CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Autumn

I hugged Lisbeth as soon as she unzipped the polythene bag. She could not have picked out anything more perfect. Yet by the time I had the dress on, I was having doubts.

“It’s quite short,” I complained, tugging at the tiered hem that flared slightly from the hips, while the slip underneath somehow managed to stay firmly attached to my thigh, a little too high up.

“No shorter than anything the other girls will be wearing,” Lisbeth reminded me from her dressing table, where her magic finished off her makeup. I didn’t disagree with that. My phone had been vibrating constantly all afternoon, with multiple girls seeking reassurance about their wardrobe choices. “And you asked me to find something for tonight. I think it’s very you.”

She was right. It was boned and worked as well as any corset, pulling my waist in so there could be no doubt in anybody’s mind that I had anything but an hourglass figure, even at my age. It was entirely black and covered in a fine lace decorated with roses that overlapped the strapless top slightly, meaning I didn’t have to worry about that part too.

“And it will impress everyone. You look gorgeous!”

I slipped my feet into my black heels—the height of which would make Edmund very grumpy—and stared her down. I knew her game. She meant it would impress Fallon. She had been at it for two weeks.

Except I wasn’t quite sure I would impress. I had left my hair down and curly, but had smoothed and pinned back one side with a tiny, rose-adorned slide, revealing an ear, which he never liked. If I left it down, it would annoy me all evening.

“Stop playing with your hair.” Lisbeth came over and wrapped a large hand around my wrist, pulling it down and placing it over hers. Together we left her room to descend.

Waiting at the bottom were the two younger princes (the duke and duchess had gone out on a “date”), looking refreshed after their afternoon of rest, as if the previous day and night had never occurred. That was what we all wanted. To forget, for one night, what was happening.

Alfie, casual as ever, had opted for an open jacket and shirt with no tie, though he did have a deep blue handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, which matched Lisbeth’s dress as though made from the same silk. He came forward and took both her hands in his before placing them on the dress panels resting on her hips, which had miraculously produced curves.

“You look wonderful,” he told her, making eye contact and refusing to break it until I crossed through his peripheral vision, heading for Fallon, who hung back. “You, too, Autumn,” he hastily added.

I allowed him a small smile, and then returned my attention to Fallon. In looks he might be the image of his cousin, but in style he could not be more different. His black loafers gleamed—freshly polished—and his black trousers and jacket were so clean and crisp they had the appearance of crushed velvet in the soft candlelight, streaming from the lanterns floating in midair above us. I had the urge to reach out and touch it, to check, but found I had moved close enough to see it was cotton. Between the lapels peeped a double-layer black-and-gray waistcoat, and around his collar, a bow tie.

I drank up these details in seconds and hastily searched for something to say, because once I had reached his hair, which he had done nothing whatsoever with, I became acutely aware he was drinking me in, too. “Every inch the host,” I settled on, smiling and parting my hands slightly, because what I really wanted to say was you look incredible.

“You look . . .” He shook his head slightly and did not close his mouth, and then cocked one ear toward his shoulder. “I don’t have words.”

I smiled and stared at his shoes.

“I like this,” he murmured, reaching out and touching the clip in my hair. He pulled his hand back, smoothing a strand as he did. “I like your hair like this, duchess.”

That was it. A cocoon in my stomach burst and from it fluttered butterflies, who found their way around my system in a heartbeat, and I was sure if I used my magic at that moment, I would accidentally burn the place down.

Instead, I was left with the urge to tie Alfie to a stake and burn him as he cleared his throat with a snort, utterly ruining the moment. Lisbeth thrust her elbow into his ribs. He didn’t even flinch.

It didn’t matter anyway. I could feel warmth approaching, the kind only humans could produce. Before I began to shut my mind down to the impending babble, Edmund wormed his way in.

“Autumn, your friends are at the south gate.” I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. That meant they were in the lodge at the visitors gate, enduring security checks. “Brace yourself. I think that Gwen girl has been pregaming.”

Fallon grimaced and Alfie laughed. “I’m looking forward to this.”

The next hour was pandemonium. Tammy and co. were first to arrive, but I barely had time to do more than nod encouragingly at their stunned expressions and shunt them into the ballroom. The guests did not stop arriving, and having been roped in as hostess, I found myself hitting repeat when explaining that the gorgeous, mirrored ballroom was based on the one in the Palace of Versailles, and had been the Atheneas’ recent addition to the place. Most were left drooling at the lavishness.

It was nearing nine o’clock when I caught up with my friends. They were clumped together, too afraid to approach any of the boys and even more afraid when Lisbeth and Alfie came to introduce themselves. But when alone, they were perfectly chatty and extremely excitable; Edmund’s guess that Gwen had been pregaming was quite correct. They were drinking now, too—Buck’s Fizz—and were giggling at a waiter offering canapés (another thing that fascinated them). Fallon had, of course, hired outside caterers from Athenea . . . because unless they had clocked up ridiculous air miles, they simply weren’t good enough.

He had excused himself some minutes before to welcome the last guests, and I was just being bored by Gwen’s animated description of what she would like to do to the poor waiter (who was still in earshot) when she fell silent.

Somebody behind me cleared their throat. “Sarlane, rafiki.” Hello, friend.

I was so shocked to hear my tongue spoken in such an accent that it took me several seconds to turn around.

“Jo?”

We dived into each other’s arms without any more words and jumped up and down, squealing, until a second throat-clearing forced my feet to remain on the floor.

There, sure enough, he was.

“So’yea ar en manta t’ea rarn!” I said to the prince, trying to tell him off but sounding more amused than angry.

He checked his smile and looked suitably admonished as I threw my hands to my hips, raising his hands in submission.

“I’ll go and fetch you some drinks; let you catch up.” He laughed and made his hasty retreat.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Jo’s mouth widened into a silent shriek. “Wow,” she cooed. “Wow, wow, wow, the Athenea, you’re with the Athenea! I’m with the Athenea!”

“I did notice.”

“No, but this is incredible. Prince Fallon got special permission for me to dimension-hop, you know. He must really like you! God, that’s the best way to travel; it beats a plane every time.”

There was going to be no reasoning with her, so I let her babble on, wondering how I had gone without her radiance for so long.

“I have so much to tell you! You remember James Funnel from school? He lost his virginity to a . . .” She lowered her voice and glanced left and right. “A human, and that girl Raine is just horrible these days, she fell in with this group that think it’s cool to smoke and, get this, drink blood for the high it gives them! Apparently it’s some new craze people started when Violet Lee got kidnapped . . .”

Jo fell away from me as though she had stumbled over the edge of a cliff. I saw her drop with wide eyes until she steadied herself on one knee, a low curtsy that could be done without a ball gown. Hesitantly, my human friends (whom I had completely forgotten about) bobbed into shallow curtsies.

“Prince Alfred,” Jo forced out. Her voice trembled.

Alfie cocked his head to the side and winked at me as we stood, the only remaining towers in a pile of rubble. “I see Fal has delivered his surprise to you, Autumn. But I think it best if she stands up to try the champagne. It packs a punch.”

Jo nervously laughed, and, keeping a firm grip on the floating hem of her burgundy dress, tottered back up, blushing the whole time. I made a note to ask her if she had ever actually come across one of the Athenea during her summer at court. It didn’t seem like it.

“I am so grateful that you have allowed me into your home, Your Highness. Especially considering the . . . ah . . . circumstances.” Jo glanced briefly at me and that one look told all: she knew what a web we were in.

“Circumstances could well be our family name,” Fallon said, appearing behind me, omnipresent as ever. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Then why tell them in the first place? Unless it was a threat. A subtle unveiling of how deep, and how dangerous, their royal world was. The injunctions themselves were enough to make Jo quake in her shoes.

As soon as I could, I whisked Jo away to a powder room tucked in behind the ballroom. I hoisted myself up onto the counter by the sink to give my aching feet a rest.

“Oh Jo,” I breathed, reaching down and clasping her hands together in mine. “I wish we were children again!”

She stared at the floor. “I thought we might drag up memories of the professor. Your grandmother, I mean.”

I slid off the counter and span to face the mirror, sliding a finger under each eye to catch my smudged makeup. “My grandmother is dead, Jo. I know that.” But she wasn’t dead. She was staring right back at me in the mirror. She was there in my hair, and my scars, and my br**sts . . . she was in my shadow. She was my shadow. My ever-looming shadow. “I’m not angry with anyone for being associated with her. Not even with the Athenea anymore. I’m okay now.”

“But you’re scared. So are the Athenea. I could tell when we were invited. The security! And why did you stop telling me what’s going on in your e-mails? Have you found out whether the Athenea knew who killed her?”

Once again I was astounded by how firmly her finger was on the pulse. Is it that obvious? Is it so clear to the outside world that we are not coping? That Violet Lee could rip us apart, limb from limb, and leave us for dead?

I did not ponder those questions aloud. I felt I had a duty to reassure her, just like when we had been children. Because in our games I had always been the mother, and she my daughter; I was the doctor and she my patient; I was queen, and she my disciple.

“They know, but it’s not important at the moment. There is so much other worry going around court now. You know that. We’re not immune, either. But it’s not worth ruining our time together.”

Jo uncrossed her legs and rose to stand a little behind me. She tried to catch my gaze in the mirror but I would not allow it. “You’re right, Autumn. But now you’ve forgiven the Athenea for not telling you about the professor—”

“I haven’t forgiven them, just accepted—”

“Now you’re so close to them, will you and Prince Fallon get together?”

I pursed my lips together. “That’s rather bold of you to say, Jo.”

“What’s bold?”

The excited squeal of Gwen clipped my next sentence, and I closed my mouth. Christy, Tammy, and Tee followed her into the bathroom, all intrigued. I watched their reflections.

“Well?”

“His Highness and Autumn going out,” Jo said, turning to my human friends with an excited plea on her face.

There was a uniform gasp of astonishment. “Since when?” Gwen demanded, planting her hands on the counter to my left like she intended to drag it toward her.

“No! I meant they should go out,” Jo corrected, alarmed at Gwen’s forceful nature. “It would be perfect, don’t you think? A fairy tale! Think of all the magazines she would be in!”

The joy, I thought, summoning my foundation from upstairs into my hand and letting my magic do the work. Has she actually been absorbing what I say in our e-mails? We don’t want the attention!

When the giggles had ceased, Gwen took up the role of spokesperson. “But seriously, you have way better chances than anyone else. So go out with him, get in his boxers, and tell us if that bulge is real or just a banana, ’kay?”

“Gwen, you idiot, Autumn wouldn’t know what to do with a c**k if it slapped her in the face.” The door slammed closed and in front of it stood Valerie Danvers and her two cronies. I spun on my heel to face them, defending the sink in the massive washroom as though it were my child.

“Go away, Valerie,” came Tee’s brave reply. I felt a flutter of pride in my heart; it was Valerie I had saved Tee from, and I knew that this small, shy girl of twelve was twice as afraid of the bully as I was.

“And don’t be so gross,” Tammy elaborated.

“Just because you’re a skank doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” Gwen spat, taking three steps forward so she and Valerie were nose-to-nose.

In a mirror to my right I saw Valerie’s lip curl with a raised eyebrow. “Look who’s talking. We all know you’d shag some Sagean shit the first opportunity you got.”

Gwen scoffed but backed away in guilty retreat, just as Jo, whose eyes darted from one girl to another, silently got up off the stool and came to hold my hand. Christy came and held the other.

Valerie seemed to be sensing her impending victory and advanced on us until suddenly she was halted by the tiny figure of Tee—too young for this sparring and for the party, but glued to her cousin’s side all the same—who raised herself up to her full five feet and glowered. “Don’t swear, Valerie, and stop being so mean. Nobody cares what you think, so leave us alone!”

Her words succeeded in shutting the older girl up for a full ten seconds. Then Valerie crouched, scowling, and her dress slipped up so we could all see the shadow of her crotch.

“And I don’t care what you say, you little nig—”

“Don’t even think about it,” I hissed, and in my raised palm a ball of red energy bounced between my thumb and fingers. My blood was hot but there was no red mist. I was in control, and so long as I was, I would not let anybody hurt Tee. “Girls’ bathroom. No prince to shield you now.”

She took the hint to flee but I had no intention of leaving it at that. As I was hot on her heels, she was fearless, spewing insults about my snobbery, my grandmother, and my title, but I took no notice. I chased her all the way back into the ballroom, where she halted, yanked her skirt down, and settled on her last words.

“I hate you!” she declared with a totter on her heels.

I rounded the group until I could see her face, her seething, bloated, red face. I realized I was smirking; pleased that I could invoke such emotion in a person. How stupid she looks at this moment . . .

“Likewise.” A quick bob of a curtsy, a spin on my right heel, and I was gone.

I passed through awed stares, weaved through crowds, skirted the mirrors and the other room beyond them; my feet had a purpose but I could not decipher it. When the end of the room was in sight, they halted. One foot crossed behind the other’s heel. My knees bent. I lowered myself.

“Your Highness.”

“Would you like me to kick Valerie out?” he asked.

I shook my head and smiled up at him. “I’ve got it.”

He looked stunned. But he was smiling. He was smiling and he took my hand in his. We came together, and I could see the throbbing vein in his neck.

“Dance with me,” he said.

The music was changing. The heart-pounding bass faded into the tinkering of a piano, and the repetitive vocals blurred with the faraway coo of a woman’s voice.

“I don’t remember how.”

“You do.” His lips were on myear. I smiled a little and shook my head and said no, but he silenced me, not with his words, not with his hands; with his gaze. “Let me lead you. You have no worries. You have no fears. Not now. Not in this moment. Dance with me, Autumn.”

And then we were moving through the crowd I had parted and I was vaguely aware of Alfie and Lisbeth, but they looked like blurred figures through a misty lens. I only truly saw Fallon; I felt the warmth and sweat between our interlocked fingers, and I felt the tremor of his footsteps through the soles of my feet. He spoke to the faceless crowd. I did not hear him.

We broke apart and I curtsied and stepped willingly and eagerly into his hold, and he led me in a slow waltz that I knew so well I could focus totally on the light press of his unscarred cheek on mine, and close my eyes to the faceless fishbowl crowd.

“I want to say something, but I can’t; it’s as though if I were to say it, you would break.” His voice cracked on the very last word and the hand on my hip slipped around to rest on the small of my back, pulling me tightly to his torso.

“Then don’t say it,” I sighed, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “Please, spare me the pain.”

“Always, little duchess. Always.”

I felt him bear up, straightening and pushing his chest up and lifting his head so the skin tightened where I rested my head.

I knew I should be content. But it wasn’t like that. It was as though we were being pursued—by what, I didn’t know—and I had been chased right into a lake, and I was drowning. The music rose and fell, reaching my ears in slow, distorted waves. My feet did not feel the floor, and I rocked with the current in his arms. I opened my eyes. The people were now watercolor figures, extending far into the depths of the mirrors.

And I knew it would always be like this, if I never left his arms. I knew I would always live in a fishbowl, and that the only way to escape the pain was to drown in deception, and to lie to myself, and to die pretending.

I did not care.

And then we broke apart and I knew that it would always be like this. He spoke to the crowd; thanked them for coming as the music fell silent and the lights started to brighten. People began dispersing, and servants began directing, and I disappeared into the mass, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than my bed. But a hand caught mine. It was Fallon.

He squeezed my palm between his thumb and fingers. “Good night, duchess.”

He let go and, feeling suddenly lost, I clasped both hands together across my middle. “Good night, Your Highness.”

His gaze flitted to the ground and back up, like he couldn’t bear to look away; when our eyes were level again, his lips upturned and he reached forward for my left hand. When he had it, he bowed forward and kissed the finger where a ring would be placed. Straightening, he nodded, once, slowly, and walked away, hands clasped behind his back like he was lost, too.

In a stupor I watched him leave, heart exploding as my mind screamed at what had just happened; something I had seen done in Athenea so many times, when the teenagers had seemed like adults, and the adults like giants.

He paid court to me!

A pair of arms clamped down around my shoulders and jolted me up and down. “Did that just happen? Did that just happen? You are going after him, aren’t you?” Jo screamed, pushing me toward the door.

“Do you think I should?”

“Yes!”

Cautiously, I started toward the door, glancing back over my shoulder at Jo, who nodded encouragingly. But outside, he was nowhere to be seen, and when I knocked timidly on his bedroom door, glancing nervously over my shoulder in case I was spotted trying to enter his bedroom, there was no answer. Coming back down to the gallery, I ran into Tee and a servant leading her up to one of the rooms, because she was staying the night.

“Have you seen Prince Fallon?” I asked.

“He went down that corridor there.” Tee pointed below the stairs and beamed a knowing smile that had me blushing.

“He wished to be left alone, my lady,” the servant bristled and left, forgetting to curtsy.

I stared at Tee’s back. “I bet he does.” I whirled on my tall heel and made my way down the stairs; I was back in the fishbowl and the leaving guests were staring. I did not care. In fact, I enjoyed it, just like I had enjoyed tormenting Valerie. My shoulders squared; my head raised.

Nobody could hurt me in that moment.

It was a moonless night beyond the glass room, and the only light and warmth came from the out-of-place stone hearth, where a fire roared, feasting on a freshly laid, tall pile of logs. On the oak coffee table stood a decanter and two glasses.

He was in the shadows, half concealed by tall potted plants with vast, waxy leaves. I waited for him in the doorway. He turned to look back over his shoulder and, after a pause, his body followed, and he trod the floor like he owned it, very deliberately but very slowly, closing the distance between us as though I were a wild animal that might startle.

He stopped about two meters short. “You understand what I meant by that.”

It wasn’t a question, more a command to answer.

Shaking, I lowered myself as gracefully as I could to the floor, coming to a rest in a bow with one knee raised, my weight resting on the other. I felt my dress ride up my thighs.

“I never thanked you, Your Highness, for inviting Jo to Burrator. She was humbled to meet you.”

There was a warm tint in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before, and without ever tearing his gaze away from my lowered body, he took a long drink from the glass in his hand, which contained what looked like brandy.

Abruptly, he spun and headed for a sideboard to my right. I heard him set the glass down and risked watching him. His hands gripped the furniture’s edge and his head was bowed in submission to the rushing waterfall beyond the glass.

“I didn’t invite your friends for the sake of their social standing.” His tone was irritated. I stayed dumb. The knee flush to the floor was beginning to numb. He glanced back at me after several seconds of silence. I could hear him raking a breath in.

“Lower your knee.”

I didn’t move.

“Lower your knee, Autumn!”

I did as I was told. Kneeling tall, fighting for balance as my legs quaked, I felt like a fool. I didn’t feel like I was bowing before my prince.

“Fallon?” I whispered to the chorus of the crackling fire. “You’re scaring me.”

One by one, his fingers loosened their grip on the wood and he swallowed, hard, rising and turning back to me. In a breath, he was in front of me, his hand cupping the back of my head, his fingers intertwining in my hair, and my forehead resting against his thigh, almost level with his crotch. My eyes flicked right. My throat tightened.

“You can’t answer me, can you?” he asked. His voice was chillingly calm.

“I—”

Nothing came.

His hand clenched in my hair. He took a few deep breaths and then spoke. “Come sit with me.”

He helped me up with a hand in mine, while my other tugged my hem as far down as it would go. Oh, Lisbeth, why this dress?

He sat down and nestled into the corner of the sofa in front of the fire, and I sank into its folds, knees clamped together. We settled at right angles to one another. He watched me, one leg crossed over the other, hands on the back of the sofa, free foot hanging; casual, like the earlier tension in his arms had flowed through his hand into me as I had knelt before him.

I was rigid. The fire was the only place I could look.

“I tried,” he said. “I tried to be selfless. I know that you need to heal before you can offer me what I want, and I’ll help you. But I’m still a man, and seeing you tonight . . . seeing you so beautiful, so confident . . . I just had to know. I had to know if there’s any hope.”

I didn’t look at him. How can I? He’s right. But the tone of quiet acceptance . . . it broke me. I found his gaze. His jaw tightened and he leaned forward, taking the decanter in his hands.

“Christ, you’re not even legal,” he breathed, dry, humorless, hand and voice shaking as he poured out two glasses of red wine.

I stopped fiddling with my hands. “I will be in a week,” I said slowly, eyes darting right.

“Don’t suggest something I know you can’t give me. Heart first.”

He handed me a glass, touching his own against mine and taking a sip. As he did, he leaned back and the light from the fire chased the shadows from his face. For the first time, I realized just what was scaring me, and why his eyes were so warm: each iris was as red as the crimson liquid in his glass.

Why does that scare me? We had just been talking about it, about those kinds of feelings, I could see the sweat running down his neck, and I wasn’t an innocent: I knew why he had crossed one leg over the other.

“Do you know the effect you have on men? Do you have any idea how people see you, revere you?”

I shook my head.

A hand returned to the back of the sofa and he took my gaze for his own. “You are beautiful; you know this. But you are too innocent to know the power you wield. I doubt I’m the first, and I will definitely not be the last who wants your heart and more. And I wish I was strong enough to be content with just your companionship, but I need more than an untouchable glass ornament on my arm. My family; your family; the court . . . they need more than that.”

I shifted and set my glass down, staring at its delicacy. “I’m not an ornament, am I?”

He also set his glass down, empty now. His eyes had faded to their usual blue. “You are. You are a deity. You should be kept safe in a cabinet, pure and protected from the pain.”

It was in a sudden surge of courage that my hand settled on his top leg and pulled it from across the other until both his feet rested flat against the tiled floor. And it was with a rush of something new, something injected into my chest and back, abdomen and neck, something that felt like magic but wasn’t, that I rose onto my knees on the sofa and straddled him, hands coming to a rest on his shoulders.

“Autumn . . . what . . . what are you doing?” He had to take a breath between every other word, and his eyes had dropped right back down to red.

“Why? Why do I have to be kept pure?”

His hands settled gingerly on my hips, where they had rested so many times when he had hugged me, or just now, when we had danced. It was different this time.

“You don’t. But you’re too important to hurt; to lose your mind. It’s why I’m afraid of breaking you. We need you.”

I slid forward a few inches. “Because I’m a seer?” I insisted.

He nodded and swallowed so hard I could hear the gulp. “Autumn,” he choked. “Autumn, you need to move back.”

He might as well have jammed a needle right into my heart. I shuffled back, and my arms fell away from him; instead I wrapped them around my stomach and stared at the arm of the sofa.

“Hey,” he whispered, untucking a few strands of hair from behind my ears. “It’s a compliment. I just like you far too much to ignore the fact you’re sitting in my lap.”

“Sorry,” I murmured, embarrassed and ashamed at what I had done, because I hadn’t achieved . . . well, what? What had I been trying to achieve? I don’t want to be with him like that, so why did I do it? Flirting with feelings so strong that I was rejecting them with all my might . . . that was dangerous. That was stupid. That was exactly the gossip the press wanted. Goose bumps rose on my arms at the thought.

“You’re cold,” he muttered, and, with a wave of his middle finger, a patchwork throw tossed on an armchair floated over and settled around my shoulders. He pulled it right around me, reached down with his hands, and, one by one, took my heels off.

When he was satisfied that I was comfortable, almost sitting cross-legged in his lap by now, he allowed himself to lean forward a little, until our foreheads were nearly touching. “I can’t pretend I see you just as a friend, or as a noblewoman, not anymore. I just want to hear that you need me, need me as much as I need you, even if you don’t want a relationship.”

My hands wrapped around the back of his neck and chest, quivering, closed the distance between us so our foreheads touched. “I need you. When you first came, it got worse, you damaged all my walls, but—”

“I’m so sorry—”

“But now you make it better, I’m so much happier now and yet I still hurt, I hurt too much and I can’t let go, I just can’t. Please understand, please.”

I couldn’t hold tears back any longer, and he pulled my head down onto his shoulder.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “And we’ll get you better. I’ll wait.”

I didn’t really hear him, as a sudden, sharp stab of pain darted from my right temple to the left, like an arrow had been shot right through my head.

I let out a sharp breath and rose from his shoulder a little. He went to hush me but another, even more painful stab penetrated my forehead, and with a muffled shriek, I recognized the pain.

“My head hurts. My head hurts so much. I think it’s a vision.” My nails dug into his arms through his jacket, and he pulled me tight. “It is, it’s a vision!” The sobs heightened and I tensed up, gripping him as the pain intensified and moved from my temples down to my eyes, blackness infringing on the outer rim of my vision. “Please stay, please stay, don’t go!”

A hand stroked my hair. “I’m right here,” he cooed. “I’m not moving.”

“The servants . . . the servants . . . they’ll gossip . . .”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“It hurts! It hurts so much!”

“I know, duchess.”

“Don’t let go. Don’t let go of me.”

“I won’t. I’ve got you.”

“I need you. I need you, Fallon Athenea.”

Darkness.

So it’s true. Athenea has been right all along.

Violet Lee thrashed in her bedclothes that night. The sweat-stained circles on her shirt, and her feet, twisted up in sheets with just her toes poking out, dripped.

“Have you heard the Prophecy of the He**ines?”

My view of her slipped left and right across my vision as hazy outlines of cloaked men in a clearing jostled for attention.

“It’s a load of destiny crap made up by Athenea. Not worth your time or mine.”

I could feel her curiosity burning as a constant pull back to her room, but I was definitely in another’s mind, and yet even as I tried to work out just whose mind, the scene spun and I could see a figure among the treetops, looking down on a group of gathered slayers and rogues.

It was an uneasy scene, where every creature wanted to rip out the other’s throat. They spat venom back and forth and the trees suffered as the rogue punished the bark with his nails, and the branches of the trees silently bore the weight of the mysterious onlooker.

Was she dreaming this? I thought as what was presumably her bedroom flickered back into the center of my gaze. And if she was, did that make this scene real or not?

“They’ve found the Sagean girl of the first verse. The Prophecy is true.”

Whose heart paused for a moment there? Mine or hers?

“They have found the first Dark He**ine. But, after all, you don’t believe it, so don’t trouble yourself. We’ll let Lee know before Ad Infinitum is over.”

There it was. The Prophecy the vamperic council thought Lee might use as an excuse. Finding the first girl . . . that was his excuse.

Violet Lee finally came to a rest in her bed, but even in my unconscious state I could feel my weight bearing down on the prince, and feel the heaviness of my limbs slumped against his.

I was going to be alive to see the Prophecy of the He**ines finally, after so many millennia, be fulfilled . . . and, hopefully, the danger and fear we were in ended, and the war so many prophets had seen coming stopped.