She loved her family and her home. She loved her mate so much that she had been willing to do anything. I consider my own actions and wonder if I’m in any position to judge her. I’ve been tearing through Ouranos, leaving my own path of destruction. And now I’m also planning to bond with my mate whatever the consequences.

After another minute, I look back at Tristan, but he still hasn’t moved. He just stares at the portraits silently, something passing behind his expression that I think I recognize.

“Tris, you okay?” I ask finally. “Tris?”

He looks at me as though he’d forgotten we were here.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He tears his gaze away from the portraits. “What else should we see?”

He’s clearly not fine, but I won’t push him. We can discuss this later, when he’s had time to digest everything.

“The throne room,” I say. “This way.”

We wind our way through the castle. We were here for only two days last time, but I remember every corner like they’re tattooed into my memories. How can anyone say that I don’t belong here?

We step inside and come to a stop. It’s even more overwhelming than I remember.

I look around, noting the evidence of the battle with Rion—shattered stone littering the floor where he fired his magic. In the middle of the room lie the traces of the night Nadir and I spent talking and staring up at the sky. Even the small circle of stones where we lit a fire remains.

“What happened here?” Tristan asks, pointing at the pile of rubble behind the thrones.

“That’s where we found the Crown,” I say. “It was behind that wall.”

I glance over at Willow, who’s staring around the room with her lips parted. She looks a little pale and keeps rubbing her chest. We really should get her something to eat. We’ll stay here another few minutes and then head back to the manor. It’s getting late, and we could all use some sleep.

Tristan stares at the twin thrones, and I’m not sure which of my siblings needs me the most right now. They’re both having very different reactions—ones I might have predicted. Willow all wide-eyed wonder in her endless optimism, and Tristan with his more practical and cynical outlook. As much as I love Willow, Tristan and I have always been two peas in a pod.

Willow’s gaze traces the roses that spiral up the pillars and clamor across the ceiling. Are there more than the last time? It’s hard to tell, but I think so.

“The roses,” Willow says. “I know you told me about them, but Lor—” She cuts off and stops. “This is all so much bigger than we ever imagined, isn’t it?”