Astrid

“Ouch!”

“Oh, sorry. Was that your scalp?” Isabelle winces apologetically. “Hold still, would you?”

“You hold still,” Imogen says in an even tone.

Imogen is trying to enhance the natural flush in Isabelle’s cheeks while Isabelle, in turn, tries to pull my hair up into a braid.

Hair has never been my forte; all I know to do are a simple braid or an untidy bun. Lady Tremaine stopped teaching me to do my hair when I got older.

Now, as I stare at Isabelle’s pursed lips and furrowed brows in the mirror, I realize that it does not matter how terribly my hair will look this evening. Being here while the two of them bicker – “Not too much makeup, please!”, “Oh, I know what I am doing, alright?” – suffices.

“What’s the purpose behind this program, again?” Isabelle sticks the last pin into my hair.

I angle my shoulder so that I can try to peer at the back of my head as much as I can. She helps hold a smaller mirror up for me to see.

“It’s perfect,” is all I can say. She beams at me.

“It is just a little something to take your mind off...recent events,” Imogen says as she and I share a glance. “Just a bit of fun, really.”

“And you guys are in no need for a dose of fun?”

I shrug nonchalantly. To be honest, I’ve had my share of dancing last night. Even if Kieran stepped on my toes about a thousand times, it was still one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done in weeks.

“What we could use is some peace and quiet,” I jab her in the side to show her I am being coy. “A night off from your constant chatter.”

She sticks her tongue out. “Just admit you’d go absolutely mad without the sound of my voice.”

“Yes. Mad with glee.”

“Alright, finished.” Imogen steps back to review her work. I move to stand beside her to peer at Isabelle’s face.

Imogen really has done a wonderful job to highlight the best features of her face: her round eyes, her full lips, her gloriously brown skin. Though the hair she usually lets run wild over her shoulders are up in a sophisticated bun, the three of us unequivocally agreed that her ‘bangs’, as she calls it, should be let loose over her forehead. It retains her youthful glow.

“Now. The dress.”

We rush over to Isabelle’s closet, which opens to reveal the dress Imogen and I had picked out for her earlier tonight. We help Isabelle into the dress. When her arms get stuck somewhere in the bodice, we can barely contain our chortles.

At some point we finally fit the dress over her. The sunset yellow of her dress brings out the gleam under her skin, the chiffon leaving her shoulders completely bare and hanging only loosely over her upper arms.

The colour of her dress only shows what she holds inside: the sun itself.

Isabelle gawks when she stands in front of the mirror. It is much like my own reaction when I wore that dress Imogen found for me yesterday. I know exactly how she feels: like royalty.

“Thank you,” she says in the quietest voice she has ever managed.

Her eyes fill. She ducks her head to dab a tear out of her eye with her glove. Imogen gushes over her, rushing about the room to find a handkerchief before Isabelle’s makeup can run.

She turns on me, her reddening nose scrunching up a little.

“I’m glad I did something completely insane the first time we met.” Her gloved hands find mine and squeezes once. “I’m glad it was you who found me on the bleachers and not anybody else.”

I tilt my head forward so that our foreheads touch.

“Me too,” I say.

Kieran

There is a knock on the door while I am in the midst of buttoning my shirt for tonight’s little ‘dancing lesson’. Who will really teach whom how to dance, I do not know. What is certain is that I will make a complete oaf out of myself tonight.

Again.

When I call out my permission, Bayorn appears in his uniform.

“Ah, Captain. Just in time to watch me squirm,” I say with complete lightness despite the truth in my words. “How can I help you?”

He approaches me. To my surprise, he sits himself down on a chair by the fireplace. I join him, draping my jacket over the head of my own chair.

“How are you feeling tonight?” he asks. In other words: do you feel like you’re about to tear everyone in this castle apart?

“Completely fine, actually. Maybe the transformation is coming late tonight.”

He nods, but doesn’t budge from his seat. Instead, he casts a look around the room.

I frown. “Is there something else you wish to address?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He clears his throat in reluctance. I almost command him to speak his mind once more before he speaks up for himself.

“You struck a bargain with Lady Selaena.”

I lean back in my chair. “That I did.”

“To have the curse broken?”

“By the end of the first week of spring.”

“What did you offer?”

Of course, I know now which answer to give. It is the answer Astrid has somehow come to conclude, though she hasn’t quite mentioned it out loud. I still know what she thinks – what everyone assumes.

“Irregular transformations,” I say, staring into the flickering fire. “Greater danger for all involved; perhaps there will even be a bloodbath as great as the initial days of the curse.”

He does not say anything for a while. When I bring my gaze up to meet his, his eyes have hardened. The heads of his eyebrows twitch downwards and his jaw clenches.

“You were reaching ten years of age when I first saw you, sire. I watched you from time to time, as the whole kingdom did. But perhaps I watched you more closely from your father’s side. I noticed all the tells you display whenever you lie.”

I keep my expression cool and composed. He continues, “Now, I strongly believe that duty is pledged out of one’s free will and does not warrant any payment – but I think that, in this case, you owe the truth to me, of all people.”

His tone is blunt and weary. It strikes me beyond any fear I have of someone coming in the way of Selaena’s promise.

“So I will ask you again, my lord. What did you gamble?”

I let out a burdened breath. A mild ache starts to settle in my joints.

“My life.”

The air between us grows cold. I turn away from Bayorn, suddenly frightened of his pending disapproval. Frightened, for the first time, as the reality of my imminent death settles over me like a shroud.

“It is a mercy, Bayorn,” I tell the fireplace. “You know this more than any other. You have seen my attempts. You yourself plunged a sword into my chest when I asked. Now – finally – I can be void again.”

“Unless the curse is broken before then,” he says quietly. “If it is, will you still take your life after?”

I nod without a moment’s thought.

“How cruel it will be, then, for the one who breaks your curse.”

“You are saying this as if Isabelle will fall in love with me,” I chuckle coldly. “Indeed we have built a rapport as friends, but I am afraid there may be nothing more there. I apologize for misleading you all with false hope.”

“I know,” he says. “I know you will never be able to break the curse. Because you are in love with the wrong girl.”

My head snaps up.

Bayorn smiles wanly, a touch of warmth returning to his eyes when they crinkle. “Like I said: I knew you since you were ten. There is little you can hide from me. Or Imogen.”

For some reason, admitting it aloud sounds like treachery of the highest degree. Which is why every thought I ever had of Astrid, every time my heart jumps at the sight of her, I pushed behind all the other roaring thoughts in my mind.

“I’m sorry,” my whisper is hoarse.

He shakes his head. “Never apologize for having a beating heart, sire. All I wish for you is to find happiness until the very end. Perhaps the rest should know how much time they have left with you as well.”

Until the very end.

The back of my hand wipes against the small beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead despite the chilly weather outside. “I cannot do that. They cannot know this. It will only burden them with guilt. You must never say anything.”

He sighs heavily. Reluctantly. But he must obey; he has sworn to do so.

All Bayorn can do is get up. He bows as usual, and I expect him to tell me to meet him in the dungeons on time as he always does each night.

But he does not straighten up. His form sinks lower and lower until his knee thuds against the ground. I sit up, startled.

Bayorn’s head is bowed low, one arm resting on his knee while the other is crossed over his chest. I remember this gesture from a vague memory, when knights would pledge their undying allegiance to my father.

Right now, Bayorn pledges his undying allegiance to me.

“Then I shall stay by your side, Your Majesty. Until my dying breath, it is my honour to serve.”

Isabelle is stunning. Her bright smile encourages me to swallow the nervous lump in my throat as she reaches the last step on the staircase by the entrance of the castle.

“You look ravishing this evening,” I say.

Her blush deepens. “You clean up pretty well, too.”

I am wearing the same thing I wore last night. For some reason, this bothers me. It’s like I’m repeating the same experience all over again, but with someone else. And as much as I enjoy Isabelle’s company, I realize that maybe I don’t want to have to share last night’s experience with anybody else.

You will never break the curse. Because you are in love with the wrong girl.

“You okay?” Isabelle’s song-like voice brings me back to attention.

I know she is wondering if the transformation will come early. “I feel completely fine,” I tell her, managing a smile.

She narrows her eyes, seeing right through me as usual. Yet she is gracious enough to let it slide, and for that, gratitude surges through me.

“So you’re going to teach me how to dance the old-timey, medieval kind of dance, are you?” she changes the subject, looping her arm around mine as we walk across the entrance hall.

“First of all – we’re not in medieval times. We are not in your past. Our worlds are parallel to each other, but the mirror upstairs allows me to travel up and down the timeline in your world.”

“So the mirror is like a time machine?” her eyes squint. “Like the TARDIS?”

Sometimes she makes references even I don’t understand.

“I don’t have the luxury of spending my single hour each day to watch your television shows or movies,” I tell her.

She pulls a face. “Shame,” she says. “You’d be a huge fan of TV shows. Someday, when you break the curse, you can come visit my world and we’ll have a whole movie marathon, alright?”

That’s never happening. But her eyes have gone bright and excited, so I shrug and nod.

“Bring some popcorn,” I tell her. “I like the caramel ones.”

“Deal.”

“So which shows will pique my interest the most?”

She goes on from my prompt to talk about all sorts of movies and television shows. She slowly becomes more and more engrossed in explaining one of her current favorites to me, and I encourage her to reveal the plot to me.

Out of nowhere, something white and blinding flashes across my field of vision.

“And the worst thing is that the mother of dragons ends up – Kieran?” She stops. “Are you okay?”

I’ve doubled over my knees. “I’m fine,” I start to say, but the pain starts to register late. A hot sensation seizes my brain.

I cry out.

The growl that rips through my throat isn’t mine.

“Kieran?” Isabelle sounds worried. She tries to loop my arm over her shoulder for support, but I pull away from her.

No matter how frequent, how routinely the surging waves of pain come every night, I will never get used to it. The only thing I am used to is controlling my coherent thoughts as the agony comes in gradual stages.

Today it comes all at once.

“Run,” I gasp hoarsely. Something snaps loudly in the distance, and Isabelle screams my name.

My arm is yanked backwards by some invisible force. I fall face-first onto the ground. My whole body is being melted into molten lava, every cell struggling frantically to repair itself at the same rate my every bone dislocates itself and twists in directions that make me throw my head back in uncontrolled spasms.

It takes all my strength to repeat myself: “Run!”

And then I am no more.