His lips lifted in a slow smile. “Making a point, l’annwylyd? All right, then. I’ll play along. I am Gwynn ap Nudd.”

The breeze chilled, sun slipping behind a cloud, and I remembered the little girl, reaching for Gabriel’s hand, and how he’d seemed to sense it and had pulled back with a scowl.

What have they done to you, Gwynn ap Nudd?

I shivered. The man’s hand gripped my elbow, his touch as warm and welcome as the sun in winter.

“Matilda?”

I looked at him, and I remembered the little girl again.

Not reincarnated. Reimagined. Not reborn, but born anew. As he is not Gwynn ap Nudd nor the other Arawn. You are and you are not. You are born to play the roles again.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

The man sighed, his arms going around me. “I know. You’re angry with me for not wanting to tell Arawn. But it is only because I don’t want to distract him from his duties. We’ll tell him soon and he’ll be happy for us, and he’ll dance at our wedding.”

His hands went to the back of my head again, pulling me into a kiss, but I broke free.

“No,” I said. “I won’t do this. I promised.”

His face clouded. “Arawn? You promised—?”

I stepped back, squeezing my eyes shut. “No, I promised I wouldn’t try to find answers. Not tonight.” I took a deep breath. “Gabriel?”

A hand closed on my elbow, and even before I opened my eyes, I knew it still wasn’t him.

“Matilda?”

I looked up at Gwynn and tried to see Gabriel instead, but I couldn’t.

Not reborn. Not reincarnated.

And I was glad of it. One less thing for my overloaded brain to deal with, one less complication—

“Matilda?” He tilted his head, and when he did, something in the angle of his jaw . . .

“No!” I snarled the word and squeezed my eyes shut. “Gab-ri-el!”

The force of the shift hit me like a sandbag in the gut. I toppled backward. Hands grabbed me. Too hard. Too tight. Yanking me upright before I fell. Holding me there, still too tight, like a parent restraining a wayward child. Gabriel. There was absolutely no doubt that it was him, even before he said, “Olivia?” his voice tight with annoyance. My eyes were open, but everything was blurred by a red-tinged fog. He gripped me by both wrists, his fingers digging in.

“Olivia?”

The fog cleared, and I saw those ice-cold, pale blue eyes boring into mine. I felt his rough grip and heard his snapped words, and I didn’t wish for anything else. This was the Gabriel I knew, and that was more comforting than any kind words or gentle embraces.

“I’m okay,” I said.