I hated that it was so easy for Locke to guess the deepest, most shameful desire of my heart.

And before you judge me, I know you want it, too. I see how you look to Madoc for approval. I see how your gaze rests on them—the envy, the wish to be seen as special. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do a lot to win the love of Faerie.

“What would I have to do?”

“Put aside your mortal ways and your mortal qualms.”

Despite my misgivings, when he came and kissed me, I clung to him. And when he urged me down to the forest floor, I was glad to forget everything else. I stretched out, breathing in the sweet scent of leaf mold all around us.

As I finally fell asleep in the late morning, with the sun so bright, I had to close the drapes and press my pillow over my eyes as a new story looped in my head.

Once there was a girl named Taryn and she was beloved of a boy named Locke. They were the companions of the youngest prince of Elfhame and his friends, the talented Valerian and the beautiful Nicasia of the Undersea. When they arrived at revels, courtiers turned their heads to see the magnificent cut of their gowns, to see the cunning cut of their jackets. And everyone who saw them adored them—especially Taryn, who was the best and most beloved of them all.

Your tournament was soon after.

I warned you. No good could come from defying a prince. But the thing was, you’d been indoctrinated with a stupid idea of honor from Madoc, which basically translated into an unwillingness to back down and a belief that winning was more important than surviving. And you played this game the same way.

I came late to the stands. I didn’t want to be there. Even though I’d told you that participating would bring nothing but sorrow, I had no expectation of you listening. And I hated to watch.

But Vivi was going to go, and if I didn’t, you would have taken it the wrong way. We were already arguing enough. So I sat in a gown of blue, listening to the crowd howl, seeing the cream-colored banners whip through the air. And I got ready for the spectacle.

You didn’t disappoint. You hit Cardan so hard that I thought you cracked his ribs, but it was your practice sword that broke. You knocked his friend Valerian into the dirt. It was like some madness took hold of you. I thought you were unrestrained before, but it was nothing to this.

Vivi cheered wildly. Princess Rhyia, one of Cardan’s sisters and a friend of Vivi’s, looked on with the delight of a hunter watching the dance of predator and prey. I clutched my hands together in dread.

After the tournament, I rushed from the stands, sick with worry.

But Prince Cardan had already found you. He’d grabbed you by your hair and was snarling into your face.

You’d been too good out there. Anyone could see that. Just like anyone could see why he hadn’t wanted you to compete in the first place. You were mortal. You weren’t supposed to best the children of the High Court, no less make it look easy.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Locke said, coming up behind me.

“He is going to hurt her,” I said, glancing back at Princess Rhyia, hoping she might intercede. But we were far from the stands and she was in deep conversation with my sister anyway, barely glancing in our direction.

“He’s a prince of Faerie,” Locke reminded me. “And Jude—well, let’s watch and see what she is.”

“Beg,” Prince Cardan ordered you. “Make it pretty. Flowery. Worthy of me.”

For a moment, you looked like you might.

Locke’s eyes were alive with interest.

“Why are you looking at Jude like that?” I asked.

“I can’t help it,” he said, never taking his gaze from you. “I’m drawn to trouble.”

I recalled what he’d said about jealousy being a spice, about giving up mortal ways and qualms.

Locke left me there. He left me and walked over to you. My sister. My impulsive twin who seemed to be willing to make every stupid choice in the world.

The one with the tale that was still unfolding.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is supposed to be an apology. I made a lot of bad choices. I know that.

You were tired of being picked on, tired of bowing your head to them. You were probably tired of being tired. I get that. But it made it extra hard to keep on bowing my head when I was the only one.

And Locke. Locke saw me differently than anyone had seen me before. He’d given me a taste of what it was to love, to want, to desire. And it made me hungry for more. I didn’t want to give it up.

That doesn’t justify what I did, though.

“Come riding with us,” Vivi said, indicating Princess Rhyia. Even though she was royalty, her chief joy was riding out in the forest, hunting with her companions. I believe Vivi and Rhyia were drawn together by a mutual lack of interest in propriety.

“Yes, come,” said Princess Rhyia. “Are you any good with a bow?”

“Middling,” I returned, unable to turn down the invitation of a princess, even though I knew I couldn’t sulk the way I would have liked. And oh, I wanted to sulk and feel sorry for myself and cry. I hated the way he looked at you. I wanted to eat all the clotted cream and jam in Madoc’s kitchen.

The Folk don’t love like you do.

I thought of my mother, wandering through the rooms of Madoc’s stronghold, slowly coming to realize that she couldn’t bear being there. How she made a plan to escape him.

I thought about how good it must have felt when you hit Prince Cardan with your practice blade.

“So tell me about this Heather,” Rhyia said to my sister as we rode. “Is she really worth living in their world of filth and iron?”

Vivi laughed. “You know I like it there.”

Rhyia’s lip curled slightly. “Well enough. But the girl?”

“The first thing I noticed about her was that she had a smear of blue ink on her nose,” Vivi said. “The second thing I noticed were her eyes, the color of darkest amber. When she spoke, I was afraid she was talking to someone else.”

Rhyia snorted. “What did she say?”

Vivi smiled with the memory. “‘I want to draw you.’”

“Ah,” said Rhyia. “An artist.”

“You should bring her here,” I said, although I was only making trouble. “Artists are beloved of Faerie.”

“Ah, what a fine suggestion!” said Rhyia with a big laugh. “How happy I am you’ve come riding with us.”

Vivi looked less pleased. “I think I will keep Heather to myself for now.”

“Love is greedy,” Rhyia said, drawing her bow. She’d spotted a bird high in the trees and chosen it to be her quarry.

Her words bothered me, although I suppose my love for Locke was greedy, too. But love was also transforming. I knew that from fairy tales. It could turn you back from a cat or a frog or a beast. Probably it could turn you into those things, too.

You can make all of Faerie love you, Locke had said.

Vivi fell back to ride with me as the princess set off on the hunt. Our horses drew side by side.

“Why are you angry with Jude?” Vivi asked.

I suppose there was no hiding the way I had looked when we watched the tournament. And—I mean, you know how I felt. “She’s the one who’s angry,” I said. “She’s angry all the time. And she makes everyone angry at both of us.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to be mad at the people close to us,” Vivi said, “than to be mad at the people who deserve it.”

Princess Rhyia shot three small birds and cooked them over the fire. We ate them with soft cheese and a bottle of wine. I was so hungry I licked my fingers afterward, chewed on the bones. Vivi noticed and gave me half her bird. When I demurred, she rolled her eyes at me.

It still wasn’t enough.

That night Locke came to my window and called for me, but I pretended to be asleep. I was too hurt, too raw. I didn’t want to hear whatever he would say to me if I asked about you.

He called and called, but I wouldn’t go down. Finally he gave up.

And yet, it was impossible for me to rest. After an hour of tossing and turning, I threw on a cloak and sat on my balcony. I listened to the night owls calling to one another.

Then music started up near the Lake of Masks. I heard a singer begin a tune I hadn’t heard before, a song of heartbreak. Of a girl who walked the earth by starlight. Whose aspect was mortal but with beauty divine. Her cruelty had pierced his heart.

I was listening to Edir singing about me.

Locke had been as good as his word. He had shown me how to make Faerie love me. He had shown me how to be the shaper of a story. He had done more than that, even. He had shown me how to achieve something like immortality.

I sat there in the dark for a long time, listening. And then I turned around and walked to Locke’s estate.

You’ve been there, I know, so you’ve seen it, like a fairy-tale castle with a tower of the sort Rapunzel might have been imprisoned in. During the day it’s pretty, but in the dark, it was intimidating.

Be bold, be bold.

With a shudder, I drew myself up, wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself, and knocked on the heavy front door with all my strength.

I saw a light blaze in one of the high rooms and I knocked again.

The door opened and a thin, tall creature—a servant of the house, I presumed—opened the door.

“I would see Locke,” I told him with as much haughtiness as I could bring to bear.

Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.

He gave me a steady look and I stared back, trying not to notice how pale and sunken-eyed he looked, like one of the dead. But then he swept a bow and indicated without speaking that I ought to come inside.

I was brought to a little parlor that was shabbier and dustier than I’d expected. Another servant, this one small and round, brought a decanter of some purple liquid and a small glass.

When Locke finally came into the room, I was coughing because it turned out the purple stuff was very strong. His hair was mussed from sleep and he wore a thin shirt and soft-looking pants beneath a dressing gown. His feet were bare on the stone floor.