“I can’t give you one, Anouk.” For a moment I was glad I was cursed. Glad I had no choice but to refuse her.

“I could command you, you know.” Her threat was hollow, and we both knew it.

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

Anouk sighed. “I won’t force you, Myrthe. But . . . won’t you reconsider?”

“I told you I can’t.” My statement came out sharper than I intended, partly because the burning in my chest was making its way to my eyes and the only way I knew to fight it was with inner ice.

“I don’t ask you to cry!” Anouk burst out. “Don’t you have a single tear saved somewhere? Hasn’t Oma demanded a restock by now?” She lifted glassy eyes to mine and must have seen the resolve in my face, because she threw herself to her knees and gripped my hands in her own. “I beg of you, Myrthe. Please . . . please grant me a wish.”

This was too much for my shattered heart. I shot to my feet, tearing my hands from Anouk’s. “Why do you need one?”

I regretted the question the moment it passed my lips. Anouk’s answer wouldn’t change my inability to help, and asking for a reason implied that I denied her simply because I wasn’t convinced she deserved one.

Anouk’s pleading died. “If my request alone is not enough to convince you of my need, I doubt my story will be either.” She rose from her knees, breathing hard. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Anouk strode across the room, dashing any remnant of tears from her face, and pulled a golden cord resting along the wall. “You awoke a different person. I hardly even recognize you.”

“You don’t recognize me?” My laugh was sharp. “Your entire friendship has been a lie.”

The militair who’d escorted me here strode in, hand on his sword hilt.

“Remove this woman from the schloss.” Anouk turned her back on me. “She’s not to visit me again.”

I hedged away from the militair, but he wasn’t the hesitating type. He yanked me toward the doors, no longer gentle or obliging. As he dragged me past dead tulip stalks and tumbling frostvine, I wondered for a moment if this exit—this rift in our friendship—was worth it.

The militair had me through the door before I reached a conclusion. I could see Anouk’s ramrod-straight spine. I’d never told her about my curse. I hadn’t even told her my mutti was alive. This entire visit was falling to pieces.

“Anouk!” I screamed. Anger. Desperation. Betrayal. Hopelessness.