not again, the hunger demands. never again. he is tricking you with the promise of love, and you will fall for it again because you are weak.

It’s just a hand. Just one moment. One moment can’t hurt, can it?

you asked for moments two weeks ago, the hunger snarls. and he ruined you for it.

The hunger’s right. I rip my hand from his, and he thankfully doesn’t try to grab it again. Soon, we’re at the foot of West Gate, a much busier place than South Gate, but the area near the old brewery is relatively calmer. Lucien stops in front of it, the air ripe with the viscous, pungent smell of yeast.

“There!” Lucien points at a figure in gray in the distance. “That’s him.”

“Finally,” Malachite says. “Can we stop cavorting and go back to the palace now?”

“By all means.” I wave my hands. “Go on.”

“Not even a thank-you kiss?” Lucien smiles. The word “kiss,” coming from him, stabs right into my lungs. That’s not what he really wants, is it? Nothing can go back to the way it was between us. I know that now. I can’t change the past. All I can do is move forward—with him, with everyone. I pause, and then hold out the diary page to him.

“Here. This is my thanks.”

Lucien takes it, his dark eyes bewildered, but as he reads the lines, his gaze grows sharper until he looks back up at me. “This is the song—the one Muro sang that day in the throne room. Where did you find this?”

“Fione gave me Gavik’s diary. That was inside it. I thought you should know.”

He looks back down at it, and then hands it to me. “What does it mean?”

“I’m about to find out,” I say, raising my chin toward Gavik. There’s a quiet as Lucien looks between Gavik and me, and then he exhales. It quickly turns into a cough, the sound racking his body as he doubles over. Malachite shoots a worried look at me, and I reach into my cloak and pull out Lucien’s handkerchief. I unfold Y’shennria’s picture from it and hand it to him.

“I’m returning this to you in your hour of need.”

The prince’s dark eyes flash as he looks up. “That was meant as a parting gift for you.”

The feel of his hand in mine just moments ago, the pride in my chest welling up for him. The warmth that spreads through my body simply because I see him. No matter how badly I want to be ruthless, I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to rip us apart all the way. I’m hopeless.

weak. disgustingly weak and pathetic—

“Yes. Well.” I clear my throat. “I’m returning it.”