This is a farce. A scheme. It isn’t real.

But it felt real, and I never wanted to let it go.

“What are we doing here?” Pénélope asked as we skirted the walls of the palace, following a white-graveled path toward a gated entrance.

“You’ll see.”

“Good evening, my lord,” one of the guards at the gate said, swinging it open. “My lady.”

“But we aren’t allowed in here without a royal,” Pénélope hissed, her eyes wide as I led her into the glass gardens.

“Or a royal’s permission,” I said. “Trust me.”

As soon as I said it, it dawned on me what a ludicrous request it was, given we were both here with an agenda. Yet she only smiled and said, “I do.” Then, letting go of my hand, she trotted down a path, silver blue skirts floating out behind her. I trailed after her, content to watch a guild-trained artist delight in what was undoubtedly Trollus’s greatest artistic achievement, but one that the crown kept for its eyes only.

Pénélope was like a child in a garden full of sweets, whirling and turning, focusing on the curve of a leaf only to be lured away by the petal of a flower, her speech more exclamations of delight than words.

“Have you never been here before?” I asked.

“Once, as part of my guild training. But the masters loomed over us the entire time as though they thought we intended to smash the whole place to bits. And, of course, they weren’t lit.” She smiled, fingers trailing over a glass dragonfly perched on the mouth of a flower. “They were designed to be lit, you know? It’s the only way to truly see all the detail and nuance.”

“So I hear.” So I knew. It was why I’d brought her here when I had. The King walked with the Queen after dinner, and he always lit them for her. His magic clung to its purpose with ruthless resolve, so I knew they’d remain bright long after they had departed.

“It’s a shame not everyone can see them,” Pénélope said. “Do you think Tristan would ever consider changing the rules, or is that too egalitarian for him?”

There was a bite to her voice, and my skin crawled, the lights around me seemed to move and shake like an illusion on the verge of cracking. “I doubt it’s a matter he’s given much thought.”

“What about you?” she asked. “If it was your choice, what would you do?”

“I’d tear down the walls and make sure the light never went dark.”

She said nothing, turning her face toward a fountain, but not before I saw a faint smile cross her lips.

Pénélope wandered down a path lined with weeping willows, glowing leaves suspended from branches formed of silvery wire that swayed in the shifting air. She turned in slow circles, face tilted upward, then came back to stop in front of me. Reaching up, she pushed back the hood of my cloak, then her hand dropped to my forearm, her eyes searching mine. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that around me.”