I shake my head. The urge to tell them everything almost overflows, like an overfilled cup. The urge to trust them again, to confide in them. To rely on anyone other than the hunger—to trust someone fully instead of halfheartedly like I do Varia—it sounds like paradise. It would make the burden I carry so much lighter.

Not again. I won’t let human weakness steal my heart from me again.

I give a proper bow fit for a prince and archduchess and start down the stairs with an uncaring wave of my hand.

“Bring me that diary, my good nobles. And then I’ll consider telling you a story.”

…

The patrols in the palace are more alert than usual, perhaps preparing for the war. Being caught wandering the halls in the dead of night isn’t illegal for a noble, but still the guards stop me, asking questions. I give them the excuse that I’d felt sick and went to visit the royal polymaths in the palace’s Sun Ward. I smile brightly, and while I’m positive they know I’m lying, they don’t dare stop me—the crown princess has told them I’m allowed in her apartments, and to stop me might mean invoking her ire.

When I slip into the sitting room, the oil lamps are all snuffed out, the apartments engulfed in dimness. The blue moonlight filters through the glass windows, and I carefully tiptoe past the bedroom. My eyes catch on the dark figure in it. A dark figure, moving. No—thrashing. Varia’s black hair is slicked to her head with sweat, her limbs twitching, struggling to be free of the sheets. Her eyes are closed—she’s fast asleep, and yet moving like she’s fighting something.

I should leave her. She’s my witch—holding me hostage by my heart. At the very least, she deserves nightmares. But…the soft whine that escapes her lips suddenly tugs at me. Peligli used to have nightmares like these, mewling like this, and I’d always wake her up.

She means so much to Fione. To Lucien.

I gulp down a breath and walk over to her bedside. This close, I can see just how pale and tinged green her skin’s become, as if she’s sick, her eyes moving frantically behind her eyelids.

Gingerly, I put my hand on her shoulder. “Your Highness?” I say. She doesn’t respond. “Varia?”

Suddenly, her thrashing gets violent, her limbs bashing against one another, quaking the mattress. Her shin hits a wooden poster of the bed so hard it vibrates through the floor, blood pooling instantly crimson beneath her skin. I put both hands on her shoulders and shake her.

“Varia!”

Her dark eyes snap open, her thrashing going still at the same moment that she sits straight up in the bed.