She’s right. I’ve always been a good girl. And what has that gotten me? A lifetime of imprisonment.

Strike, or any variation of the word, is one of the worst things I could say, and I’ve uttered it often over the past month.

Ages ago, a fae wizard was struck by lightning. It didn’t kill him. That much electricity isn’t deadly to us, but it does cause temporary paralysis, often affecting our ability to fly. I’ve heard falling to the ground mid-flight is painful, to say the least. After experiencing the extreme inconvenience, the wizard was so offended by the origin of the obscenity, he cast a spell on the word.

Depending on how passionately one says it, an unpleasant static shock is the side effect.

And this time, I really meant it.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing to my sister is the right thing to do, considering my new bad habit has caused her pain, even if it is minor.

She gives my shoulder a forgiving pat. “I thought maybe you’d understand Keryth’s note better than I did. After all, you know him.”

Racking my brain, I try to come up with a reason for the words. Is it a continuation of our promise?

Is it a goodbye?

“Did he seem upset?” I look into Zephina’s violet eyes—the same exact color of mine.

She shrugs. “Surprisingly, no.”

“No?” I frown. “Not even a little?”

She shakes her head. “The interaction was pleasant. He was smiling and laughing with his men as they loaded the supply wagon.”

Smiling and laughing? How is that possible?

Anger flares in me. I’m stuck here, moping and crying, while he’s out there having a grand time with his friends?

I don’t even realize my fire power has activated until Zephina snatches the burning paper from my hand. She pats the flames out quickly with her hands before laying the partially charred note on my dresser.

“Listen.” She turns to me. “You know he’s hurting, too. Just because he doesn’t show his weakness—”

“If he’s able to hide this—” I clutch my empty, aching chest “—then he doesn’t feel for me the way I feel for him. I can’t think about anything else. He fills my dreams, my every waking thought…”

My rant trails off because a sizzle ignites in my veins, and it’s not coming from my powers or profanity.

No, I know this sensation well.

Awareness.

Nearness.

“Keryth,” I breathe out, sprinting to the window.

I’m on the fourth floor, and it’s high enough to survey the palace grounds and the countryside beyond.

I see our brother Zarid in the courtyard. His blond hair glints in the sunlight as he walks with some unsuspecting girl by the large fountain. Flirting. Probably trying to convince her to come to his bed. As if he’ll have to try very hard.

Typical.