“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

At the same time, Peter says, “The future?” in a disbelieving voice.

I smack him lightly, as if we’re friends, though we’re definitely not friends right now. He lets out an annoyed grunt, refusing to look at me. Out of shame, probably. Good.

Still, the fact that he didn’t have it in him to kill me makes it a bit hard to decide how to feel about him right now. I’m a little jittery, sure—okay, full on adrenaline rush, to be honest—but I can’t help but think, pussy ass bitch, and also thank god he’s a pussy ass bitch.

(I should probably stop treating Eliana’s life like she’s a player character in a game I can log out of, considering I log in against my will every time I fall asleep.) Now that I’m definitely not about to be killed, though, I can’t help but feel a flurry of conflicting emotions.

Because, if he had killed me, would that have been my out? Would that put an end to these dreams?

As I look at Martin, and as he looks at me, I feel a surge of guilt. A reminder that he needs me, and I can’t just abandon him . . . can I?

Martin then rushes to my side so quickly it startles me. He runs his hand over my neck, making me jump. Can bitches stop touching my neck?! “Are you alright?” he asks.

“Oh, ha, yeah,” I say awkwardly. “He pussied out.”

Peter and Martin both look at me with tilted heads.

“‘Pussied’?”

“What does that mean?”

I blink, still coming down from my adrenaline high. I’m surrounded by idiots. No, I’m the idiot. “He didn’t actually do anything,” I explain.

“That’s right,” Peter scoffs, looking away again. The hand he’d used to grab me is shaking, and he shoves it in his pocket. He’s sweating, I realize, the beads stippling across his forehead in an erratic pattern. His arms are covered in goosebumps, and I can see his hand still trembling in his pocket. If you’d have asked anyone now, they’d think I was the one holding his neck like I was about to crush it into smithereens.

“Don’t lie for him,” Martin scolds, still looking over me worriedly and checking my neck and face like he’s a doctor or something.

“I’m not—”

“She’s not.”

I glare at Peter. “You are not helping.”

He shuts up like a good boy.

Martin brushes the hair from my forehead to check there as well, and I flush at the strange intimacy of the act. But right as I’m about to push his hand away, I remember that his friend just died, and he’s probably scared of losing another so soon after. Because we are friends. Aren’t we? I let him keep inspecting me, if only for his own reassurance.

Then Peter breaks the silence. Still looking away, he says quietly, “Tell me everything.”

Martin’s eyes meet mine, and his hand stills. He draws it back but holds my gaze, his brows furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s clear he’d told Peter I was “from the future” in the hopes of distracting him from popping me like a grape, because that obviously is not the best way to describe my situation and not something I think either of us was ever planning on telling him. But what can we do now? Say we were just kidding? And will telling Peter the truth protect or harm Alvione?

“Uh . . .” I look over at Peter, but I can’t see his expression from here. His dark hair covers his right eye, and his face is turned so far from mine that I can only see the slightest downward turn of his lips. Can’t tell what he’s thinking. “It’s a long story.”

Then Peter surprises me. His voice is low and clear as he says, “I arrived at the end of King Roburn’s rule, before you were announced as his successor. There were rumors that Roburn was sick and would not be around for much longer. My father wanted confirmation of these things, and he sent me, as I would not be missed in Ward. I’ve been communicating with him via a courier, passing messages to him through a small gap along the castle wall. I remove two stone bricks and insert my letter, then he removes two stone bricks from the other side to get to it. Upon the announcement of your impending leadership, I was meant to assess your strength and test it. I planned to chain closed the latch on the northern bridge in the night, and call upon some orc allies in the south—but I have told no one of this plan, not even my father, per his specific instructions. Such things cannot be safely written in any letter. They must simply be decided upon and executed. I had decided to leave upon the orcs’ arrival, ensuring none would have known of my time here at all. These plans, however, were paused upon what I’d heard of your coronation from those in attendance. Your strange behavior. I thought perhaps you would destroy Alvione all on your own, without any need for my own interference. It made me . . . curious. When we first met, I felt that all of your strangeness had been confirmed, and I found myself desiring to see what you would do next. Your speech today surprised me. You made claims far grander than I would have expected and proved yourself even more strange than I had already believed you to be. But if it is true, that you are from another time, then I doubt anything I could do to aid Ward would escape your knowledge, and I am therefore stuck within these walls with no way to return home. For, you see, I am not permitted to return until Alvione has been weakened, lest I wish to return a further disgrace. Though I am sure you have already guessed such things, given your awareness of my plans. I am not my father’s favorite child, and he has many heirs to choose from. Older ones. Smarter ones. Crueler ones. . . . Less expendable ones.” He looks up at me at last with an expression that has darkened with a blend of doubt and frustration. “Now I have told you everything. Will you do the same for me?”

As I open my mouth, I feel Martin’s hand on my thigh. I glance at him, already knowing what he’s thinking by the smallest shake of his head. You don’t have to tell him anything. But I find myself wanting to. If Eliana could turn Peter’s heart, then I could surely turn him as a spy, right? I can tell from the worried look on Martin’s face that he’s thinking the same thing—weighing the benefits to Alvione if I am to tell Peter everything about my situation.

“Swear loyalty to Alvione,” I say. “And you will know my secrets. But I won’t leave you unwatched, considering what you’ve admitted to already. If you’ve lied to me, and your orc friends are already on their way, then you will burn with us within these castle walls.” He lets out an annoyed sigh, but I continue. “You said it yourself. Your father will not come to save you, nor does he seem to care what happens to you. But here . . . you could have value. A life worth living. I meant what I said to the people. Everyone’s lives will be equal here. It’s the only promise I’ve made so far, and the most important one I wish to keep. What do you say?”

Peter runs his hand through his hair, his visible eye distant as he seems to ponder my words. “Make me an advisor,” he says finally.

“What? You’re only twenty-one,” I sputter stupidly before I can stop myself. “The advisors are all old people.”

“Your wizard is only twenty-four,” Peter says pointedly, shooting Martin a dark look.

My head whips around to look at Martin, the streaks of gray in his hair, and the lines that have begun making permanent wrinkles around his mouth and between his brows. “You’re twenty-four? You look old as fuck.”

He scowls, rubbing his chin as an embarrassed flush of pink colors his cheeks. “Focus, Rose.”

If that’s what stress does to a person, I’m gonna wake up an old woman after this.

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“Fine,” I say, to Peter this time. “You’re an advisor.”

“Rose?” is all Peter says, as if he’s trying out the word for the first time. It feels weird to hear Peter Ward say my real name for the first time. Weird for him to know it at all. He shakes his head. “Your secrets are much more vast, aren’t they?”

“Oh, they’re vast all right.”

I tell him everything. Everything so far. He gives me almost no reaction as I recount the story of my life, The Tales of Alvione, and his intended future with Eliana. Once or twice he rubs his temple as if to stave off an impending headache, but he never interrupts or makes any comments. He just listens quietly. Beside me, Martin’s leg bounces nervously throughout my story, only stilling when I put my hand on his knee and give him a small reassuring smile, which he rolls his eyes at. I skip some parts that I’m not sure matter—like Martin and I’s embarrassing codeword—and stick to the bare essentials. When I finally finish, the room falls into a long silence, marked only by the occasional chatter of birds outside the window and the scuttling footsteps of servants outside the door.

After processing it all, Peter looks up at me, his face a series of serious lines, with none of the playfulness I’d associated him with when reading the book. “In another life . . . we marry?”

“That is your focus?” Martin snaps, an irritated look flashing across his face. I pat his leg and he shuts up, still glaring, but at me now.

“Well, not me. Eliana.”

“Certainly not you,” Peter mutters.

I pout. “No need to be rude.” I slide off the bed, leaving them both sitting there, and stand before Peter. He looks up at me, his eyes traveling up and down my form as if trying to decide if he believes me that this is the person he might have married. Of everything I’ve said, I’m also surprised that this seems to be the part he’s the most hung up on. “Will you tell your father what I’ve told you?”

His eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “And look even more deranged in his eyes? No. Not in this lifetime. Plus, I am one of your advisors now, am I not?” His lip curls in an attempt at a smile, but it does not even sort of reach his eyes, which are still marked with uncertainty. At least he’s looking at me. And listening.

“I don’t want war with Ward. All I want is for Alvione not to burn. And . . .” to not let anyone down.

The words die in my throat before I can say them. Why do I care? Why do I find myself caring more for the people in my dreams than I seem to even care about my life outside of them? Because this is my favorite book? Because I love these characters? Because I thought it would be fun to meet Leon “in real life” and try my hand at dating him? It all sounds ridiculous in my head and would sound even more ridiculous out loud. None of this matters at all.

So why do I care so much about doing a good job?

Peter does not seem to notice that I’ve trailed off, his mind likely still reeling from everything I’ve told him. But Martin does, and I can feel his gaze leaving my face to look out the window. The sun brightens his side profile, the sky adding a soft blue to the lighter colors in his eyes. Peter isn’t the only one who doubts me; Martin does too. He knows I might leave whenever I want. That, for a few minutes, I did abandon him. That I could do it again for longer, for forever.

“I’ll have to keep communicating with the courier,” Peter says, cutting through my thoughts. “To prevent suspicion. We can work together on what I send back to Ward.”

I nod numbly. It’s starting to hit me now—that I have a new potential ally, but they’re not someone I can trust completely. That my role as queen is starting to get more complicated very quickly, but more so that my role as myself in this world is becoming complex as well. I’ve promised to care for the lives of my people, which I realize now means I’ll likely need to set up a task force to deal with reported crimes in order to stay good on my word. And not just knights that roam and dispatch justice—possibly a whole legal system. Then there’s the matter of Iliyan’s and the guard’s death to deal with, as well as the other elves in the caravan and the other guard, still likely being holed up somewhere within the walls. On top of that, I’ll need to oversee Peter’s communications with Ward to ensure that we’re sending messages that don’t indicate he’s switched sides but that don’t endanger us either. I’ll have to check the bridge for any signs of tampering—because I can’t just take Peter at his word—and stay prepared for an orc invasion that could still happen, though he’s reassured me it hasn’t been put in place yet. Regardless of whether or not he’s been honest about that, it seems it must be true that there are Ward-loyal orcs camping south of us, meaning that they could strike at any time at his father’s command if not his own.

Just when I think I’ve got all of the problems sorted out in my head, in a jumbled, fucked-up little to-do list, Peter says, “Do you always faint in our world when you wake into your true world? Because that could be dangerous.”

“Faint?” Martin’s body tenses. His eyes dart to mine. “You fainted?”

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Peter says dryly. “So, that is a new development then?”

“Who’s to say why it happened,” I butt in quickly before Martin can start spiraling. “It could just be a one-time thing.”

Too late. Martin is spiraling. “I’ll need to run some tests. If we find Alistria, I might be able to get more answers. Perhaps traveling across worlds could cause some kind of sickness or weaken the body.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a startled laugh. “You’re looking for Alistria Okuta? I heard she isn’t even real. Just a legend made up to scare people.”

Scare people?

“I’m certain she’s real,” Martin says in a voice that doesn’t sound certain at all.

But before we can discuss things further, there’s a knock at my door that has all three of us jumping. We share panicked glances, and I hear the unmistakable sound of Leon’s voice through the door.

“Eliana? Are you there?”

Martin’s hand shoots out and grabs Peter’s. In the split second before Martin teleports the both of them away, I watch Peter's eyes narrow, then his eyebrows raise in a look that says both What the hell are you doing? and Well, hello.

And then I’m alone. I unsteadily rise and walk to the door. After a deep breath and an attempt to compose my face, which I’m sure is swirling with more emotions than I’d care to explain right now, I open the door and look up at Leon’s soft smile.

“Your Majesty,” he says with the slight bow of his head.

“Your . . .” Wait, what are princes called again? Never mind. “Hello again,” I correct myself weakly. Better to come off as awkward than get something obvious wrong.

“Your speech today was most brave. Bold too. Did you mean what you said?” His expression is warm, almost admiring, and my heart rate doubles in response.

“I often mean what I say.”

He laughs. God, I forgot how nice his laugh is . . . And god, am I unfocused. I don’t have time for you and your stupid charming face, Leon! “That is a good quality in a leader.”

We just look at each other for a moment, and I wonder if I’m imagining that he seems a bit . . . nervous around me.

The silence seems to make him feel awkward, because he suddenly adds, “I cannot help but find myself quite impressed by you.”

“Oh,” I squeak shyly. Fuck, I’m turning red again, aren’t I? He probably thinks this is my natural color.

He takes my hands in his, and I’m so surprised by the action, I don’t even have time to worry about how incredibly sweaty my palms probably are right now. “I want to know more about you,” he says. His soft eyes search mine for reciprocation.

Oh, is he . . . Wait, seriously? Am I . . . being courted by Leon Viridia right now? And why does that make me feel like I’m going to have a panic attack?

I know why. It’s because I have shit to do. Important shit. More important than this. . . . But maybe I deserve a little treat too, right? A reward for caring so much about this place? My fingers find their way between his until they’re intertwined. Now he’s the one blushing. Omg, I’m making Leon Viridia blush. A win is a win is a win is a . . .

A thought enters my head, one that cuts through my giddy excitement and sours the nice fluttering in my chest, pinning the wings of the happy butterflies down.

I can use this.

No, no, no. I’m becoming an actual fucking politician now. The guy I like likes me back, and I’m thinking about how I can use that to my advantage. But the thought is too loud to be ignored, too important not for me to say it.

“Can I ask you something?” I say as shyly as possible. I’m cute. I’m curious. I’m not manipulating him.

“Anything,” he chokes out. I blink in surprise. Damn, dude is this happy about just holding hands? It almost gives me the ick. But then I look at his pretty face and innocent smile and I’m un-icked instantly. Well, I guess he’s always been the perfect prince, so this might actually be his first time doing anything like this. It’s sweet, actually.

Doesn’t matter right now though. Because I’m killing the vibe. I steel myself for what I’m about to do. I’m killing the vibe I’ve wanted since this whole thing started. And I’m doing it for you, stupid, stupid Martin. And for you, annoying, stupid Alvione. I lean in and whisper, “Viridia has always had a good relationship with those who use magic.” I pause and take a deep breath, ignoring the way Leon’s head tilts cutely in obvious confusion at the sudden change in direction that the conversation has taken. “Have you ever heard of Alistria Okuta?”