“I asked her what she’s grappling with, and she told me that I don’t need to worry about anything. That she’ll keep me safe.” He scowls. “I’m her only child and the only other person in our family. Why won’t she trust me a little more?”

Croi considers his question carefully. “Perhaps she thinks the less you know, the safer you will be?”

“But I don’t even know what the danger is! What is she wary about?” He clenches his fists, frustration evident in the stiff set of his shoulders.

“I can’t help you with that. Sorry.” Croi really is. For some reason, she thinks she wouldn’t mind helping Irial figure things out.

“No, this isn’t your problem. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re going through enough as it is. Do you know who cast the summoning spell on you?” Irial asks, and Croi shrugs.

“Nope. The Hag, the creature who raised me, only called her ‘the princess.’ Do I look like I know royalty? Wait, I do know royalty! Your mother is a queen, so you must be a prince. What do they call you?” Croi huffs, and her throat makes a strange horse noise. Her cheeks go red. At least she thinks they go red. She’s not sure whether centaurs can blush.

Irial bows his head; his eyes are bleak. “The Robber Prince.”

“Sounds dashing,” Croi says. He gives her an uncertain look. “No, really. It’s better than being called something like the Potato Prince, right?” She coaxes a reluctant smile out of him. “Anyway, why do you keep appearing in my dreams? I’ve already told you that I’m not the Forever King’s descendant.”

“I know, but the spell keeps on sending me to you,” Irial says, and shrugs.

“Do you think I could be the Forever King’s descendant under my Glamour?” Croi says. “That would mean I have a family, wouldn’t it?”

Irial’s eyes narrow, and a bitter expression settles uneasily on his face. “I hope you aren’t. We’ll become enemies if you are.”

“Why?” Croi asks.

He avoids her eyes. “The Forever King’s family and mine have… Well, my mother is called the Robber Queen, remember?”

“Ah, right. People think she stole the Talamh crown.”

“You can say that.”

“But why would that make us enemies? The Forever King is gone and I never knew him. Whatever happened was between the dead. You and I are still alive.” Croi blinks at the fae who is looking gobsmacked by her words. “No?”

“Yes. You are right.” He gives her the sweetest smile—well, all right, the only smile she has ever received—and Croi finds her heart racing again. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Instead of replying, Irial gives her centaur self a hug. It’s awkward, but he smells like sunshine on a summer day. Croi takes a deep breath, trying to savor the feeling of her first hug. But perhaps she’s too excited because the dream cracks at this moment and morning arrives in a clamor of birdsong. No matter how tightly Croi holds on to sleep, it flees, leaving her no choice but to wake. Finally, reluctantly, Croi opens her eyes, and when she does, the world explodes.