8

Sometimes, I had these elaborate, vivid dreams, and when I'd wake up in the morning, I'd be convinced that reality was a dream and that the dream was reality.

I felt exactly like this now, overwhelmed by a dreamlike, upside-down sort of sense.

I was certain that I had opened my eyes to a dream, and in that strange, tender dream, I was trapped. My face was buried in Apollo's loose undershirt. His huge arms were flung possessively around me, one hand at the small of my back, the other around my neck. His hips were flush against mine, and his knee was tangled between my own. And I was holding on to him too, my fingers deep into his back, making little fists around the fabric of his shirt, as if he'd tried to move away during the night but I'd forbidden him.

I knew I should move, but my body disagreed. The room was cold, and he was so irresistibly hot, like a patch of sunbaked gravel. His heat permeated me to the bone and lulled me back to sleep. For those brief seconds, in that odd yet lovely dreamscape, he wasn't Apollo Zayra, Prince of Broken Hearts. He was just a boy with rough palms and warm arms, his scent fresh off his chest wrapping me up in notes of woodsmoke and mint. I wished to stay like this forever, basking in the wonderful and almost inexpressible comfort of being held.

But then, I felt something. Something thick and hard prodded at my abdomen.

The realization struck me like a rock in the head.

This was not a dream.

"Apollo!" I yelped and pulled back so violently that I fell off the bed and tumbled to the floor.

"What?" he gasped, springing up with half-opened eyes to fumble for his sword. "What happened? What's going on?"

"Your…" I panted, grabbing onto the edge of the mattress to lift myself up. "Your…"

Not only was he wearing his white linen undershorts, which did nothing to cover him to begin with, but the size of it too was absolutely preposterous.

Apollo followed the path of my eyes and groaned in utter exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh for fuck's sake, Nepheli," he cursed as he tossed his sword back on the bench. "I thought someone got in here!"

"Just…" I snatched the pillow and threw it at him. "Cover it."

The bastard ducked his head, and the thing flew right over him. "If you'd stop looking at it, maybe it'd go away. It likes your attention, darling," he mocked, and he had the audacity to adjust himself in front of me before grabbing his trousers from the bench.

Smoldering with frustration, I took a dramatic, no-nonsense tone, striding up to him. "From now on and for the remainder of our journey, clothing is not optional. Am I making myself clear?"

Apollo, unbothered and unimpressed, cocked his head to the side and raked his eyes over my body. "That goes both ways."

I glanced down at my nightdress to find the thin cotton almost translucent in the bright light of dawn.

Before I could even begin to express my mortification, Apollo slid past me and stormed out of the room.

I whined under my breath. "I hate this man."

◆◆◆

The closer we traveled to the city, the more conspicuous magic seemed to grow.

Pixies and sprites coiled amongst the branches of the trees, shuffling and rustling, chirping and giggling, their soaring bodies like tiny rainbow clouds hailing iridescent dust over the Dragonfly.

A dramatic change befell the scenery as well; the birches gave in to a dense web of shagbark trees, which explained how Apollo had been so able to pinpoint our location yesterday by simply scanning our environs, and the foliage was lusher and brighter, as if the soil here was drunk on magic instead of water. The boughs leaned down to grasp each other, forming arches of fairytale green over our heads with only a few ribbons of light to poke through the intricate mesh. Berry brambles flanked our trail, and tiny, pixie houses sprouted amid the basil bushes and the wildflowers.

Thankfully, breakfast at the inn wasn't nearly as dreadful as dinner (they had even served tea, and honestly, there was nothing a decent cup of tea couldn't fix), so I had plenty of energy now to study every magical detail the forest was willing to reveal to me. I couldn't wait to tell the Shop about the things I'd seen here, to hear its cauldron bubble with enthusiasm, the bells jingling, and the floors creaking melodically in response—the soothing sounds of home.

Apollo, on the other hand, looked far from enthusiastic. His lips were sewn into a tight line, and his eyes were keen on the trail. He had the look of a hunter or a warrior rather than a prince, with his big hands ready for a fight and his tall, muscular body drawn in anticipation.

"Where are we going to stay tonight?" I asked, assuming that his apparent consternation was because of some unexpected bump in the plan.

"At a friend's house," he said without taking his eyes off the path. "Tomorrow we'll have to camp, and the day after we'll stay at my cousin's. The manor's location does add about an hour to our journey, but at least you'll get some proper rest."

"Okay," I breathed out. "So if you have it all planned out, then why do you look so worried?"

"I'm not worried. I'm alert. We'll have to cross Fairyland soon."

At once, delirious, merry-gold excitement fizzed through my bloodstream. "Really?" I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. "We're going to see the fairies?"

Apollo glared at me. "Can you not be so excited to see these horrible beasts?"

"I know fairies can be a little playful and even cunning at times, but they're hardly beasts," I remarked, leaning on my parasol to skip over a large moss-covered rock.

"You're thinking about the fairies of the East," Apollo noted. "Fairies have a much larger influence here. The Dragonfly is their predominant territory, and I don't know what you've read in your little books, but fairies here will do pretty much anything to keep you in their domain."

"When you say to keep you…" I trailed off.

"To play with you."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad. Playing with fairies must be lovely."

Apollo rolled his eyes at the boughs. "Not the fun kind of playing, Nepheli."

I cast him an incredulous look. "Then how come no book has ever mentioned this?"

"Lore changes from place to place because fairies change too. It's easy to wrongly conceptualize a species that is so unpredictable."

I slid a finger beneath the warm metal of my pendant, anxiety creeping into my heart. "Have you crossed Fairyland before?"

Apollo gave a curt nod. "I've gone through this forest about a hundred times. There is no way around Fairyland."

"Okay," I whispered, chewing at my lip.

As he turned his head to me, lace-like shadows sculpted his face softly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry."

"I'm fine. Although I am curious—"

"You? Curious? I'm floored," he deadpanned.

I tried to slap him on the arm, but he slipped sideways with a short, taunting laugh.

"History dictates that every human from The Faraway North has a little bit of magic in their veins," I ventured. "So how come you don't have any?"

"You mean besides my infinite charm," Apollo drawled, grinning wide.

I focused my eyes on the route ahead and did not allow myself to even entertain the idea that perhaps his magic was indeed a devastatingly handsome face and a wickedly clever tongue.

"I know the Queen has magic, and I also know that magic sometimes skips a generation but—"

"My father is from the West," he explained, shrugging. "That's why I don't have any magic. I take after him."

I waddled closer to him, compelled by interest. "Is it true he was the Queen's personal guard?"

Apollo merely nodded as he outstretched one hand to lift a low-hanging branch so I could pass under. After that, the path widened, and the underbrush grew smooth and even, the light streaking freer through the boughs. Our steps paced, and I had the chance to breathe in the clean, magic-flecked air before speaking again, "That's so romantic. He thought he could only love her from afar, but she was willing to defy years of tradition to be with him."

"Can we talk about something else?" Apollo grumbled, his hand flexing on the grip of the sword that dangled from his hip.

I scowled at him. "You cannot keep a nice conversation for longer than a minute, can you?"

"Yes, darling, that's it. You've finally figured me out," he wryly retorted before halting mid-step. "Here."

I frowned at the wide, mossy base of the tree he was looking at. "What is here?"

"A good spot to rest for a bit. Last stop for today," he announced, shrugged off his cape, and sprawled it like a picnic blanket over the patch of moss.

I hooked my hands on my hips and shot him a suspicious look. "I thought you said you didn't want to stop at all today."

He unbuckled his baldric and dropped it next to his cape before settling himself down with a sigh. "I don't want to stop. But you have been dragging your feet for the past thirty minutes, and I need you in full strength before we enter Fairyland. Now sit your butt down."

"Are you sure it wasn't your court who cursed you? They were probably sick of you bossing them around," I huffed.

Apollo squinted against the sun as he shot his steely gaze up at me. "Are you always this disagreeable just for the sake of disagreeing?"

"I am not disagreeable. You're just a world-class—"

Apollo flung out a hand, grabbed my ankle, and yanked me forward. I fell right into his arms, and he fell back onto the ground. Our chests collided. Our noses bumped. Our lips nearly brushed. Fury bubbled in my veins, but then… his eyes. His eyes looked more blue than grey from this distance, like the ocean before a storm.

His big hands skidded down to my lower waist and lingered on that spot at the small of my back where my curls ended. I felt his fingers twitching. I could have sworn he was trying to resist brushing them through my locks. I could have sworn he was staring at my mouth like he was dying from thirst, and I was a cupful of water. But then his lips twisted in that self-satisfied, smug little smirk of his, and my good sense reemerged with an unhealthy serving of loathing.

I growled. "I hate you."

His smile widened. "I know, darling. I kind of like it."

I curled my knee and knocked it into his groin as hard as I could before rolling off him.

Apollo cursed and groaned, doubling over with his hands between his legs. "Fuck, Nepheli! I was just joking!"

"If you grab me like that again, I swear to the gods, I'll castrate you," I snarled, aggressively brushing down my skirts.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like themostinsufferable woman, which, if anything, was outstandingly hypocritical given that Apollo Zayra was the Crowned Prince of insufferable.

After he was able to sit upright again, he tossed me the leather flask that he had dangling from one of the many sheaths of his baldric.

"Truce?" he muttered in grudging acquiescence.

Oh, if only I didn't need you to return me home. "Truce," I gritted out.

I allowed myself a few moments to regain the rhythm of my heart before drinking hungrily from the lip. I almost finished the whole thing off before it occurred to me to ask if he wanted some water too. "Sorry," I heaved, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I should have left you more."

Apollo shrugged. "I saved it all for you anyway."

I stared at him, a little surprised.

He merely folded his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and basked in the tree's generous shade. He did everything so easily. He was so confident in his body that his every movement was lithe and unself-conscious. I wondered what it was like to go through life like that. Gliding. Acting instead of questioning. Being instead of fearing.

On a surface level, at least, Apollo was easy to watch, easy to get used to. The rough skin of his palms, his bronze neck, the sides of his face, chiseled and sunbaked—and the way his eyes fell on you when he felt like being kind and you felt like seeing a miracle.

I tucked that thought away and lay down next to him, keenly aware of my limps. I liked the way the ground felt beneath my body. It was an unfamiliar comfort. I was a city girl. I had never had those summers in the countryside, toes in the grass, frolicking in the backyard kind of childhood. I thought that maybe, in another life, I would like to live like this.

Slowly, I relaxed. My breathing paced. My mind emptied. My muscles softened. For a few moments, there was nothing to worry about, nothing to consider. Only the leafy boughs wavering in the wind, the light peering through, playful and warm, and the butterflies fluttering from blossom to blossom, indecisive by the plentifulness of the forest.

"It's nice here," I murmured. "I can't remember the last time I sat outside like this. It makes me feel weirdly nostalgic. Like I want to redo girlhood."

"You should see it in the summer," Apollo said, quiet, eyes still closed. "Everything's golden. The air smells of honey. You fall asleep to the rattle of the cicadas. Never too hot. Never too dry. Just right."

"Do you spend every summer here?"

"I haven't spent a summer here in years."

I twisted my neck to glance at him. "Why not?"

"I've been traveling a lot," was his only answer.

"Is this your passion? Seeing the world?"

Apollo grimaced. "I don't have passions. I am, in fact, utterly passionless." His voice was as indifferent as ever, but there was an undercurrent of tension that made me think I was edging onto dangerous ground.

"I don't think that's true," I blurted out.

It should be true. A heartless man should be above all else without passion. Without dreams. But I didn't think this was the case with Apollo. His soul remembered what it was like to be whole. His soul was still alive, and that was obvious. He was inconsiderate, but not unkind. He was impetuous, but not malevolent. No, Apollo had his soul. It just didn't change the fact that he was still heartless.

I twirled last night's words in my mind—all his talk about being better off without his heart. But what was the point of life without the heartache, the love, the moments of ineffable happiness? Was he really content with being cursed? Could he even feel contentment?

"There must be other things you want in life. Apart from being an aimless solivagant, that is," I persisted.

"Oh, Miss Curiosity knows some big words," Apollo whistled.

"Shut up," I grumbled.

He laughed quietly. "You first, darling."

Gods, why did I even bother? I should not speak a word to him for the rest of our journey. That would serve him right.

But to my surprise, he was the one who carried on with the conversation, "What about you, Little Butterfly? What is your passion?"

I cast him a withering side glance. "You don't have to pretend that you care."

"I'm genuinely curious," he claimed.

I narrowed my eyes. "You only say that because you know I can't resist indulging your curiosity."

He met my gaze, smirking like a demon. "Then why are you resisting, darling?"

I blew out a breath, feeling strangely flustered. "Well… I'm passionate about many things, actually. I think a lot. And read. I tend to my plants—"

"No, no, no. You're describing the life you have. I'm asking you about the life you dream of. Do you want to study magic? Do you want to see the world?"

The world. Such a small word. There was not enough of it. There was not enough in it. There was not enough art to feed my eyes. There were not enough books to soothe my soul. There was not enough magic, music, conversations to be held all night long. At least, there was not enough in my version of the world. So perhaps what I really meant was that there was not enough couragein meto experience the full extent of the world beyond my own.

"I dream of… everything," I sighed, facing skyward. "I want the best parts of my life to be real, not just words on paper. I want to stop feeling so empty." I uttered this last sentence so quietly that I thought he didn't hear it. I hoped he didn't hear it. There was a tremor in my voice too, a fearful hesitance as if to say, If you heard that, please don't say something mean. It's been so long since I've shared something personal with someone.

For several minutes, neither of us talked, or even moved, and I relaxed, thinking the conversation was over.

But then came a careful, almost shy, "Nepheli?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not empty. You're just… unfinished. You haven't figured out who you want to be yet, and that's okay. But you will, eventually, in your own time."

Dumbfounded, I mumbled a timid, "Okay."

"Okay," he echoed flatly. "We should get going."

"Yes, we should," I agreed.

Neither of us moved.

"Five more minutes?" Apollo asked.

I only smiled.