Sophie checked her arm, desperate to get out of this tub, but her blisters were still raw. “First of all, don’t call me stupid, Hort. Second of all, please believe me when I say I’m sorry for last year, okay? I still don’t know why Tedros’ name came out of my mouth instead of yours. I’m done with him . . . I really am. I don’t know what else to say—”

“As if I’d believe anything you said anyway,” Hort snorted. “I’ve already killed you and kissed you more times in my head than you deserve.”

Sophie stared at him.

Hort sighed, flicking the water. “But I learned my lesson. No one wants Old Hort. So meet New Hort instead. Modeled right after your cool, manly prince. The Hort chicks dig.”

“But that Hort isn’t real at all,” said Sophie, frowning. “That Hort isn’t you.”

“Well, whoever it is . . .” Hort raised his gaze. “Finally got your attention, didn’t he?”

Sophie fell silent.

“Yikes, getting pruney,” Hort deflected, assessing his wrinkled fingers. He started to push out of the tub. “Besides, your new boyfriend’s probably waiting for you.”

Sophie watched him get out, water sliding down the curves of his back.

“Hort?”

He stopped, still facing away from her. The only sound in the room was the drip of his shorts onto the carpet.

“Do you still love me?” she whispered.

Slowly Hort turned to Sophie with a sad smile, looking like the raw, openhearted boy she once knew.

“No.”

Sophie averted her eyes. “Oh good. Yes. Glad to hear it,” she chimed, fussing with her dress before looking up. “You know, with my new boyfriend and all—”

But Hort was gone.

For a long time, Sophie stayed in the steaming pool, sweating and gazing at the spot where he’d been, even after her arm was well healed, even after her skin had shriveled dry. And only when she heard the shriek of fairies rip through the castle did Sophie realize then that she hadn’t just missed the start of lunch.

She’d missed it completely.

As midnight came and went, Sophie sat calmly in the School Master’s window, her hair still wet, her ebony dress bunched at the knees as she pressed bare toes against the wall. She looked out at the fluorescent green bay, reflecting the shadows of two black castles, both dark and quiet.

How quickly things changed in a fairy tale.

Rafal hadn’t been too upset, thank goodness—she claimed she’d gotten lost in the throng on the way to lunch (“It’s like an overcrowded zoo, Rafal.”) and trapped herself in a broom closet (“So much black in this place—hard to tell the closets from the students!”). Rafal interrupted her, looking stressed: he’d barely been at lunch himself, he said, and told her he had important business in the School for Old that would keep him there until the morning. With a kiss, he left her on her own and off the hook (except for a stern visit from Lady Lesso, who’d chastised her for being no closer to finding the spy).