“I’d like to be,” Yorl scoffs, his agile feline legs keeping up with me more easily than Lucien’s. “But it seems you’ve forgotten your father’s policies prevent celeons from ever becoming polymaths in the first place.”

Lucien quirks his brows in a fair enough way as he swings around a lamppost to turn the corner with me.

“The valkerax is gone, then?” he presses. “For good? You’re certain of that?”

“Mildly,” Yorl says drily.

“And I’m sure you’re not going to tell me what my sister got out of you studying it,” the prince continues.

“Hardly,” Yorl agrees.

The three of us walk near the bridge to the noble quarter, Lucien keeping up with me easily. I can feel him at my side even if I can’t see him—his presence like the thick, unbreathable pressure before a summer storm.

This could be the last time I see him.

This walk could be the last steps I ever take around him. The last air I breathe near him.

Something soft and warm suddenly slips into my hand—skin sliding across skin. Steadying. Gentle. Fingers hook around mine, and I look over to see Lucien’s hand entwined in my palm, his eyes soft behind his cowl. The urge to squeeze his hand hard, to make sure it’s really real, fills me to the brim, but I resist it.

Why? Why is he doing this to me? Doesn’t he know it’s cruel? Doesn’t he know I’m going to abandon him the moment I get up those palace steps and into Varia’s room? The moment my heart is in my chest again will mean the moment his sister inherits her doom.

His thumb traces the back of my knuckles thoughtfully, slowly, and part of me gives in. This one moment is all I could ever ask for. It is all I will ever have, and I tattoo it into every part of my aching flesh.

When I am old and gray, forgetful and alone, I am certain this will be the only memory that remains.

I dare myself to look up into his face, only to find the gentleness in his eyes is gone. His face is ashen. Not just pale, not just green around the edges, but ashen, completely and totally drained of all blood and color. His hand around mine tightens slowly but inexorably. Something’s wrong.

“Lucien?” I murmur. “What—” I try to pull my hand away, but his grip is too strong. And Lucien doesn’t react to my attempts to get away at all—his eyes staring off into the distance as if he’s watching something happen far away.

“Lucien, let me go.” I yank my hand, hard, but he doesn’t budge. “I said let me go!”