“Brutal,” Ajay muttered, then added, “What’s the matter? You look sad. Sad and cold. The sad part’s new.” He nudged her thermos of pumpkin soup—he now brought thermoses for both of them—into her hand. A curl of steam rose from it. “Drink some of this.”

She took a sip. “Oh, that’s good. What’s the secret ingredient this time?” With Ajay, there was always at least one.

“Fresh coconut and kalonji.” When she looked confused, he added, “Sometimes they’re called nigella seeds. Or black onion, even though they’re not related, because they’re black and taste like toasted onions.”

Bridget smacked her lips thoughtfully. Now she could taste both, the sweet and savory notes.

As she took another sip, he said, “You didn’t answer me. What were you thinking about when you stopped reading?”

Sighing, she tried to adjust her coat to cover more of her legs. “About my mom. This was one of her favorite scenes.”

“How old were you when she passed away?”

“Twelve. Right before End of Forever came out. But sometimes I wonder—what if Bob had just split the book in two and put out the first part earlier? Maybe she would have made it a little longer.” It was suddenly hard to swallow.

“Bridget.” He covered her hand with his own, brown on top of her white. “I’m sure she lived as long as she could. For your sake, not a book’s.”

It was the first time he’d deliberately touched her. He lifted his hand, but the tingle lingered.

Still, if the book had come out when her mom was still alive, Bridget would have read as slowly as possible.

Thinking of her mother and of Ajay’s touch, she began to read again.

King Tristan grabbed Margarit’s chin in his hand. Instead of trying to wrench away, she regarded him steadily as she remembered the fateful night that had changed both of their lives. That had given her Jancy.

As she read, Bridget snuck a sideways glance at Ajay. When he first suggested they sit next to each other, she’d wondered if he was hinting about wanting to be closer. With each lunch period, she’d become more aware of his body, just a couple of inches away. Whenever he shifted, some part of him would brush her. Each touch lasted less than a second, but she felt it for long moments after. The way the back of her hand now still felt the warmth of his.

He dipped his head until they were nose to nose. The cell was quiet except for their exhalations echoing off the damp stone walls. Both breathing too loud, too fast.

The king pulled his lips back as if preparing to bite her. Margarit thought it possible he really wanted to kiss her, as he had another lifetime ago. Maybe the truth was that it was a little of both.