I can hear his voice drifting from miles away.

The sound garbled, distorted, as though traveling from the depths of a very deep sea, as though grappling for the surface, grappling for me.

And though I want more than anything to nod vigorously, to wave my arms, to shout out loud and clear that I’ve heard him, received his message, that I’m aware that he’s near—I can’t seem to manage those things.

I can’t see. Can’t move. Can’t speak.

It’s like I’m already locked in my coffin, buried alive, aware of what goes on all around me, but unable to participate.

Struggling with all of my might to hang onto his words, his presence, to find a way to reach him before I’m gone for good.

He is frantic, mournful, despondent, and stricken when he cries, “Who has done this to her? I will kill them!” Followed by a long stream of threats that spew forth from his lips, pausing every now and then to alternate between begging favors of God and demanding to know why that same God has beseeched him—robbed him of his one and only chance at true love.

“It appears to be an accident,” says a voice I instantly recognize as belonging to Rhys. And I can’t help but recoil, can’t help but hope against hope that it wasn’t his hand I just felt at my brow.

“Get away from her! Don’t touch her!” Alrik cries. “This is your fault—you and your big mouth. Damn you, brother! Look what you’ve done!”

“Me?” Rhys laughs, a deeply sarcastic sound. “How could I possibly have caused this when I’ve only just arrived?”

I strain to hear, wondering if Alrik suspects the truth, that it’s Esme, his betrothed, who left me like this.

My hopes crashing when he says, “If you hadn’t told Father, I wouldn’t have been delayed. I would have been here to save her from… from this… fall.” He shudders, his hand quivering, breath like a sob. “This never would’ve happened, if it wasn’t for you.”

“Brother, please. Get ahold of yourself. Why would I do this when I have as much to lose as you do?” Rhys’s voice remains steady, firm, a cruel contrast to his brother’s never-ending sorrow, his deep-seated grief.

“You haven’t lost anything,” Alrik says, his words just barely audible. “You can have the crown—I don’t want it. You are free to marry Esme, as wel—I couldn’t stand to look at her now. It is I who have lost. I’ve lost everything—the only thing that’s ever meant anything to me… Adelina,” he whispers, fingers smoothing my brow, my cheek, trailing down to my neck, where they pause, linger, his voice pleading when he adds, “Adelina, why? Why has this happened? Why are you leaving me?”

Because of the dream, I try to say, but no words will come, so I concentrate on thinking it instead. I tried to warn you, tried to prepare you, but you brushed it away…

“Oh, Adelina, you saw this, didn’t you? You tried to warn me last night when you woke from your nightmare, but I only wanted to soothe you, I refused to listen…”

For a moment, I felt myself drifting, losing my grip, but when he just spoke, his words echoing my own, something deep inside of me jerked to attention.

Did he… is it possible that he somehow heard me? Sensed the thoughts I was sending to him?

Alrik! Alrik, can you hear me? Please know that I love you. I concentrate on the words, concentrate with all of my might, all that is left.

Wondering, hoping that he’ll sense those words too. I have always loved you. I always will love you. Nothing can keep us apart, not even my death.

“I love you, Adelina,” he whispers, one hand at my brow, the other entwined with mine, frantically pushing some cool, round piece of metal, what could only be my wedding band, onto my finger. “I have always loved you, I always will love you. You will always live in my heart… you will always be my bride…” His voice breaks, as a flood of fresh tears rain onto my face.

Well, how about that? I think, willing a smile but not quite succeeding. I’m immobile, locked in, and yet, we have this—the thoughts that stream between us.

I’m just about to attempt it again, eager to let him know that all is not lost, that I’m not gone yet, that a glimmer of me still exists, when I hear a rush of heavy footsteps followed by Heath’s voice saying, “The doctor is here.”

The next few moments are spent poking, prodding, and feeling for a pulse so faint the doctor nearly misses it. His voice grave, his prognosis grim, his final pronouncement the last thing Alrik wants to hear.

I am not long for this world.

But Alrik won’t accept it. “There are other ways,” he insists. “I have money. Lots and lots of money. You can have my entire fortune, whatever you want—just bring her back to me. I’ve heard the rumors, I know about the elixirs, the secret potions and tonics—the special brew that cures all ills, extending life for an indefinite amount of time…”

“I know nothing about that,” the doctor insists, his tone sharp, resolute. “And, I assure you that even if I did, that is nothing you want to play with. I am sorry for your loss, truly I am. But this is the natural order of things and you must find a way to make peace with it.”

“I will not!” Alrik shouts. And if I could see him, well I’m sure I’d find his face as stony and cold as his voice just resonated. “Where there is life, there is hope, and you know it! What kind of doctor are you if you do not believe that to be true? I will never make my peace with futility when there are other options still left to explore. I have money, no expense will be spared—do you hear me? You cannot say no to me! Don’t you know who I am?”