She takes out the wrapped-up SoulSeed, which was in the pocket of her dress; it is warm and heavy in the palm of her hand. She unwraps it carefully. The SoulSeed pulses weakly; its light has diminished gradually until its glow is all but gone. She taps the seed, wondering if Uaine is conscious of her actions. What game is the dryad playing, and what kind of pawn has Croi become? She rewraps the SoulSeed and returns it to her pocket.

Without considering anything else, she jumps to her feet and marches to the doors leading out of the fourth floor and down the stairs. She pulls them open to find two extremely large Tine soldiers barring her way.

“The king told us to ensure that you stay inside,” the gold-magicked one says. Croi slams the door in his face.

He wants to make prisoners out of us.

“He is annoying.”

Did he really think placing soldiers outside the doors would stop us?

“He is too used to kin obeying him,” Croi says decisively, moving toward the other side of the room. She steps out onto the balcony, peering right and left, just in case the king has left some kind of winged beast to foil her escape.

Croi noticed earlier that the walls of this pavilion are covered in vines, and when she checks, she finds them sturdy enough to support her weight if she shimmies down. The ground is far away, but Croi has climbed enough trees in the Wilde Forest to be reasonably confident about reaching the bottom. She takes off her shoes, drops them over the railing, and pats her pocket to reassure herself of the SoulSeed’s presence. Once satisfied, she swings herself over the railing and grabs the vines next to the balcony. She perches, for a moment, like a lizard on a wall, then starts descending. She realizes, only when she’s on the wall, that climbing in a pretty dress is not just inconvenient but also very annoying.

She’s about halfway down and rethinking the entire venture when a dragonfly flies directly into her face. Startled, she lets go, and though she grabs wildly for the vines in the next second, it is too late. She hurtles through the air straight toward the ground’s hard embrace. Croi squeezes her eyes tightly and is hoping death won’t hurt too much when someone catches her. Someone with wide shoulders, someone who smells like the sun on golden summer days when the grass is green and life is full of honey.

Croi looks up to see a fae boy with the face she has been dreaming about for a while now. His eyes are as beautiful as she remembers them, and at this moment, they are full of her. He has arched eyebrows and unruly black curls. His lips are full and look very soft.

Croi looks at the fae prince holding her and grins. “Hello, Irial.”

THIRTY-ONE

WE CAN’T LOVE HIM.

“Perhaps we already do.”

The realization has Croi abandoning the smile she gave Irial so easily. She jumps out of his arms and stands at a cautious distance from him.