Queen Estelle’s hideous gown whispered as it moved across the floor, and the sound only stopped when she reached Claire and plucked the Crown of Arden from her hands.

“Thank you,” Estelle said, “for preparing this for me.” And then she raised the four-pointed crown—the crown that made its wearer’s magic even more powerful—and set it on her brow.

It was over.

Finished.

Done.

Even if anyone did come to help them, it was too late. Estelle, adorned in unicorn artifacts, wore the Crown of Arden.

Estelle was queen again … and Nadia would never be crowned.

The remade queen of Arden closed her eyes and breathed in, as though smelling something sweet: Victory. Triumph. Absolute power. A terrible grin spread across the queen’s face.

With the last of her strength, Claire struggled against the earth’s pull, lifting her head just enough to turn it the other way. Her gaze locked on Sophie, who was already looking at her. Sophie’s littlest finger twitched.

A pinky promise.

A sister’s promise.

A promise to be with her, until the very end.

Except … a pearly light softly filtered in.

Estelle turned around, the gems on her gown clinking.

“You,” she breathed.

The unicorn had arrived.

Unable to see clearly at first, Claire could still hear the chime of diamond hooves striking the floor. The unicorn didn’t charge forward, like he had that night on the Sorrowful Plains. Instead, he approached steadily, deliberately, until at last, he moved into Claire’s field of vision.

The queen leveled the ram’s head at his chest, but still the unicorn did not falter. One step, and then another, and then he was toe to hoof with the queen, the deadly cane an inch from his chest.

An inch from his heart.

Strange shadows flitted across the queen’s face in the glow of the unicorn’s horn. The last queen and the last unicorn stood across from each other, still as the monoliths they’d once been. And then—

I remember you. The unicorn’s voice did not sound in Claire’s ears or even in her head but in the same place she heard magic’s hum. He spoke not with words but with memories. Chubby hands wrapping in his mane as the little princess pulled herself up to take her first step. Round cheeks, tear-streaked, pressed against his neck as she cried over a skinned knee. The memories shifted and settled into a story.