“I want that, too,” I said. “But I want it with you.”

“We both know that’s not possible.”

Whatever cowardice had been binding my feet in place released, and I dropped off the platform to kneel next to her. “It is possible, Pénélope. The only thing that’s stopping us is everyone else, but we can take that power away from them if we want to.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

Tears were flooding down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking, but I was careful not to touch her. Not to push her. All her life she’d been forced this way and that, and I refused to do the same. “I won’t make you do anything, Pénélope. But if you don’t want this, don’t want me, I want to hear you say it. I deserve to know that it’s you making the choice, not your father. Or the King. Or anyone else.”

The wind whistled through the cavern, and I caught the faintest glimpse of moonlight. We were running out of time, and I didn’t think the Duke would allow Pénélope to survive until the next full moon. “Pénélope?”

“This is cruel,” she whispered. “You know I want to be with you more than anything. And if the cost was mine alone to bear, I’d shoulder it in a heartbeat.” Her sob echoed through the cavern. “But you are the one who’d bear it, along with all of those who are relying on you to save them. And how selfish would I be to want that?”

“Then be selfish.” I sounded angry, but it was desperation. I couldn’t lose her like this. I refused to. “Your life has been dictated by your father, by your affliction, by circumstance. When have you ever done something meaningful because it was what you wanted?”

“I shouldn’t want it.”

The anguish in her voice was like a knife to my gut. “But you do,” I said. “I know the risks. I know there is every chance that this pregnancy will kill me along with you. But I’d rather live a short life bonded to you than an eternity without knowing what it was like, because all it would be is an eternity of regret.”

Her fingers crept toward mine, latching onto the vial that held our salvation. Our damnation. And I was afraid to let her take it lest she shatter it against the stone, leaving all our wants and dreams scattered in pieces among the broken glass. I was afraid.

But I also refused to be a coward, so I let her take it.

Sitting on her heels, she pulled out the stopper, letting it drop from her fingers and roll away into the darkness.

My heart slowed to a crawling thump, thump as I held my breath.

“To selflessness,” she said, then drained half the contents in one gulp.

Excitement and terror rolled through my veins, but I took the vial back from her. “To selfishness.” Then I swallowed the rest, the liquid sticky and sweet on my tongue, burning its way into my stomach.