THERON'S POV
The side door leads to a hidden passage I've used a hundred times.
Calista follows me without hesitation, which surprises me. Three years ago, she would have questioned everything, demanded explanations, refused to trust anyone until she had all the facts.
Now she just runs.
They've broken so much of her. But not everything. Not the part that matters most.
"Where are we going?" she asks, breathless, as we race through the narrow corridor.
"Somewhere the Queen's guards won't think to look." I pull her around a corner. "Somewhere we can talk without being overheard."
"The Queen will come for me."
"Let her try." I push open a concealed door, and we emerge into—
"The library?" Calista stares. "You brought me to the library?"
"The forbidden section of the library," I correct, locking the door behind us with three different spells. "Also known as the Sanguine Vaults. The Queen's guards can't enter without her direct permission. We're safe here. For now."
Calista walks slowly between the shelves, trailing her fingers along ancient books. Her face is confused. Searching.
"I've been here before," she whispers. "Haven't I?"
"Many times. You practically lived in this section during your research." I watch her carefully. "Do you remember what you were studying?"
She closes her eyes, concentrating. "Memory magic. Protection spells. Something about... anchors?" Her eyes snap open. "The ring. The black ring that broke. That was one of my memory anchors."
"The first one. You made seven total. One for each reset you predicted you'd go through." I pull a book from the shelf—her research journal. "You were terrifyingly thorough. You knew someone would try to steal your memories, so you built failsafes."
"But they didn't work." Her voice is bitter. "I still forgot everything."
"They worked better than you think." I hand her the journal. "You're standing here, aren't you? Remembering fragments? Fighting back? Most people would have been completely erased by now. Your anchors kept pieces of you alive."
She opens the journal, flipping through pages covered in her own handwriting—equations, diagrams, notes in code.
"I was smart," she says, wonder in her voice.
"You are smart." I step closer. "The curse doesn't change who you are, Calista. It just hides her under layers of forgetting. But she's still in there. You're still in there."
She looks up at me, and I see tears in her eyes. "Why are you helping me? Really? The Queen could execute you for this."
This is the moment. The moment I've been dreading and hoping for in equal measure.
"Because three years ago," I say carefully, "you were my best friend. And I—"
I stop. I can't say it. Not yet. Not when she doesn't remember.
"You what?" she presses.
"I failed you." It's easier than the truth. "When they cursed you, I wasn't there. I was on a mission for the Queen, and when I came back, you were already gone. Already the Poison Bride. I've been trying to fix it ever since."
It's not a lie. But it's not the whole truth either.
She studies my face like she's trying to read a difficult book. "You said we were friends. Do you have proof?"
I pull out the miniature portrait from my coat—the one I showed her days ago, though she probably doesn't remember. Two people laughing together in Academy robes.
She stares at it. "That's me. The real me."
"And that's me." I point to the young man beside her in the portrait. "We were research partners. We spent every day together for two years."
"Were we..." She hesitates. "More than friends?"
My heart clenches. "We were about to be. I was planning to court you properly after your mother's funeral. But then the Queen struck, and—" I close the portrait. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is breaking your curse."
"In seven nights."
"In seven nights," I confirm.
She sits down heavily on a reading bench, holding the journal. "You know I'm going to try to kill you, right? On our wedding night. That's what the curse does. That's what it's for."
"I know."
"And you still proposed."
"I did."
"Are you insane?" She's not joking. She genuinely wants to know.
I sit beside her. "Probably. But I've spent three years watching the woman I—" Stop. Don't say it. "—watching my best friend become a stranger. This is my last chance to get you back. Even if it kills me, at least I'll die knowing I tried."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she says. But she's almost smiling.
"You used to say that a lot."
"What else did I used to say?"
"That I was too reckless. That I needed to think before I acted. That my plans were held together with hope and stupidity." I grin. "You were usually right."
"I sound very annoying."
"You were. You still are." I stand, offering my hand. "Come on. We have research to do. Your journal mentions six other memory anchors hidden around the palace. We need to find them before the wedding night."
She takes my hand, and when our fingers touch, I see it—a flash of recognition in her eyes. Brief but real.
She felt it too. The connection we used to have.
"Theron?" she says softly.
"Yes?"
"If I kill you... I'm sorry. In advance."
"If you kill me, I'll haunt you forever and complain about it constantly."
She laughs—actually laughs—and it's the most beautiful sound I've heard in three years.
Then her expression changes. Hardens.
"Someone's coming," she whispers.
I hear it too: footsteps in the corridor outside. Multiple people.
"They found us already?" I curse under my breath, checking my spells. They're still active. No one should be able to—
The door explodes inward.
Not unlocked. Not opened.
Exploded.
Through the smoke steps Vaskir, the blood-mage, his black eyes gleaming.
"Lord Theron," he says pleasantly. "The Queen sends her regards. She's decided seven nights is too generous. Your wedding has been moved up."
"To when?" I demand, positioning myself between him and Calista.
"Tonight." He smiles. "You have six hours to prepare. And Lady Calista?" He looks past me. "The Queen wants you to know—your sister was found hiding in the east gardens. Such a predictable child. Her execution will proceed at sunset. Right before your wedding ceremony."
Calista's face goes white.
"No," she breathes. "You said—the Queen said—"
"The Queen says many things." Vaskir waves his hand, and magic wraps around both of us like chains. "Now come along. We have a wedding to prepare. And a lovely double event to attend. An execution and a marriage. How romantic."
I struggle against the magic, but it's useless. Blood-magic is too strong.
Calista looks at me, terrified. "What do we do?"
"We survive," I say firmly. "Six hours. We can work with six hours."
But inside, I'm panicking.
Six hours isn't enough time to find the memory anchors. Isn't enough time to break the curse. Isn't enough time to save Lyra or prepare Calista for what's coming.
Six hours until Calista tries to murder me.
Six hours until I find out if our friendship—if everything I feel for her—is enough to break through three years of stolen memories and blood-magic.
Six hours until one of us dies.
They separate us immediately.
Calista is dragged to the bridal preparation chambers. I'm taken to a different wing of the palace, where servants dress me in formal wedding clothes while guards watch to make sure I don't escape.
I don't fight them. Fighting would be pointless.
Instead, I plan.
My ability—the one thing Vaskir doesn't know about—is that I experience time slightly wrong. I see three seconds into the future before it happens. It's subtle. Most people never notice.
But it means I'll have three seconds of warning before Calista attacks me tonight.
Three seconds to save both our lives.
Maybe.
A servant adjusts my collar. "You're very calm, my lord. Most men would be terrified."
"I am terrified," I admit. "I'm just good at hiding it."
"They say she's killed six husbands already."
"I know."
"Then why marry her?"
I look at my reflection in the mirror—dressed for a wedding that might be my funeral.
"Because she's worth saving," I say simply. "And because some people are worth dying for."
The servant doesn't respond. Just finishes his work and leaves.
I'm alone with my thoughts and my fear and the ticking clock.
Five hours now.
I close my eyes and use my ability, looking three seconds into my future.
I see: myself, standing. Breathing. Alive.
Three seconds later, present-me experiences exactly that.
Good. I'm not dying in the immediate future.
But tonight?
Tonight is a complete unknown.
A knock at the door.
"Lord Theron? You have a visitor."
The door opens, and in walks Lady Serath—my sister, though we've kept that secret for years.
She closes the door and drops the formal act immediately.
"Are you completely insane?" she hisses. "The Queen is setting you up to die!"
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because it's Calista, Serath." I meet her eyes. "And I promised her mother I'd protect both her daughters. I failed with Elara. I'm not failing with Lyra. And I'm not failing with Calista—Elara—whoever she is now."
Serath's expression softens. "You still love her. After all this."
"Desperately."
"She doesn't remember you."
"I know."
"She's going to try to kill you."
"I know that too." I turn back to the mirror, adjusting my wedding coat. "But you know what? For three seconds before she does, I'll see it coming. And in those three seconds, I'm going to remind her why she loved me back."
Serath stares at me. Then she does something unexpected.
She hugs me.
"You're an idiot," she whispers. "But you're a brave idiot. Don't die tonight, little brother."
"I'll do my best."
She pulls back, wiping her eyes. "I'll save Lyra. You save Elara. Deal?"
"Deal."
She leaves through a side door—my sister the rebel, working her own plans.
I'm alone again.
Four hours now.
I pull out the portrait of Calista and me, young and happy and whole.
"I'm coming for you," I tell the image. "However many times I have to. However many lifetimes. I'm not giving up."
The girl in the portrait smiles, frozen in time.
The real girl is somewhere in this palace, being prepared to murder me.
And I'm going to marry her anyway.
Because some kinds of love are stronger than curses.
I hope.