23

Magical wasn't a magical enough word to describe Thaloria.

Apollo and I reached the city the next morning after an unsurprisingly awkward breakfast with Isa and an equally uncomfortable journey in the meandering switchbacks of the Dragonfly.

I knew Apollo hadn't slept last night because our rooms at the manor had only been separated by a wall and were connected by a large balcony. With a steaming cup of peppermint tea and a quilt around my shoulders, I'd perched on the little chair on my side of the balcony and watched all night long the light drift from his room, an oblique, orange band on the mosaic floor. I had hoped that he would come out and talk to me—just talk until there was nothing more to talk about. But he hadn't come out, and I, fruitlessly, had tried to make some sense of it all in my reeling head. His confession, our kiss, Walder's conviction that love could break all curses.

I agreed with Apollo about that, at least. I did not believe love could break his curse. Walder was a spirit, and his sense of possibility was much wider than the reality of mundane creatures such as ourselves. But something was changing Apollo, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He was starting to feel again. I just didn't have anything to do with it.

But that didn't matter now. Now, I was in Thaloria. Now, I was going to go home and leave all this madness behind me.

In the hot, sun-dazed brilliance of midday, the dense body of trees dispersed and the narrow, hazel-flanked path at the edge of the Dragonfly widened before it gave in to long, provincial roads. Sizzling gravel. Prairies for miles. Tall, verdant mountains in the distance with sheep grazing along the slopes and little quaint houses scattering around the crests. The openness overwhelmed me after days under green canopies and shadowy treetops. The sky was huge and inhumane, so vast that I felt both freed and oppressed by it.

We crossed strawberry fields and orange orchards. We passed by vineyards and farms and opulent manors. We encountered traveling chariots, horses dragging enormous plows, and sunbaked farmers who did not recognize Apollo but welcomed us with warm smiles and invitations to lunch that we had to politely decline. We paid tolls and treaded over a massive cobblestone bridge that arched over a gurgling river, its cyan waters overflowing with kelpies, their phosphorescent bodies looking brilliantly distorted underwater.

Then Thaloria emerged in the distance. A kingdom of endless possibility and inexhaustible magic.

The city was made up of endless slabs of sun-kissed stone buildings and glittering temples. Storybook-worthy streets dotted with shops in colors supernaturally bright led to narrow, cobbled passageways that weaved intricate, almost maze-like patterns. The air was alive with magic and lush with the scent of honeysuckles that trickled out of the towering townhouses' window boxes and the tall cypresses that lined the pink-hued sidewalks.

People were dressed in rainbows, a sea of elaborate, over-bright garments, and funny, ornamented hats. Buskers were singing in every corner. Vendors were calling behind their portable counters, swimming in delicious-looking food, mysterious talismans, or heaps of magical herbs. A fortune teller with jingling wristlets was shuffling her oracle cards over her workbench, and the blushing group of girls that was gathered around it giggled at the prediction.

I had the impression of walking into a rapidly unraveling spell. Everything compelled me all at once, yet I didn't feel overwhelmed. I was thrilled and buzzing with curiosity, my eyes rounding to take it all in. All of my worries dissipated. The Shop, Apollo, the daunting mystery of my future, everything faded into the unremarkable realm where misery went to hide in moments of unexpected happiness.

Apollo stopped in his tracks next to me, closed his eyes, and took a long, cathartic breath. When he opened them again, they were more blue than grey, and his face, perhaps for the first time since I met him, was truly calm, not just cold. His broad shoulders relaxed under his black cape. His hair flew off his forehead under the pleasant morning breeze. "I forgot," he whispered, almost to himself.

"What did you forget?" I asked.

"How beautiful the city is. How the magic here makes you feel that everything is possible."

"Is it hard for you to return here? The memories…" I hesitated, slipping my hand into my pocket to clutch my pendant. "I mean, even after everything, you must miss her."

I didn't ask if he still loved Verena because I knew he would only evade me by reminding me yet again that he was incapable of love.

But Apollo seemed different here, softer, and there was no sarcasm or bitterness in his voice as he admitted, "Three years ago, I bumped into Verena and Finn in a village outside of Cerlia. They got married. Had a child." He glanced down at me through his thick, dark lashes. "I have forgiven them, Nepheli. The question is, how do I forgive myself?" He turned around and gazed at the view behind my back, looking truly mesmerized.

I veered too. And there it was. His home. The Dreaming Palace. A tremendous rose-colored daydream emerged high on a succulent-green hill. Sparkly sky-blue copulas and ornamental spires upsurged in the hazy distance as purple flags with golden seven-pointed stars in the center danced in the wind, everything piercing right through the frothy skyline.

"I always wondered why the journalists called it the Dreaming Palace," I sighed, breathless in awe. "Now I understand. It looks like it's sleeping amid the clouds. It looks like it's dreaming."

Apollo came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. It was the first time he touched me since last night, and my body instantly responded. I leaned back against his chest, my head lolling on his shoulder, as I took in a deep breath to fill my lungs with his scent.

He bent to whisper in my ear. "Is it everything you expected?"

Drunkenly, I smiled at the glittering horizon. "More."

"Come on, then," he urged, taking my hand in his, "I'll show you around the square."

◆◆◆

The square was a large, rectangular court, cluttered with shops, taverns, and colorful, towering buildings. Elegant carriages were parked alongside the cobbled road while people hurried to and fro, the sun coating everything and everyone with a honey-gold glaze. The ladies with their baskets and their parasols, and the gentlemen with their half-capes draped over their shoulders and their smiles just as charmingly crooked. They said Thaloria was the most romantic city in the Asteria Realm, and I was beginning to understand why.

"I'm going to see what time the ship sails," Apollo said, pointing at the little counter alongside the road that offered brochures with various activities for tourists. "Don't wander off, okay?"

I faintly nodded, too mesmerized to respond, as I craned my neck to admire the marvelous peach-colored tea house that upsurged next to me, announcing in curly, fuchsia letters: Tea Stories from The Faraway North. There was a little Help Wanted sign hanging in the window display, and for a moment, I couldn't help but imagine myself walking inside the shop and asking about it. I imagined living in one of the apartments in these tall, candy-colored buildings. I imagined working here while studying magic and learning about the star that lived in my veins. I imagined meeting with Apollo late in the afternoon for a stroll around the square. I imagined him squeezing me in some dark alley between buildings and kissing me until I was drunk on him and delirious for more.

And then, I imagined my Shop, empty and abandoned, suffocating under thick coats of dust, withering from loneliness, and my chest tightened so much that I ached.

How brave it was, really, to leave behind all the things that were no longer meant for you. Did I have such bravery in me?

Something tugged at the skirt of my dress, and I started with a squeal.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to scare you," a half-human girl with a spatter of white freckles across her cute nose chirped. Her deer-like ears and antlers twitched shyly. "I'm just a flower girl," she said as she raised a basket full of colorful flower crowns to me. "Would you like to buy one?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I don't have any money with me."

A charming young man dressed in an elegant cream suit halted mid-stroll and turned to us with a brilliant smile. "I'll buy you one, sweetheart," he said, digging his hands into his pockets.

My cheeks flushed. "Thank you, sir. That's very kind of you, but there's really no need—"

"Please, I insist."

"What exactly are you insisting on?" Apollo's grim voice sounded behind me.

The man's smile waned. He squared his shoulders and cast Apollo a contemptuous look. "Buying the young lady a flower crown."

"The young lady is with me," Apollo growled, actually growled at the poor man. And he wondered why I called him a brute. "So I will buy her the flower crown."

"Really, I don't need—" I tried to interject, but Apollo was already paying the girl.

The young man merely tipped his hat at me and sauntered on his way.

Furiously, I whirled at Apollo. "I don't believe I asked you to buy me a crown."

Apollo brushed with his little finger a lock of hair away from my face before fitting the pink and lilac crown to my head. "Well, I wasn't going to let that wanker buy you one. Besides, it suits you. Matches with your dress."

I glared at him, the blood boiling in my veins. Only Apollo would have the audacity to kiss me the way he did, tell me to forget it happened, and then act like a jealous prick.

Gods, I hated this man.

"He wasn't a wanker," I bit out. "He was very polite. Quite charming, actually."

Apollo worked his jaw. "Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely." I mocked him with a coy smile. "Unlike some men I know."

He leaned rather menacingly over me. "You didn't seem to mind my impolite ways last night when you practically begged me to make you come on my tongue."

I scoffed in outrage. "I was literally breathing lust-infested air!"

A vein jumped in his forehead. "I thought you said it wasn't just the magic."

"And I thought you said to forget it happened," I hissed.

He straightened up and crossed those ridiculous arms of his over his equally ridiculous chest. "Forgive me, darling. I didn't realize you came to Thaloria to find a suitor."

"I didn't come to Thaloria," I bristled. "You brought me here. Flung over your shoulder, remember?"

Apollo loosened a breath between his teeth. "Right," he gritted out. "Look about that… Earliest ship for the South leaves tomorrow morning."

The ship. Of course. Gods, where was my head today? I was supposed to be on my way home, not arguing in the middle of the street with this heartless brute of a man.

"Oh," I mumbled. In truth, I felt far from disappointed, but I still had enough pride not to show it.

"Are you okay with staying one more night with me at the Palace?"

"The Palace," I echoed, deadpan and unblinking, as I gestured at the dreaming spires in the distance. "That Palace?"

"Yes, Little Butterfly," Apollo sighed impatiently.

"I—I can't. You want me to meet the Queen? Looking like that?" I glanced down at my exhausted dress, greened and muddied around the hem from our journey.

"We're not that formal with each other, really," Apollo reassured, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck. "But if you want to be rid of me, I can arrange a room in the city for you."

I gulped down a thick mixture of anxiousness and excitement, and managed a shaky, "Fine."

"Fine, I should arrange a room?"

"Fine, I'll come with you."

Apollo's eyes widened a little. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Great," he exhaled. He looked almost relieved. Almost happy. Almost whole. And I almost admitted that, deep down, the last thing I wanted was to be rid of him.

"It's a long way, so let's get something to eat first. You must be starving."

My stomach growled in perfect synchronicity, and that was response enough.

◆◆◆

We ate the most delicious egg-and-cheese muffins from a street vendor while we strolled around and talked about the mythologies, history, and architecture of the land (folktales of vengeful fairies, vampire politics, and pediments made by this sculptor or that) before Apollo insisted on getting me the biggest strawberry cupcake I'd seen in my entire life from one of the many cheerful little bakeries in the square.

As I struggled to swallow down my last bite of pink frosting, I noticed a large group of young men and women dressed in identical dark blue garments and pointy hats crossing the street to enter a tall vermilion building that resembled a storybook castle.

"Why are these people in uniform?" I asked Apollo.

He slipped a hand at the small of my back to guide me on the inside of the sidewalk as he explained, "They're students. This is Thaloria's Academy of Magical Arts. Not as grand as the Academies of the East, but it has excellent professors." A thought flickered in his eyes. An unexpectedly serious thought, judging from the sudden shift in his demeanor. "I meant to tell you…" he hesitated.

I leaned closer, perked with curiosity. "What is it?"

He squinted at the sun and raised a hand to cover his eyes until we found shade again under a shop's striped awning. The day was viscid and warm, reminiscent of summer, and he had drawn back his cape and rolled up his sleeves, providing me with a rather enticing view of his beautiful forearms and the intricate network of his veins, flowing like undiscovered rivers. "I know you love your Shop, Nepheli," he ventured, sobering me up by mentioning the Shop. "And I respect that. Your devotion to your family's legacy is beyond admirable. But when you return to Elora, just… don't forget to take care of your own needs too, okay?"

I peered up at him, nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you should follow your passions. You're not just a saleswoman. You should be practicing your magic or studying history—"

"How do you know I'm interested in history?" I gasped.

His brows raised. "Are you serious? You shine like a whole damn constellation every time you learn something new. You absorb every little piece of lore you hear like a sponge. You're constantly overwhelmed by your own questions. Your curiosity is the most beautiful thing about you, and, darling, you know you're gorgeous. Nepheli, you fear that you're ordinary when, in reality, you are nothing short of a star. A brilliant one. And I just worry that you'll go back to Elora and let all the mundane stuff suck you in again."

I stared at him, shaken and dumbfounded.

How was it possible for someone who knew me so little to understand my desires so well? Perhaps he didn't see me as I was exactly, for I was far from that star he'd just described, but he did see the woman I wanted to become. And I knew that if I told him now about this woman and all the things she craved to do with her life and the fears the vastness of those things brought her, he would not mock me. He would not talk about impossibilities.

To be known for all you were was lovely. But to be known for all the things you could be was extraordinary. And there were no words beautiful or meaningful enough for me to express how he made me feel now, how much courage and heart his certainty brought me.

I recalled what he'd confessed to me that night in the cave, It's outrageous, isn't it? How can someone's life change so irrevocably in the span of a single day? And you know that nothing will ever be the same from now on.

Indeed, I thought, with my heart being no calmer than a fitful, winged creature trying to escape the cage of my chest. Nothing will ever be the same. How am I supposed to return home now and pretend I'm unchanged, that my heart and body and soul don't yearn to be elsewhere?

Suddenly, Apollo seized my hand and urged me across the sidewalk, startling me out of my thoughts.

"What are you doing?"

"Look," he said, pointing at a luxurious storefront with lush orchids decorating its sparkling window display. The sign above the glass plate gleamed under the striking morning sun, the pink cursive letters announcing: Oliar's Palace. "You need a new chain for your butterfly."

"Apollo, you don't have to buy me—" I protested, but he was already twisting the crown-shaped doorknob.

I smoothed back my hair, straightened out my skirts, and followed, anxious to see the inside of a northern shop.

And the shop did not disappoint. It was a treasure trove of ribbons, feathers, fabrics, jewelry, and trinkets. Old watches, silver cosmetic boxes, crystal perfume bottles, and vanity table accessories—combs and brushes and mirrors—all glinting behind rows and rows of glass displays. I wandered between them, taking in the shapes and colors of each object and brushing my fingers over the ribbons that dangled from above, overwhelming my senses with their textures.

An old man with a full head of white hair and a long, greying beard emerged behind a precarious stack of velveteen boxes. "Oh, hello there!" he singsonged in a warm, low voice, pushing up his round spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He came around his overflowing-with-orders desk, and as he took a better look at us, he bowed from the waist, causing his lower back to break into a series of disconcerting cracks. "Your Highness."

Apollo hurried to the man's side and helped him straighten up. "Please, you don't have to do that, Mister Oliar. I didn't think anyone would recognize me anymore."

"Ah, I remember you," the man drawled endearingly, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as his smile widened. "You used to come in here with your mother when you were a boy. Always messed up the ribbons, you little rascal."

Apollo laughed under his breath. "I promise to behave myself today." He met my gaze and gave me a little wink, and damn me if I didn't feel it all the way down in my lower belly.

"How can I help you this fine day?" Mister Oliar asked, turning to me with a meaningful look. "Something for the Starshine Princess, perhaps?"

"Yes," Apollo began at the same time as I croaked, "I'm not a Princess."

The man let out a sweet, short laugh. "In this shop, every woman is a Princess, dear. So, come on, tell me what you're looking for, and I'll make it happen."

I took the butterfly out of my pocket and proffered it to him. "I'd like a chain for this pendant, please."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, plucking it off my palm. "What beautiful craftsmanship. Look at these details. Hmm. Let me see," he murmured to himself before disappearing in a flurry of excitement behind a frilly, taffeta curtain.

"Hey, Little Butterfly," Apollo called from the other side of the shop, and I veered to find him holding up an exquisite, lace-trimmed parasol. "It's magenta."

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. "Ah, he learns."

He leaned against the paneled wall, a crooked smirk emerging from the meticulous lines of his face.

I narrowed my eyes, hooking my hands on my hips. "Is there a reason you're smiling like a hungry demon, Zayra?"

He shrugged. "Just remembering the moment you popped out your parasol at the Shop and started fighting the creatures."

I snorted. "I must have looked ridiculous."

"You looked fearless," Apollo countered. "You looked like someone you wouldn't ever want to mess with."

"But you did," I sighed, feigning annoyance.

He chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever be able to see a parasol again without thinking about you."

"Oh please," I huffed. "You'll forget me the minute I board that ship."

His smile waned. His eyes darkened as they traced my face. "No, I won't."

"Here we are," Mister Oliar hummed as he approached us, carrying a velvet-lined tray with various sterling silver chains lined up. He placed it on the counter next to me and considered it for a moment. "The pendant is quite bright in color, so maybe a paler hue of silver for contrast?" he suggested, and with a deft flutter of his fingers, the cables changed one by one to a muted, almost pinkish silver.

A little gasp left me at this casual display of magic. I remembered Agathe telling me how every human from the North had a little bit of magic inside them, and this was why they were drawn here. This was why I was drawn here.

"So?" Mister Oliar prompted.

I glanced nervously at Apollo next to me. "What do you think?"

Apollo picked up a simple, clavicle-length chain with a pretty rosebud clasp. "I like this one."

Mister Oliar took it and passed the chain through the pendant's bail. "A perfect match," he said contentedly, holding up the necklace. The butterfly's pink wings caught the light with something like approval.

"Let's put it on you," Apollo said, and Mister Oliar handed it to him, immediately.

I swallowed, gathered my hair up in my fists, and turned around for him. The heat of his body behind me was an electric current, bright and painful, and his soft exhale at the back of my neck as he brought the necklace around it sent a shockwave through my bones. Brief but heart-rending recollections of kisses and bites and fingers dipping lower and lower on my body emerged at the forefront of my mind just to torment me. Suddenly, it became a chore to breathe.

"There it is," Apollo rasped, his hands lingering on my shoulders, warm and a little rough to the touch. "Back where it belongs."

"Thank you," I managed, blushing to my hairline.

"We'll take it," Apollo said to Mister Oliar. "And the parasol."

My head whipped around. "Apollo, please, the chain is enough—"

"It's my fault Trix took yours," he interjected, a scheming smile popping up on his face. "Let me get you this. For fighting monsters, Little Butterfly."

Grudgingly, I nodded.

Part of me wanted to start yelling at him right in the middle of the shop. How dare you be kind and generous and charming one moment only to go ahead and absolutely destroy me the next?

He did not destroy you, Nepheli, the voice of reason admonished. His behavior doesn't affect you so profoundly because you're not in love with him, remember?

I raised my hand to my collarbone and clutched the pendant in my fist, breathing shallowly. Of course. Of course, I'm not falling in love with him. I'm not a fool.

Apollo smiled at me over his shoulder as he paid Mister Oliar. And gods help me, my heart lost a beat.