Maybe I should go back to Gravale and hide in the mountains until I’m able to exist without shattering.

* * *

I force a tasteless croissant between my lips as we step outside where the sun caresses my bare shoulders, reminding me of the heat of Everett’s lips. Drifting along next to Nia, I barely pay attention to anyone or anything around me.

She stops at a tea house where Trevor and Nolan wait at a table set for four. When Trevor sees me, his face brightens, and he pushes to his feet to slide out my chair for me. He brought a bouquet of wildflowers, their long, jagged stems tied with twine.

He hands me the bouquet with a chagrined smile. “I want to apologize. You were right in calling me a coward. I never should’ve given in to the prince’s demands.”

No, he shouldn’t have. Not that it matters now.

I thank Trevor for the flowers and set them on the table beside me.

Why must there be so many? They feel so impersonal.

Trevor either doesn’t notice my misery or he doesn’t care. He just sits there drinking his tea with a small, contented smile on his conventionally handsome face.

A face I might have loved if it weren’t for him.

Nia and Nolan keep the conversation light, discussing the upcoming summer festivals and the new café opening on the other side of town near Madame Ella’s. Apparently, they specialize in fish. Not sure why anyone would want to go somewhere that offers only one type of food on the menu, but what do I know?

Trevor orders a pear and rhubarb tart, offering me half.

I don’t even want food but when the waitress drops off the plate, I force myself to eat so that I don’t have to join in the conversation. Bedtime cannot come soon enough.

Trevor dabs the crumbs from his lips with his serviette. “What news from The Divide, Nolan?”

Nia’s brow furrows as she glances at me, and then to the man holding her hand. “What is he talking about, dearest?”

I hate how much my ears perk up at the mention of the canyon. I try to appear nonchalant, but my knuckles have gone white where I grip my fork.

Nolan clears his throat, a flush creeping along his jaw as his gaze darts between my cousin and me. “This information does not leave this table,” he says quietly, his expression grim. Once we’ve all nodded, he continues. “One of the men on patrol last night was mauled to death by a wolf.”

But Everett said there were no wolves on our side of The Divide.

Had that been a lie?

No. Everett wouldn’t have lied. Not about this.

Maybe he wasn’t lying, but wrong.