The other half was something else entirely.

I waited a long time until I was almost sure I’d missed her, when suddenly a familiar form came around the bend and started up the set of stairs I lurked next to. “Anaïs,” I breathed. She hadn’t noticed me, so I watched her walk, shoulders back and head high, like the princess she had almost been. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. But it was a loveliness that came from flawlessness, every feature perfect in a way that made her seem almost created by design. It was the beauty of the fey. A face echoing all those who had come before, much as was my own.

Anaïs froze mid-step, eyes scanning the shadows until they latched on to me. Lowering her foot, she stared, face expressionless.

Until recently, I’d barely gone a day without spending time in her presence. With the exception of Marc, she was my oldest and closest friend. And without a doubt, she was my most loyal accomplice. Her history was my history, our lives interwoven as only those who were childhood friends could be. I knew everything about her, all her stories and secrets, and she knew me equally as well.

As our eyes locked, I remembered what I had told Cécile before the sluag attack – that Anaïs and I had never been more than friends. Technically, that was true. But it was also a lie. Anaïs was the first girl I’d lusted after, the first I’d ever kissed, the first of many things. But I’d never loved her, not like that.

Almost as though she could sense my thoughts, Anaïs bolted up the last few steps and started down the street toward her home.

“Anaïs,” I called, hurrying after her. “Anaïs, wait!”

She ignored me, and in another few steps, she would be in sight of the guards at the gate.

“Anaïs, please.” I broke into a run. “I need to talk to you.”

She slid to a stop and rounded on me. “I suppose that’s the key word, isn’t it? Need? Did you ever talk to me because you wanted to?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Tristan. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t ever want to see your face again. I’m tired of you using me.”

“Anaïs.” I closed the distance between us, my pleasure at seeing her alive tempered by the fury in her eyes. She had never looked at me like that before. “We’ve been friends our whole lives; how can you say these things?”

“Friends?” she scoffed. “Friend is just a label you give your favorite tools. I see that now. You only pretended to care so we’d assist with your plans.”

“You know that isn’t true.” I searched her face, looking for a trace of something that wasn’t anger. “I care about you. I…”

“Right.” She rolled her eyes, but I could see her hands were clenching her skirts. “The only person you care about, the only person you love, is her. And sometimes I wonder if that isn’t just out of some sense of self-preservation on your part.” She laughed wildly, and it sounded strange and off-key in my ears. Not a laugh I’d heard before. “Except that can’t be right,” she said, her shoulders shaking. “Because you loathe yourself, don’t you? You despise your very nature.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “Well, now you are in good company, because with the exception of that imbecile, Marc, there isn’t a soul in Trollus who does not hate you.”