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Silence emboldens me to reach out and cradle his face between my palms. “I won. But he hurt me, and you hurt him for it. When the Prince of the Iron Mountains captured me, you gathered your soldiers and came for me, breaking the entrance to the Palace of Nine Hills. You fought for me, bled for me, saved me—we saved each other.”

My voice trails away, a struggle to speak when these broken words are wrenched from my heart.

He hesitates, then turns aside. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“The Queen of the Iron Mountains has stolen your memories. Don’t let her do this to you, to us. She is wicked—”

“Do not insult her,” he says harshly.

“Do not insult me.” I almost shout the last, recalling in time the soldiers outside.

We glare at one another, circling like the adversaries we once were. How far we’ve come, only to lose it all now. But I won’t give up, I won’t surrender him. Spurred by rash anger and frustration—I lean toward him, and then I kiss him. A kiss filled with the fury of pent-up desire, despair, longing, and hurt… but most of all, the incandescent joy that he lives still. Even if he no longer remembers me.

He freezes, startled by the force of my emotions. Then his lips are crushing mine with unleashed hunger, his arms banding around me with breathtaking intensity as he pins my back against the wall, his arms caging me though I have no desire to leave. His body comes down against mine, his mouth trailing the arch of my neck. A shiver reverberates, my senses afire… my body recognizing him despite the fear that pounds through my heart of kissing a stranger. One that wants to hurt me.

I break away—his eyes ablaze as he stares back at me. Hope flares that he remembers… but then he blinks, indifference flooding back into his pupils, drowning the brief spark of clarity.

I’ve lost him. Again.

Footsteps tread along the path outside. I turn to run, but he clasps my wrist, holding me in place. Magic churns inside me, but it’s too dangerous to wield it in the palace. My other hand reaches for my dagger—a bitter thought that if Jin remembered me, he would have seized both my hands. As my fingers close around the hilt, reluctance sears. I cannot stab him; he is Jin, not an impostor.

“I must escape. If they catch me, they will kill me.” I loathe the pleading note in my tone, how it shakes. Right now, my greatest fear isn’t that he’ll stop me—but of being forced to hurt him.

“Jin.” I say his name again, the way I used to. “Let me go. Please.”

His throat convulses, the cords of his neck straining as his eyes squeeze shut—like he’s trying to block me from sight, or searching for something he cannot find.

The soldiers’ steps grow louder, my heart thudding as beads of sweat dot my brow. Slowly, I draw the dagger, bracing to strike—

But then his eyes flash open as he bends to whisper, “Go.”

Jin releases me abruptly, nodding toward the window at the far end. “They won’t come through there.”

“Do you remember me?” I ask urgently. “Come with me—”

“No.” His eyes are scorched amber, ruthless and almost cruel. “All I know is I can’t hurt you, I won’t let anyone hurt you… though I don’t know why.”

As he turns from me, I touch his shoulder. “You know me, Jin. We are forever. Find the enemy in your mind and fight it—not the urge to remember, but the one to forget.”

And then I sprint to the window, throwing it open, clambering out. Running away from the one I came here to find.

CHAPTER FIFTY

I MAKE MY WAY BACK TO PRINCE ZIXIN’S QUARTERS, KEEPING my head down and avoiding the soldiers. The prince’s guards allow me into his courtyard once I show them his seal. He isn’t back, his room empty. Drawing the curtains, I sink upon the divan, curling my legs up to wait. Exhaustion creeps over me after the long night, my eyes growing heavy.

The creak of the door rouses me, my mind sluggish, disoriented at these unfamiliar surroundings. As a hand falls on my shoulder, I snatch my dagger from my waistband and slash out on instinct—the person evading, then throwing the weight of his body at me, pressing me to the divan. It’s Prince Zixin, his eyes narrowed as I kick at him, my foot crashing against his thigh. As he rolls aside, I shove myself up, holding the dagger between us.

He extends his arms in a conciliatory manner. “Truce?”

I keep my weapon pointed at him. “Why didn’t you tell me about Jin?”

“I heard you left my chamber despite my orders,” Prince Zixin counters tersely.

“You don’t get to command me anymore. Next time you want me to consider listening, tell me why instead of ordering me.”

“I don’t like speaking about the Lord of Thorn Valley.” A stony glint in his eyes, the one I used to fear. “He doesn’t remember you, does he? I was curious if my sister’s magic was indeed that strong. Altering Lord Jin-Yong’s memories seemed a difficult spell to cast; she was tired long after, listless and tense.”

If only she were dead. Rages throttles me. What she did to Jin is both horrifying and cruel. “Hopefully, she is weakened now. At least she can’t cast such vile magic with ease, else we’d all be turned into mindless slaves.”