’t have surprised her, after all. If Willow was to be Serrin’s mate... well, what did mates do, after all? They mated.

Only, Willow didn’t want to mate with Serrin. She hadn’t known it until just that moment, but now the truth pricked her like a thorn and would not dislodge.

It wasn’t fear. She wasn’t frightened of bodies or heat or want—she’d felt all of that, raw and real, when Cole had kissed her in World’s End. That kiss had crackled. It had pulled her into the now.

Serrin didn’t pull her anywhere.

Of course, Willow hadn’t seen him yet. Not properly. Not in the flesh. That was all it was, surely. That had to be it. Once they were face-to-face, once his hand touched hers, once his gaze met hers across some moonlit expanse...

“All right, miss,” Poppy said, heaving herself up from her fireside seat. “Let’s get you to bed. With the Mating Ceremony just two days away, it’s no time to skimp on your beauty sleep.”

~

As Willow was sipping her honeyed tea the next morning, Poppy dashed with flushed cheeks into Willow’s chamber.

“Miss, miss!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been summoned!” She laid a parchment in front of Willow that bore Severine’s sigil pressed in wax.

“Isn’t it thrilling?” Poppy said. “Perhaps it’s for a dress fitting—or maybe to rehearse tomorrow’s ceremony!”

Willow rose, heart quickening. “She didn’t say?”

“No, but queens never do,” Poppy said. “That’s what makes them queens!”

Willow hoped it was a rehearsal she’d been summoned for. All she knew about tomorrow’s ceremony was that Serrin, the crown prince, would gaze into the sanctified scrying pool and see his queen-to-be. He’d stand tall and say Willow’s name, and then... and then...

Her new life would begin.

Poppy tugged her toward the wardrobe, muttering about sleeves and seasonal colors. “You need something understated but not too understated. Velvet always reads well on the lawn...”

Willow let herself be dressed like a doll, her insides buzzing.

Aesra arrived to collect her, as stern and dour as always, and soon Willow was trailing the silent Secret Sister down corridors she’d never seen before—hushed halls where stained-glass windows spilled fractured light across the marble floor.

It felt like walking through a half-remembered dream.

Aesra halted before a tall door carved from weathered stone. She pressed it open and gestured Willow through. “Go on, then.”

Willow stepped out into a space she hadn’t known existed.

This was no mere lawn. It unfurled before her in sharp geometry, a vast chessboard carved from living foliage, its squares alternating between dark grass and tiles of pale pink blossoms. Towering figures loomed above the grid—serpents, unicorns, a gryphon with vast leafy wings.

At the board’s center crouched a dragon wrought from thorny vines, head low, eyes glittering with dewdrops.

Smoke trickled from its parted jaws. A quiet hiss escaped as Willow passed.

“Ah, Willow,” said Severine, gliding forward in a lavender gown. “What a pleasant surprise.”

It was hardly a surprise. The queen had summoned her here. But politesse existed in Eryth just as it did in Atlanta, and Willow had learned how to play the game.

“Indeed,” she said. “And what a lovely courtyard.”

“Shall we stroll?” Severine asked, offering her arm. Willow stepped forward and looped her own through it.

They walked. Aesra trailed behind, more watchful than usual. Willow caught flickers of motion at the edge of her vision, the sharp snap of Aesra’s tunic as she turned. Whatever this was, it mattered.

“I wanted to thank you,” Severine said. “You’ve done so well since you’ve been here.”

Willow blushed with pleasure. “Thank you. I’m glad. I just... I want to help Serrin. That’s all.”

“And you have—more than you know.”

They rounded a bend, and Willow’s stomach tightened. In the distance, a low iron gate stood ajar. Willow knew that low iron gate.

Severine gave Willow’s hand a gentle pat where it rested against her forearm. “Still, we have reached... a tipping point. What Serrin needs now requires more than the child’s play of bringing forth a simple dove or cat.”

Willow’s stomach tightened. Not once had she pulled a dove from the water. Or a cat. None of the animals—half-drowned and limp though they’d been—had come easy. Each time, it had cost her something. It had never been child’s play.

They passed through the iron gate and, yes, into the tangled borderlands beyond the manicured gardens, where well-groomed rose paths gave way to wild thicket.

Willow fought a welling of disappointment.

The parchment, the summoning, the vast topiary chessboard.

.. they’d been distractions, misdirections.

The pond had been their destination all along.

Severine slipped her arm from Willow’s and stepped forward alone, looking out over the water.

“You’ve brought Serrin back to us, you know. He’s strong enough for tomorrow’s ceremony. He’s very much looking forward to it.”

Willow tried to keep her breathing smooth. “As am I.”

“But he is not a boy who can be saved by scraps,” Severine continued. “Before you become queen, you must offer him something special. A singular, untainted life.”

Willow’s pulse skittered. “What does that mean?”

“A child,” said Severine. “A mortal one. A baby.”

Willow’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

“The child has been chosen already, with great care. A soul on the edge. You will give purpose to a life that would otherwise waste away.”

“Severine, please,” Willow whispered. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

“I’m not asking.” Severine reached for Willow’s hand and guided her forward through the grass. “You love him.”

The pond rippled, its surface pulling at Willow’s gaze.

“You’re meant for him. And he for you.”

Severine pressed down gently on Willow’s shoulders. Willow sank to her knees.

“Good girl,” the queen murmured. “Such a good girl.”

Willow tried to look away, but the pond held her fast. She watched in horror as a small form rose through the scum. A baby, its pale and perfect flesh tinted green by the pond. It was barely a month old, its eyes cloudy, suspended a foot below the pond’s surface like a slice of fruit in Jell-O.

It kicked one leg weakly.

“This is not cruelty,” Severine said from behind her. “This is a gift—for both boys.”

Willow squeezed shut her eyes and saw Cole, his face a mask of anguish. My brother didn’t vanish. He was taken.

Her eyes flew open. The baby’s tiny foot rose and broke the surface.

“The darling!” Severine cooed. She stepped past Willow and crouched at the water’s edge, cupping the baby’s heel in her palm. “So perfect, so dear. Couldn’t you just gobble him up?”

Somewhere in the real world, a mortal mother would wake to find her baby gone—and in his place? A pile of sapphires.

Severine transferred the baby’s foot to Willow’s hand. She folded her hand over Willow’s, squeezing until Willow’s fingers adhered to the baby’s damp flesh.

“For Serrin,” Severine lulled.

The baby’s foot twitched in Willow’s palm like a warm little fish. Her thumb grazed over his toes, five perfect tiny toes, plus one more for luck.

“No!” Willow cried. She released the baby and jerked her hand to her chest, clamping her other hand over it to hold it in place. She scooted backward on her knees, away from the pond and away from the child who was already, mercifully, sinking back into the depths.

“Wait!” Severine howled. The sound ripped out of her, a saw on bone. “Come back!”

She struck the water with her bare hand, sending up a splash of cold water that burned Willow’s cheek. Then Severine leaned forward and clawed at the pond, scooping out water hand over hand. The water gave up nothing, indifferent to her hunger.

“Severine?” Willow said timidly.

Breathing hard, Severine sat back and pressed both hands flat against her thighs. She smoothed her skirts. She composed herself. Then she rose, looked at Willow with hard eyes, and said, “You disappoint me.”

Willow swallowed but didn’t look away.

Wind stirred the pond’s edge, lifting a strand of Willow’s hair and brushing it against her lips.

Severine turned on her heel. She strode away from the pond and back toward the palace grounds, Aesra falling in behind her.

Not Willow. Not yet. Her heart thudded, and from deep within, something rose up. Fragile. Barely formed. But hers.