Page 97 of Carousel

“This was one of the Queen’s favourites, wasn’t it? It’s called…” I strain, but can’t find the answer.

“The Soulmates. One of my favourite songs, too.” He smiles again, all dimples in that soft face. “I’m going to find a love like that. A love the poets write about.”

“Always the hopeless romantic.”

“So were you,” he points out. “Deep down.”

“Didn’t the soulmates from the fairy-tale end as enemies anyway?”

His smile fades slightly. “Their ideals and worldly desires separated them. But they were weaker alone – and they both died because of it.”

“I’m guessing there’s a moral to the story.” Most Rhavnan fairy-tales have one.

“It serves as a warning not to rebel against the Sisters, and what they have fated for us.”

I wince. The buzzing is becoming thunderous. Even the drink is no longer holding it back.

I can hardly see straight.

What is going on?

I stumble, losing time for an instant with the music.

“It’s a silly story,” I say, gaining it back.

“I don’t know about silly,” he says, slowly. “But it’s certainly an old story. Old enough that some might say it’s a prophecy.”

“Old quacks,” I reply. And then regret saying it, because Old Mother is one of the people who believes in the old stories, and she would have scolded me if she were here.

I wish she was.

“May I cut in?” a voice asks.

Drake is by our side.

He’s holding his hand out to me.

He’s still in his prisoner-issued black blouse and breeches. But he’s tucked the blouse in, removed his leather vest, and swapped his longer, flat-soled soldiers’ boots for standard heeled ones – and somehow, those three simple actions have made him look the smartest in the room.

Rike eyes up Drake, his line of sight briefly settling on his body, before lifting again. “She’s all yours.”

I don’t think I really want to dance with Drake. But it’s like I can’t say no. My hand slots into his. It feels small and dainty inside it – two words I never thought I’d use to describe my hands.

Placing his other hand on my waist, he begins moving me through the steps. He leads faster, firmer – more confident – than Rike did.

The intensity in his eyes I’ve seen a few times now is back. It frightens me.

I want to stop.

But I don’t.

“Are you making me dance with you?” I ask, in Rhavnan. Good luck Riss, if you’re trying to listen in on us this time. “With your magic?”

He looks amused. “I promise you are dancing with me because you want to.”

My eyes go to the place where Drake’s bruise had been on his face. It looks at first sight like it’s gone – but then I see the powder covering it.

“Your face⁠—”