Spots of pink seared Sophie’s cheeks. Her throat bobbed. “You shouldn’t have come back for me,” she rasped. “You should have lived your own life and let me have mine. None of this would have ever happened.”

“I would do it all over again,” said Agatha.

“Because we’re sisters?” Sophie scoffed, fighting emotion.

Stefan gurgled, confused—Sophie dug the blade deeper.

“Because we’re more than sisters,” said Agatha, staring straight at her. “We chose each other, Sophie. We’re best friends.”

Sophie looked away. “A princess and witch can never be friends. Our story will forever prove that.”

“No, our story proves a princess and a witch have to be friends. Because each of us has played both parts,” said Agatha. “And we’ll always play both parts. That’s who we are. That’s why we’re us.”

Sophie still couldn’t look at her. “All I ever wanted was love, Aggie,” she breathed, voice breaking. “All I ever wanted was a happy ending like yours.”

“You already have one, Sophie. You’ve always had one.” Agatha smiled through tears. “With me.”

Sophie finally met her eyes.

For the briefest of moments, sound and space fell away, the two of them locked in a gaze so strong that they became reflections of each other. Light and Dark. Good and Evil. Hero and Villain. Only as each looked deeper, neither knew who was who. For in each other’s eyes, they saw the answers to their own soul’s silent questions, as if they weren’t reflections at all, but two halves of the same.

A tear slipped down Sophie’s cheek, her mouth falling open to the softest of gasps, as if a fire inside her had gone out.

The young School Master looked ruffled, his hands twitching on the axe, pupils darting between his prisoner and his queen—

Sophie blinked, the moment gone. She looked at Agatha as if she were a stranger, her face chilling back to its dead-numb shell. Slowly Sophie turned to Rafal.

“On three,” she said.

Rafal smiled cruelly at Sophie and slammed Agatha’s head back down on the tree.

“On three,” said Rafal, measuring the blade against her and Tedros’ necks.

Agatha went limp, her heart broken.

“One,” said Sophie.

Tedros stopped thrashing as if he knew the end had come. He pressed his bare shoulder against Agatha’s and she pulled even closer, wanting to feel every part of him as they died.

“Two,” said Rafal, both fists on the axe.

She tasted the warmth of Tedros’ breath.

“Forever,” he whispered.

“Forever,” she whispered.

Rafal raised the axe over their heads.

Sophie aimed her sword at her father’s neck—

“Three,” Sophie said.

Agatha felt the wind of the falling axe and saw Sophie swing Tedros’ sword, the sun imploding to darkness in the mirror of its steel. But as Excalibur grazed Stefan’s skin, about to rip into his throat, Sophie suddenly diverted her swing, looping the sword upwards. Her right hand came off the hilt, brushing across her left hand, sweeping the School Master’s ring clean off her finger and high into the air, the gold circle catching the last spear of light in the sky, like a bold new sun—