“Are you okay?” Pan joined me on the balcony.

His shirt was unbuttoned. He’d been undressing to change out of his nice dress shirt, but had stopped halfway through to check on me. My hands still trembled, and I let out a shaky breath.

“I’m okay,” I told him with a weak smile. “I thought for a minute that . . .” I swallowed back tears, and he slid his arm around my waist, hugging me to him. “I thought she was going to lock us up and throw us in the dungeon. I never would’ve forgiven myself if I got you pulled into that again.”

“You took a risk to save the kingdoms,” Pan said. “And we’re not locked up. We’re free, and we’re okay.

“You did cash in the one and only favor you’ll probably ever get from Bodil,” he added after a long pause.

“I know, but it seemed like the only option,” I said. “She wouldn’t be swayed by anything other than self-preservation. And we need everyone we can get.”

“Ten Omte soldiers are worth fifty from the other kingdoms,” Pan said, repeating a common expression. But based on all the misinformation I’d learned about the Omte, I assumed that was a half-truth at best.

I leaned into Pan, resting my cheek against his bare chest, and I wrapped my arms around him. “I hope so.”

“You are brave for going up to the Queen like that.” He kissed the top of my head, and then, with his words nearly lost in my hair, he said, “I love you, Ulla.”

Four simple words, and my whole body felt light and tingly. I had heard him say it before, in the memory, but that didn’t lessen the way it felt hearing him say that.

I had never in my entire life heard anyone say that. At least, not anyone over the age of twelve.

Breathless and elated and warm and terrified and safe, but mostly I felt totally and completely in love with Pan. When I looked up into his eyes, so warm and dark like black tea on a winter morning, I knew that I loved him with every part of my being.

He put his hand on my face, his thumb caressing my cheek, and in a husky voice, I told him, “I love you.”

He kissed me then, and I think he meant to be gentle, but his fervor matched mine, and his hand pressed to the small of my back.

When we parted, I breathlessly confessed, “You told me that once before.”

“Did I?” he asked in confusion.

“You did.” I put my hand to his chest, suddenly worrying that I was doing the wrong thing by telling him. Or maybe I had done the wrong thing by not telling him sooner?

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”