And the most naked truth: I might not get my heart back.

even at the end of all possibility. The hunger sneers at me. selfish to the last.

I bask in the low, late afternoon sun aboveground, trying not to think. But it’s all I can do; if I don’t get my heart, where does that leave me? As a pawn for Varia for how many more years? Will she make me fight in the war?

A shadow catches my eye in the sparse South Gate crowd. Beneath the eaves of a hat shop, a dark figure in all leather leans against the wall. Lucien. What is he doing here? I turn and hide my face. Being alone with him again isn’t what I need right now.

but it’s what we want, the hunger insists, lolling its pitch-black tongue.

Suddenly, something black and small catches my eye. A flower? No, a rose. A black rose. It’s held by a leather-clad arm, and my eyes meet Lucien’s cowled face, his eyes full to the brim with detached amusement as he holds the rose out to me. My twisted mind tries to celebrate—he’s offering me a gift.

don’t be naïve. The hunger laughs. the little prince is already naive enough for the both of you.

“A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady,” he says. A pair of noble women passing by looks me up and down, giggling madly and clucking their tongues in equal turn. A rose given to a noble lady by a commoner is scandalous in the extreme. Lucien holds the rose out more insistently when a flustered courier boy walks by, and I tempestuously fight the urge to take the flower. There’s only one place in Vetris black roses grow—in front of Y’shennria’s manor. This is a ploy. He’s trying to remind me of my mistakes, of my lie of pretending to be an Y’shennria—a Firstblood noble. Any gift from him isn’t because he particularly likes me—we established that in the tower. He must be doing this to get to me. To hurt me.

you lied. you deserve this pain—

I smile as I take the rose, careful not to touch his gloved hand. I look at the soft petals for a moment, enjoying the familiar scent that tugs at my unheart, and then throw the rose over my shoulder, directly into a muddy puddle.

“A terrible gift for a terrible gifter.” I smile at him lightly.

There’s a moment where I think I can see the true Lucien—hurt running across his face. But it evaporates like a raindrop in the sun. He half sighs, his eyes now amused again.

“We have things to clarify.”

“Do we have to clarify them here, in front of everyone?” I ask.