Her vision blurred at the edges. The scent of cinnamon turned suffocatingly sweet. A cold tear slid down her cheek, trailing into her hairline. She wasn’t in the inn anymore. She was in a small bed with worn sheets and winter-chilled air, unable to breathe, unable to cry, unable to—
Her heart hammered painfully.
Luna leaned down until their noses almost touched.
“I am very skilled at making potions and poisons,” she purred.
“Poison?” Esther squeaked. The word detonated inside her like a memory-shard. Her pulse stuttered—too fast, then too slow.
Her body remembered before her mind allowed it. Heat. Then cold. A pressure in her chest that made breathing feeloptional. Someone crying. Someone begging her to stay awake. The memory fractured before it could take shape, but the fear remained—raw and immediate.
Her body remembered something her mind refused to name: something cold, yet burning, that ended in darkness.
A woman’s trembling voice whispered,“Please—stay with me.”
Heat pressed against her chest. Too hot.
Magic ripped through her veins like molten lava.
A heartbeat stops, then starts again.
Not again. Not again. Not again—
Luna startled, then guiltily said, “No—no, not poison.”
She released Esther’s wrists so quickly that it left a ghost of pressure behind. Luna cupped her cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away tears with light, apologetic strokes.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said softly. “Stars, I misjudged that horribly.”
Esther hid her face in her hands. Her breaths came shaky and uneven. “Then... what was that for?”
“Truth potion,” Luna winced. “Well...fake truth potion. It wasn’t real. I was...messing with you.”
Esther looked up, wet, blotchy cheeks glistening. “Truth... potion?”
“I know, I know.” Luna flopped backward dramatically on the mattress, limbs strewn like an exhausted cat.
“You’re too scared and too adorable, and now I feel like a villain.”
Esther sniffed, trying and failing to regain composure. “Then why? Why do it?”
Luna stared at the ceiling, then sighed. “Because I know who you are.”
Esther’s blood turned to ice. Her typically reactive magic went eerily still.
Esther had lived her entire life under the assumption that anonymity was protection. That if she could just pass as ordinary, she could survive. The idea that someone had seen through her anyway—had known and waited—sent a tremor through her bones.
“What?” she whispered.
“I know you’re the princess. And that you’ve run away from home.”
The title felt heavier than it ever had in the palace. There, it had been armor. Here, it was exposure. A spotlight she had not consented to step into.
Luna said it like it was small talk at a tea party—as if it were a simple, inconsequential matter.
“What do you mean?” Esther rasped.
“I didn’t drug you!” Luna sat up, raising her hands in surrender. “I just lied about the truth potion to see if you’d confess.”
